Friday, May 30, 2014

The Old Familiar Faces.

The   Old  Familiar  Faces.

In  my undergraduate  days,I  have read many
Prescribed books ,both for  detailed  and non-detailed,
gone  are  the old  faces, All, except  the  Faces in  Elia.

I   have read  and  re read ,many characters  I  have  grasped,
Some  live, some  relive beyond   effacement,
But   places   and   faces of Elia  live  forever in my  Mind.

 ‘Dream-children’  I always cherish with  Melancholy Adoration,
Woe  be to one ,who does not like line,...sentiments,
We   are  the phantom children, these live with an imprint ever.

“Old –china”   and  “south-sea  House”   Haunts   of my  readings,
 I always shed tears ,recalling  those memories ,old faces,
 Class mates, old faces  are gone, memory of  Elia   stays for ever.

The  ancestral  home,pillared ,high vaulted is gone,
Worshipful inmates are gone, pet cats  and sparrows are gone,
All  are gone, old  familiar and intimate  are gone.

You  are my bosom friend, my Mentor, Heart residing Deity,
Also  dwelling  in my HOME and   Guardian Angel,
All are gone, but  You will  stay forever.

All  are gone,but  it is  God ordained dictum,
The  God  whom  you like,worship in good earnest,

Will  Stay  With  You  Forever.

Secrets

 Secrets.
 What  kind  of  secrets  can you  share with HIM
Who  already has shared your  heart’s feel, your
Creative moves. It  is  He  who  has sown  the  seed
In  the  state of  tabula  rasa,to  grow  and more
to  confide  in  Him  the secret of  your  success,
the  secret,that  but  for  His  sacred  Blessings  
on   you  a  miraculous    thyme, parsley,

you  are  a  null  and  void. This   is a  public secret.

Underneath My Table



                Underneath  My  Table.

Underneath  my sturdy  Mahogany  table,
No mystery, they are   veering around?
I  am  enslaved by  the  writing  pad  on  table,
Yet   gripped  by    tabula rasa, now.
The  papers  crushed  or  crumbled
Fritter in a playful mood, as if  caterwauling:
Perpetuated  by the  fan above rotating,
They are the fertile   imagination  crushed.
Still every  letter folded    within   paper,
Every idea  lurking  within the   white
abandoned, looks  for  a  space out.
I remould them, recreate  them, now
They  shine  atop   with an elevated 
Status, a   new   title, new  flip.


The Great Mystery Of You.

1) The   Great  Mystery  of  YOU.

You  are  the  presiding  deity of the

Worshipping  rosebuds, their   infancy

A holistic  concept and  approach.

 Blossoming  afor, innocence grips  them,

Craving  for  the  warmth

skyward, call it  heavenward,

awaiting  the nod of  Sun God perhaps.

YOU   are the life giving source of

Stem  and  stalk  that  hold the

Progeny of  fragrance.

YOU  are the gardener’s pail

wetting  the   thirsty soil,

The  anthill   Verve  a   cleavage

To  serve themselves. 

You are  the  seed  and   the  porous,

Surfing   surge, final  deluge

 Whyness  of which  Deluding  us  all.



Friday, May 23, 2014

Time and Music.( Take from Guardian’s sonnet of irreconcilables)

Time    and Music.( Take  from Guardian’s  sonnet of  irreconcilables)

Time   and  Music,
Perhaps, let loose by the
Thread  and   kite,
also, this  way, thread  and kite,
timing  with the  fritter  and
musical bonanza in the air:
Twin  sisters, buzzing on  air,
Etherealized, floating  like   balloons,
Spectacularly   waving, reeling,
To unload our  heaviness of  heart.
Go  higher  and higher,
Balustrading   the wind  blowing 
Nearby, a soft touch  and   tender  feel,
Silencing  the  covey of  birds,
The music  holds  me in   enthralled  spirit,
 The  kite  with its  envisioned
 freedom of  music ,as if celebrating victory,
drowning   the appalling   gloom
Of  surroundings    and
“While its mobility thrills my temporal brain,”
My mood, my  speech, my articulation

Everything in tempered  awe and  culture.

