Nature's Way.

      Nature’s  way.

In   the   innocent  childlike  Morn,

they  are the   tender  rays,   penetrate

to    reach  the  greenery,  the    leaves,

They  are  the  active, blinking ,smiley’s               

take   turbulent  turns  on the  screen, 

foraying   up  and down  in  colourful  ambience, 

The   sticky caterpillar   safe, underneath

   the  leaves ,  Coiling   and  extending upwards,     

unshakable   the  coils   are  even

by the  whiff  of  the  winds:

with  yesterday  the  passing  of  the

summer’s  teasing  and testing  heat

Autumnal   shreds  recoil  on

The  ground   I walk  by ,

The   tree  is  the  mere  onlooker  .

 Uncertainty

                                                      

The  bud  and  pecking  bird,

Up fronting  green plants,

 uncertain  of  the

Toppling  winds  sweeping

With  a  thud ,that of   a

Infuriated, possessed   monster,        

Infamously possessing  the land,

The  growing  embryo in

The mother’s womb , cosy

and   breathing  the  comfort

of  the  tender walls ,                   

uncertain of  its stay,

for  the  abortive pill 

supposed  to  preserve the

beauty  of  its  bearer,

the  books  borrowed  but

not  returned , the  certainly                                                                                                      

uncertain  lender  erases   the

thought of it from  his   memory,

 The   strong   karmic  Thread of  God’s

Creation    hanging  loose  on

Devious  thinking  of  Man,

for  his  doings  and undoing

are  uncertain  on the 

whimpering  ball  of  falling;

Only  the  blinking  stars and

The  roaring  Blue  are

Certain  to  testify  their mission

Of  stamping   on  uncertain  papers.

                                                                              

  

What is poetry...A parody on those that give a twist to poetry

What  is  poetry ....... A  parody   on those  that give   a  twist to poetry.

   Not  for  poetry  lovers.

What   is  poetry? What  is  it    that pretends

to   be  whimsical, quizzical, inspired,

emotionally   tearing,   turgid, bland,

a  microbe  creeping  from  underneath

the  doormat, reaching  the  top  of

the cerebellum, masquerading   your

imagination,  rants  and  cants  of  

a   warrior, furtive,  deserting lover

ominous  bat  entering  home

 dead  turtle  on   the  roaring  shore,

yet,  my  Muse  tends  to be  musical ,

adds  to  the  sacramental

  notations   of  the   Shore.

On the  sands, on the land....

It  is  a   massive  breathless whale

 Cast on the  shore,  ye, ruthless 

Waves   slash    the  dead:

Years  of  dwelling   on the  sea

 To  no  end, water’s  crude  treatment,

Yet  I hear  the gyrating  rhythm,

The  Blue  itself   is    mesmerised       

The  journey’s mystery is  beyond

The comprehension of the                    

Eternal  terrifying  depthless  vast.

On the sands,  an improvised tent,

Where   urchins   sip coca, set  the               

Stage   for   carom   and   chess :

Game  is  life for them;                                                                                                                                                         

On the  Land, most  veil 

Already  their  masked  face,                    

Life  is  their  game  for  them,

Win  or  lose  it is  a  necessary  morsel.

Yet   there is   another jubilant  group

Playing  on the  abandoned    boat,

Picking up    shells,  delving into 

The  mystery of their  cast and mould.

They   prefer  to  get  drenched

Watery  splashes  ,salty  froth  all over.

Play, play  they  all play

Play  to  their full  content.

There   are the waves, tidal   knots,

Rolling  over, resounding  as  if

The cosmic  supremacy of  the Universe.

I  hear  a  murmur  of 

Strange   voice, dictum  envisioned,

It  is , it is  all notations ,          

avidly     Preset  calculations.