(88) A mystey

(88) A mystery
It is miracle and mystery beyond comprehension ,
why I worshipfully cling to you?
is it due to the sacrifice you made?
in upbringing me amidst teething troubles?
could it be because of the rigours of
Discipline encored by the rhythm
of your training?
is it because of the concept of charity
ingrained into my blood?
is it due to the spirit of strength
instilled by your benign grace?
The lesson of life –force dragged
by the two wheels of patience and penance
unyielding to the mounting pressures,
The cockpit of the uncaring world closes,
makes me lose its balance
yet I muster courage to go on and on and on.

(87) Why the dark side of life?

(87) Why the dark side of life?

Life is a beautiful rainbow
spreading its resplendence,
EVEN on the butterfly colourful
and merry on flowers,
the Deep blue and the vast firmament
certain you call it the limitless sky,
can you and I try to vie?
An outing in the vast green field,
wading amidst full blown corn
yellow and green and serenading,
would your sickle plunge into action?
Would your mind give it a command?
A walk further in the field,
both the hands sidelining the grasses,
a tumble upon the stubble and thimble,
at noon by the waterfalls white and foamy,
The siblings call you for a simple lunch
of thick curd rice with mango pickle
meticulously prepared by grandma,
Playful they are, go to catch colourful fish
in the rivulet simply swept along,
simply swept along the fish,
before the sunset they play hide and seek
in the white sand , the pebbles popping out
The dark clouds gather, hasten us home
only to illumine , to dispel gloom,
awake with a cheery dawn of hopes.

The Three

The Three

The fetid flesh called body,
not knowing its days are numbered,
engined by smart mind propels,
bony ,nerve bulging skin
Craving for embalmed fragrance,
Tiptoes not; pulls up the jacket;
The hidden soul always serene,
we rarely go in search of it,
but IT hardly cares, endures ,
still the body in its depolarised
State vies, not accepting defeat.

(86) Who is this nocturnal visitor?

(86) Who is this nocturnal visitor?
who is this nocturnal visitor incognito?
is he seen only by a few, or naked eyes,
does he slip in like a cat for kind or cash
or for both ? or with pseudo -kindness,
like the itching dandruff, creating a bald,
bugging all the time, draining your purse,
people with all devious thinking imagine
the visitor is fond of my house,
yet, till today, I have not seen the mysterious,
nor am I inclined to catch him red-handed,
when imagination runs devious,
taking a sinister turn,
when my guardian angel is vigilant,
this acrimony only would lead to acrobatics,
undoing all nonsense and hypocrisy,
you can wake up a sleeping dog,
but you cannot infuse sense and sanity
in a seemingly deaf and blind.

(85) Concubine's gift

(85) Concubine’s gift.
Sona that was her name, a name she created for herself,
bed coffee to the full sip, followed by bread toast with jam,
she was licking to the full satisfaction, her habit was wont to be,
licking all the fingers top to the bottom, threw the plate to the sink,
licking, licking with sounds similar to kisses and nothing more.
It was really a sink full of stink and smell foul, flies and cockroaches,
invading as desires and passion infected her body to the core.
The fire was burning, burning, the paramour was generating,
His fire was burning by her filthy desire,
Her mouth watering, hungry looks craving for more and more.
“ I want somemore,”she looked, hunger unappeased,
“ I am exhausted”, he fell unconscious.

From bread to bed decked with perfumed and floral scents,
her thighs and eyes vied with each other,
she unrobed her garb with a glib smile,
untimely knock at the door,waterboy with the can.
she decried her time and the gods who were helpful till now.
final alarm and the house owner’s mistress came.
the concubine ran through the back door as she came.
She chanced to cross the huge sickle kept by the gardener,
it was meant to cut the twigs of the trees and weeds,
Alas! The sickle executed a job, rightly done,
severed her foot and the hand right in earnest , betimes.
the green parrots were pouring in full fledged ease,
“ you ribald, who would marry you now, who would abed you?”
how many men you have seduced, how many families wrecked,
go to whorehouse, whorehouse, in good haste.”

(84) The village vegetable vendor

(84) The village vegetable vendor.

