Monday, May 30, 2016

Window


      
          Window.

What if nocturnal or diurnal,
It  is all the same for  the
Window  and you and me.
The frills  are  dancing
embossed  by the  whispers
of  soothing   lullaby of
cool  air. Showers   and
 mild  Sprinklers . Outside
the window  jostle  and 
business  throb, this  side
you   and  me  are  the  same
except, each in  our own
expectations, our morning
cup of  coffee  and  noon siesta
waking  us  or  knocking  us
don’t  know. Window  is   same.





Friday, May 27, 2016

His Master's Voice

      His  Master’s  Voice.

Tied  up to his  ancient  cot,
Cloth  threads   criss  cross  the  edges,
Age’s misery speaks   a volume in his
Wrinkled  face .The  sturdy  hands  that
Wove    yarns  in  the  looms; ere also
Wont  to spin the threads in the  hand
Machine, now sinking, partially
Conscious .  He   beckons   to his 
Son, caring, reading newspapers,
also reading   hard palm of the
Dying  now.   Son  takes  the cue
Of  his  father’s  hereditary profession.
He  identifies, ruminates, lengthy yarns
Which  dominated   and   shone
Many  a  cloth shop.  His  mind
Is  a   repository  of bundles of 
Yarn  and  cloth and  showrooms.
 Some  neem  leaves  Supposed  
 to be medicinal  lie  by the cot.
His   last  cardinal, low voice
In  a feeble tone, mutters
“my son take care  of the Cow
Serving us for years, it is
Another loom  and  Gift.  



Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Loosening Knots

  Loosening knots.

  I  have heard some  say
‘Like  a meteoric  rise.’
But  they  cling  on the
Rope of constant question
and Query, dreaming  in
mid air. Loosening  knots
forsake  them . “Hare Ram”,
“Hare Krishna,” from  their
Helpless   self, but of  vain.

Failing  rope is  twisting   and  twirl.

When Wind Blows

     When Wind Blows

In December chill’s   Morn
When  nestled   birds  stay
Cosy in the  self  made  shelter,
Dark  slowly recedes,  while
Dew  drops  Rivet   and  stay,
on Rose. When  the petals fritter, 
 these  hanging medals
 glitter,  glide   and   drip  down,
Chicks  dare  not  come out,
Speedy gales  spring  fast.
 Crow  in Dove’s nest,
Chicks pick crumbles within
Without  any   disparity
 Necessity and  Care make
them   forget their genre.
Unity stays  forever.


Friday, May 20, 2016

I am Broke

        I am  broke.
 Me thought I am empty,
I am broke absolutely,
Beyond redemption,
Conspiracy for  years such ,
 Escaped our  notice.
After  the  devastation   and  fury
Of Floods, streets  marooned,
The  road is  calm   and 
No  normal  traffic today.
Yonder  a  Parrot call
Chirping  and  repeating
A  Voice, “peace, peace”
A voice of  soothing  and
Comfort  and  Confidence.
Parrot  on my Mentor’s
Shoulders  chirping  again
Again, a  redoubled  assurance.
Now   also  I am broke,
For overwhelmed with
Divine  Intervention.
The  road is rising.








Thursday, May 19, 2016

What Is A Home? Introspection.

         What   Is  A  Home?  Introspection.

Though there is not much difference between the terms  Home  and   House,
There is perceptible definition and demarcation line between these two, I humbly opine.
The question always rises in many a people’s minds and raises too many queries .
 It  has too  many links  and reservations too. Yet, I personally feel to be at home
Is to be more comfortable,   not merely cosy  with warmth  but a    personal longing 
 With a   Sense of  belonging too.   I humbly feel  that a  home  is  a place where
You  are not housed simply with a  mechanical take. A home is a place where you
Have your own likes and dislikes, remember and adorn that  every corner  and  shelf
Of  your choice  and veneration, more of  an abode  of worshipfully pertaining  aura
Permeating you, yourself, around you and the persons you interact with. Every plank and
Panel, nook  and corner, shelf  and seat  move with a  serenity   and  sanctity; for in your
Home of your stay  and live and life, there is an affinity  and security; exceptions are
Always there. This line of argument is only with respect to the demarcation between the two.
 For instance when we say  that Soldiers are  housed  or accommodated it is with a  specific purpose. 
In our day to day life, it is only with  a  common purpose. In our homes we move with freedom  and
Warmth, whereas  ‘house’ forays with restrictions of movement   possibly. Most of us live in our homes,
Where there is care  and consciousness, give  and take .   Home is home.




Friday, May 13, 2016

If Hate Killed Men

If   Hate Killed  Men

Why the past tense,
In   the present  too.
Hate  pours   superfluous,
No reason or  rhyme,
Except   total  annihilation
Is  the only crude ending.
 Hatred  is  the  cascading  sheet.

Pray   for a Time, when
Hate is erased in the  pages
Of  Dictionary  and Books;
But   man   advocates and
Proves, it is impossibility.
Giggles ,says,  live   and die
With  that impossibility.
Hatred   is the cascading sheet.

At  the dining  table,
They preach    Harmony
And selfless sacrifice,
But    sudden eruption
Like a volley of armaments;
Defeat   and ego cankering their pride.
 Hatred is  the cascading  sheet.

I watch him water the plant,
 Pluck   radiant flowers  and
Offer  in the altar  with  lips
Chanting mantras, rosary
Beads adorning his hands,
Sudden  irreconcilable
Outburst of  mood,  know not why?
Hatred  is  the cascading  sheet.

Some  believe vehement.
East is east, west is west,
The twain  shall  never meet,
East  and west  will
Certainly meet, if your
 Heart is at rest and in peace.
Hatred is the  cascading sheet.










Friday, May 06, 2016

Journeying is Hard.

    Journeying   Is   Hard

I look  up  at  the  cool, soft Moon,
From this  hardened  Earth,
Wonder if the River of Life is gliding
With   souls of our ancestors,
Dead   and gone!
What  is  it? Where are they?
Scorching  summer’s heat is bearable,
Tolerable, it seems  to be.  
but the journeying  is hard.
From  sunrise till  dusk, each  day,
Journeying is  hard.
The  carriage  plods  on its
 corrugated  Wheels  rusted .
“Ganga  was  Sunken”
“Ganga  is  sunken”.
 Parched  land is not parched,
 real  aridity stems in
Man’s heart. Journeying
Is  very  very  hard.


Shift

               Shift
A  Shift in  mind, like  the speeding
Quill  of  etherealized  Bird  on  the 
Azure Blue, dreaming   of its  unfettered
Freedom ,wishing  the same  for  all  below.

It  has  no  time  to  wander below
 The pandering  pulp of dragon group.
It soars  higher  and  delighted, enjoys
A shift, the  need of  the hour.

 Does   contracted   mankind   think 
In  the same line? I know not.
Rather  breaks  the limbs and
Pamper  the  ego  corroded  for  long.

 A  shift is the travelogue
 of  perpetuated  Memory  and Meaning.
 A   desired  departure to  Moorings
and  venues of your tastes   and likes.

Every now  and  then the Etherealized
Bird, looks below, the ebb and flow
Of  waves, unfathomable gyrations ,
Of  whales   and  fish dive  up  and  down.

Wonders, for  them  living  in  water life
Is  Flow, But  for  unthinking, unaccepting
Man, Life is a  deflated Balloon. Prideful,
Flapping  it  sings, Shift  is my  Gift.