Wednesday, September 30, 2015

       On  the Sable  Mound of   Sand.         


On the sable stark mound of sand,                                                                                                       
Recline you  for  a  mood of  band                                                                                     
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           
 Of  Rock, rock  of singers, revel
and  roll like  roller coaster: Level
your  high rising  mind and  mood
in tune  with  the  roars of  black hood                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          
of watery  sheets  off  fossils
 and rood like  avid gossips.                       
The  sea thrills in the company
Of lonely ,  meditative,  to  accompany               
Its  true, warm  friends  who  sail
In the  same  boat of  steady   mail.                           



        

He draws Inspiration


        He  draws inspiration.

  In the Frisbee  like  breadcrumb,
Layer of  yesterday  protection  of the thumb,
He  draws   a  typical  layout ,
Of his  dream   and dignity  tout.
He   refuses  to  put it
In the   Mouth, holds it
On the  artistic  brush
And to  breathe life  and blush.


                                                                                    

Friday, September 25, 2015

Every breaking wave..

  Every  breaking  wave

Every  breaking  wave has its  verve
For  the  frothy  foam is  the  recurrent
Breath of life’s   nodes .
The  watery  free play  has its
Roots   in the throb of  the Blue.
Ageless, ceaseless   and  fathomless,
It  nullifies  man’s  angst  less.
For   his  is  a   self-made  conflict.
The turgid flow of  man’s pride
Runs   behind   the  dashing  waves.
Ocean  is   a   huge  gyrating  hawk.


Thursday, September 17, 2015

Love speaks

 Love  speaks.
Love tapped in my shoulders, then,
Slowly in my  dream, as if giving us
A wake up call.  I am  not  Dead , nor
A deadwood, but   a feeling not eschewed
But propagated in  all circles.  Poets,
Writers, thinkers and  artists embellished :
All enthroned me and some even condoned me
According  to their moods.  I did  not  wail,
For  I  know  the nature of  the world.
 They call me a  Red Rose, or  Blue
Or  white as serenity sometimes 
A  black rose or  deadly corroding evil.
I cannot define myself for  the concept
Itself is   conundrum. But  still I go on
Like  a  rivulet  or stream.




Saturday, September 12, 2015

     In my own  house.

In my own  house, everywhere,
Every cupboard  overflows
With   books  of  ancient galore,
and  modernity ,both  for
Teaching   and  Research
And  Knowledge  to  update
With  the current  affairs.
Only  enough Time is  not
For  me. Why  Time  should
Care  for  my  avocations?
Occupations. It  flies  on its
Scheduled  Wings  and
Predestined  Chart.
 I sit   and  ruminate,
 In my yesteryear, in  my
Palatial  house of  grandparents
Books  were  there. Upanishads
Vedas   and Puranas  rich
In  grandsire’s   room  and
How  he  divided  his time
Between  cows   and milking
and greens   and  drawing  water
filling  tubs.  My grandmother
a  devout, patient  woman,
silent  sufferer. I read  her
example, a  notable   Book
for  me. This  book  lives 
with  me, going  before me.
  





Saturday, September 05, 2015

Bards and places of Historic Grandeur.


       Bards  and  Historic  Grandeur.

In  every country, every history,
Every era, Bards  are revered  
With  laurels  and  honours
to  be  recognised.  With
Warp  and  weave of  fertile
Imagination, they work  the
Expertise  poetic  craft.

  London! the  pride of  great
 Bardic   poets and  rich  legacy
Of  Monarchy  and   Westminster
Abbey   and  tombs  and  monuments .
Ye!  also  preserve  the Glory
and   perpetuation of  victory
of  kings   and warriors   and 
queens   and  reigning  sceptres .

In  India  too,  the battlefield
Is the  celebrated  place of  Janana
Or  wisdom   and realization.
For   the  kings  like  Ashoka,
The  realization  of  loss of  blood
And necessity of abrogation of
Enmity   stuck in the   war field.
Batons   and   swords    admirably
Were  nullified  by Peace.

Bow  before  them  all.
Nourish   the  path 
And   hoist  the flag
Of  Victory.