Fashion as a general garment goes a begging,
before the innocent , vegetable vendor’s toiling,
She in her country type yarn of length shines,
A sari of white serene cotton with a blend of sanguine red
in checks of short and interlaced embroidered,
The sari rolls her heavy body, her dark skin,
her tawny forehead adorned by her coin size of saffron,
her lengthy sari covers her heavy body, the pride, the gift,
the wedding gift by her sincere husband,
the green leaved basket on her head rested on a ring of mound ,
Pops out and mocks at her sari,
She tucks in her six months old baby
the left side provisioned for a cradle of convenience,
The cute babe innocence embodied sleeps,
the woman walks in a see-saw.
her bell shaped key chain of bells jingles, jingles,
The mermaid like hastens homeward,
She unrobes her sari to wipe her sweat,
to have a bath by the well.

Poetry-what? (83)

(83) Poetry-what?
There is to be a tender blossoming flower,
in my garden of imagination tends to be fertile,
needs the nurturing of observation,
watered by endless experiences,
germinated by inspiration, what are those lovely petals?
The carved pages, those designed drafts preserved
Or photocopied,
each, rosy ,beautiful petal decorating the dignified design,
Symbolizes the designer’s architectonics of beauty,
those petals of aura of lovely shapes spread the aroma
far and wide beyond the ambit.

What do the petals preach?
Unity and loveliness,
Spread by radiance a divinity of the divine,
as the small ringing bees and roaming butterflies
in a dancing mode monopolise the smiling beauty,
so the metaphors and similes and symbols
cluster to give fine frame and name;
to be printed or read in poetry reading workshops.
you call it versification or damnation,
It is my experience of cogitation and cognition.

Not the empty cupboard and the game

Not the empty cupboard and the game

Nuts and spices in the cupboard lie awake,
nutmeg rolls around in the corner, untouched,
grandma’s predictive value goes idle,
You go berserk after the day’s toil
moiling after stinted environmental politicking,
can you go bang against the sturdy walls?
nay, long to embody yourself into a lump
of clay, but a spirit subject to negation, for
the clay breaks into pieces. Before that,
no feeling, no angst, no aging and no desire:
yet, the diabolic devil called Birthing clamours
around you, surges in leaps and bounds
ever since the creation,

spices spy through the glass jar, what for?
Nordic ambitions still poking high,
the dividing wall echoes the feeble cries
of a new cherub,
The unanswered question lies
Can anyone stop the ordained game?

Heaven plays

Heaven plays

Heaven, canopy from above,
Unique, ubiquitous and unceasing, pours

Stares, watches and weaves
a Cautious tale of happenings

pretentious at times giving
a let it go feeling

though a tsunami or
thunderous blackish hell fire engulfs

those as a remedy
these as the only solution.

A true confession

A true confession.

What would be my condition
If Omnipotent did not descend in

times of distress and duress ?
The question of which is an

obsession ingrained in my blood
and permeating through my breath ,bosom,

sprouting the inevitable answer that
life would have become a bundle

of mess and destruction , devastation
a total loss , meaning of Birth.

Impossibility

Impossibility

She envisages
the impossibility of

running away
to a corner

free from
sin and gossip

for corners
are infested with

this sickly
syndrome of drinking

wining , sinning
envying silently occurring.

willow tree song

Willow tree song

I hear a willow
tree sing

a pensive song
of wisdom

mourning the slow , steady
decadence of

dignity and culture
of humanity.

The age is shrinking.

The age is shrinking

The Korean made, knife, glossy,
cuts not the green leaves,
slippery they are, recently unbound
from the sticky wrapper,
the knife inadvertently cuts my palm,
yet, can not delve , pierce the lines criss cross
for they are set, the palmist confirms;
no red blood, no bleeding, no pain,
for the blood vessels are long since
dried up, shrunken the lined skins are;
age is gone, each passing day wears
a decrepit bone.
She attributes sex and sexism :
There are so many she’s and wolfs
loitering around,
Religiosity, certainly, not the affected one,
afflicting a few all the times,
runs like a tremor , wails,
‘ oh! God ! when will be the end of all this’.

Unbounded care

Un bounded care

when sparrow nestles
its chick

in hard, diligent
self-made,

collected roof of brambled
Straw

gains Heaven's the
redoubled protection.