Friday, May 16, 2014

A Take from Guardian's ........"no word at all"

A take from Guardian’s  ......  “no word at all”

  Yes ! no word to describe this  precarious
 This  crumbling, this  zero. No world  at all.
  The world would have gone  into hiding
  Behind this matter, anti-matter,If only
  His  Descent  is not  ordained. His  Ruling from
   Above is thus: The  Firmament ,its stars,stellar,
 Not precarious, no volition of its will.
 But superb gyrating according   to His  design.
  The  Solar system, the galaxy of stars, in totality,
 Proud of its own existence, shine  and  pray
 Its Maker; We humans only, like inebriated,
Mull ineffectual, try for null and void.
The laboriously built nest blown by
Hurricane and wild , the  chicks  and eggs
Fall  on the ground, the  broken  are broken,
As far as those tender, homeless,  
Some, genteel   passerby, gives  asylum
In his roof  garden, otherwise
No world at all for these  desperate,
Some wingless, on the ground.
No WORD  at all.

No WORLD  at all.

Friday, May 09, 2014

Either Side.

                    Either  side.
The  corroded   zinc    shutters  glided  down
With  the piercing   noise of  thud  and   grind,
I was  stupefied   by the  deafening   sudden.
Slipped  my  bread  and  jam   pack.
I saw  a  kitten  already, as  if  half   akimbo
Inside  the  go down  it  was   spiraling   dark,
The  half  white  and  brown  tenderly,
 mewed, with the paws  slowly, helplessly,
Foraying  on the shutters up and down .
I see  through  the   tiny  hole  riveting   the  corner
 the  beams  of  sun , only consolation  for the
trapped.  This side  my concern utmost,
the   other side, panicky  tension  swaying
the  cute  and  scrapping . The  shop owner   
and  the  passersby, cared  less,  more   for 
their  belongings,  their  attire, their posture.
Either  side, we  waited    for Heaven’s  call
And    Mercy to come down on us.


Thursday, May 08, 2014

Take on Guardian's "But i will clothe him with this pen of mine"

Take  on  Guardian’s  “But  I will clothe him with  this  pen of mine”.

“The  sacred  muse that  first made  love divine”
Slowly   inculcates   a   path of   renunciation   and  saintliness   twine,                  
I   will clothe   him   with this pen of    mine
That  all this  world of  humanity  shall   venerate
And   respectfully  prostrate to  his  holy  feet
His  beauty   is  his   smile  of  endearing  warmth,
His  Glory, his   Chanting always, his  Meditation
Ever glowing  with   spirit  of  radiation,
Saffron  is  His  Robe of   dignity,
Behind  so much of   decency and  veracity.
His  piercing  arrows  of  stern  checks  and looks
  Will   thwart  human’s   unwarranted   desires.
No sullenness but  sweetness  of  his  soothing
Words , our strength  and  serenity.  



Friday, May 02, 2014

A Take on ''If I have to, then let me be''.

IIf   I have to, then  let me be,

  If   I have to, then let me, as  I am ordained to be,
  Obsessive observer and  recreater,
 let me be the poet, or  the sincere  scribbler  be,
The writer, recorder, the poet
Of  the  Soul, at the dictum of which
So much   to share, speak, pour
like   the  tossing  waves  on the pebbles,
looks  as   if  by the  scheme  of God,
they measure  the length  and breadth of Time,
infusing  in us  the philosophy of His  Dancing.            
let me be the hurrying  husssif  
peeling  the onion  and   potatoes,
humming   the   poetic lines
that  would  go   into my line
 of  personal  computer.
Let me  flap my poetic  wings,
Read   into  the warbling  notes of
Chickadees   and    shorebirds
Echoing  the  rhythms of  shores’
Beat   on the shingles  and   sands,                         
Carry my wandering   poetic  thirst.
Let  me   be   what   I  am.