A preordained journey

A preordained journey

Life is a preordained
Journey

meandering its own
Course

whether you want
or abjure

you are dragged
its way.

(82) Beat the heat.

(82) Beat the heat
Beat the summer heat or bear the brunt,
as an expectant mother would,
as patient as spectators of the vast arena,
as the scores of the cricket match dilly dally.
I wipe with my handkerchief , my faithful alley,
the sweat at my face which interfaces with the skin,
there at the hospital the father releases yet another
aspect of his anger, a sort of heat to know the result
of the awaited, the scan ,heat of anger intensifies
to know it is the girl, the mother fails to beat the heat,
beats up her forehead, the headmaster beats up the ward,
not for the poor performance but for the betrayal of the bribe;
the mason counteracts the heat and hunger
by gulping the rice-soaked water,
the audience in the cinema theatre,
gulp the coco cola to quench the thirst or heat:
The lust ridden man has many ways to
beat up the unbearable heat,
this method can you beat or retreat?

(81) Brick and mortar.

( 81 ) Brick and mortar
When the knaves pulled down the ancient building,
it was not the lime and brick and mortar,
it was not the crumbled pieces that were strewn,
it was not the timber and wood pieces that
once protected the roofs and decorated the cupboards,
not, the mango trees, that were felled, nor even
the tamarind clusters that once brought much money,
it was not these material objects that saddened my thoughts,
it was the very memory, it was the life and breadth,
it was the LIFE SOURCE THAT LIVED THERE FOR A CENTURY,
THESE REAWAKENDED MY THOUGHTS,
the old grandfather clock that was thrown by the mason,
Still tick-tocks to approve that there is life,
the felled plantain leaves and the dried up tender stems,
take me those tender days that were fresh as salad,
Prepared by my grandmother, the savour still lingers my tongue,
I tread through still brick and mortar,
The building is gone, but the memory lingers on.

Life painted in Black and White

Life painted into Black and white.

They have grown in isolation befriending them,
no father, no brother, no mother,
no kith to suck the blood in rightful terms of law.
Orphaned at an young age,
The twin recourse often in the surging beach,
Their tender feet playing in the white foam, froth
Hoping to catch life by its forelock,
May be to enter into the sprightly life of a
Whale, a fish , sea-horse, to swim and swim
but the forging black clouds thundering
shatter their dreams, just as the waves recede,
equally too young to cognise
clouds are soon to dispel and
in the mid sea a white liner sails west ward.

(80) Vibrations

(80) Vibrations
My tape-recorder a Messiah mesmerising,
reprints into my ears, the recorded Musings,
you call those vibrations or waves?
creating ripples into my heart’s cogitations,
are those vibrations positive or negative?
are those up surging waves bold and naive?
as the ambitions of a conqueror tout?
to a huge fort or treat?
do these vibrations like a fondling mother, sing lullaby?
or counsel the ones in a frenzied lobby?
to those in search of eternal serenity?
to those in search of serene eternity?
do they combat, the ready ones to fight the romping?
do they counteract me with an immortal ode singing?
My tape came to a halt, yet the notes keep on ringing, ringing?

This sunny day

This sunny day----
This sunny day, when you stare
at the sky, the starry domain twinkling
in the eventide, the pervasive
stillness above, stirs your demented soul
craving for unanswered questions,
singing, spinning , weaving a lengthy yarn
of sonorous tale of woe, threnody, for
the so many untimely dead, leaving you
to a quandary ,turning poetic pages into
philosophical notations,
it dawns, chirping, citation dawns ,
slowly expanding into an arena,
eternity itself is a coil of conundrum.

My Umbrella (79)

(79) My Umbrella
My umbrella shrinks and flies away,
unable to withstand the stormy wind,
as would a thief escape the claws of police,
my adamant hand clings to balance the black protector,
yet the protector is protracted by a more forcible force:
the dark colour dances to a pathless way,
boldly combats the ruling kite , kisses rustling leaves ,
runs to a corner to be confronted by a tree,
The protesting kite gets torn, adamantly waves,
waves to rule the sky , the tree seems to be an asylum
to this refuge, like a lizard hanging up the branches,
the freedom is curbed, curbed and controlled!