After Guardian- At the back of the head

After Guardian-  At the back of the head

At the back of your head

Don’t surmise only black curls

 dominating over,  beyond  these

a kingdom from whence you see

a galaxy of stars, a world of unknown

region where most of us merge

after some time; don’t ask if we can

speak or see  or visualize future

from there,  a mysterious horizon.

I don’t see you or your eyes,

Your mouth or complexion,

But only the mystery of this

Galaxy, stars and moon, flow

Of rivers  and falls on mountains;

Nature’s  Beauty and  Marvel,

Creator’s magic wand and flute

Silencing our earth;

Time's ringtone

Time’s ringtone

 Like a  wary watchman, Time waits

 without  compromising his own sense of Time;

 Time is the healer,time is the tester,

 a good recordation in our diary

  carrying us through  hazards and

   secrets of success every minute.

   in all our steps and  serendipity,

  Young or senile, time like a  creeper

 coils round  like ringlets to shine on

 furthering  our beauty and glow

 or with a  different coloring  shade

 on our  aging process.

 Whether be setting   Sun  or falling leaves

In the autumnal parade, or Spring’s moods

jubilant and serenading, Time’s flavor

always runs in, ringtone ever singing.

nothing happens

Guardian’s Event

Nothing is happening,

In this ever happening,

Eventful  creation;

toad croaks, water drops,

gossamer faint glimmers all

around the earth and you

tread slowly in all panic;

nothing happens.

Sunsets and rising on the

Eastern horizon, how do

The orange embers disappear

And  appear, nothing happens still.

Where  is the unused space here?

So much of inhabitation, so little space ;

Birds and buds blossoming still,

I see  a void still, nothing  happens.

In the stillness of humanity, I see

So much  is to happen,yet nothing happens.

Tree’s pride and plight

Tree’s  pride and  plight

Interspersed with my

Thick green foliage,

a swarm of bees and  berries,

day’s call and copious  buzz.

At noon, a surreptitious    caterpillar

pair with the  pained bloom,

not shedding but sharing with the

clustered clan ever accommodating.

At dawn, crows black princed,

covey of parrots with green livery

Pride with the parentage,

their wings a  see saw fritter ever,

until a thud of wind sweep and

dogs bark gathering all shiver

my kith and kin of neighborhood

silenced into  shrunken chamber.

I wait for Spring’s advent

to reshape my defunct call

can I see again my broad spectrum?

Under which many umbrellas  figure in.

  

Poem of the week: Sonnet – September 1922 by Ivor Gurney

He is divinely unique;

He does not get annoyed  or upset

if he is infuriated or hurt beyond limit;

because he is a thinking person

taking everything in the right spirit.

Water and fun, sunrise and sunset

don’t clamor ill will or rancour

we may not be a toad, or sly cat,

need not be a ferocious lion, neither

tardy nor haste in our midst,

but practice the pristine calm

of control and  cool unless pushed

to  the extreme. Be a butterfly in the

 twisting world, spinning around;

we keep spinning around the earth,

as it spins round day  and night,

our anger and  ill will have their

moments of success  and  defeats.

Moon

After   Guardian  (  Moon)        

Ye! Moon, much adored

by committed poets and wise

astrologers ! where did you go

into hiding? Sadly we all miss you.

When you come back in full forum

Of dignity and bright cheers, it is all

A boon for us. From my storied balcony,

You boom like a pot of Luck.

The mid sea reflection of yours

In sail and song steered by prolonged

Journey is a serene  beyond question.

No, you are not a trolley; smiley,

cool and how often favoring lovers

and  birds and travelers !

On earth, a supermarket trolley,

Moon,  you don’t care ;

There  a child claps stuffing

Evening  cake  in your mouth!

                                                                     

my inn

I retire from pomp and show,

din and bustle, retire to homely inn

of simple and low cot.

what are  mansions but show

where flamboyant wavy pet

your drinks and moods.

In this small inn, freedom

with free play, bright sun

to cheer up  with   champagne .

life of simplicity, abrogation of

falsehood and  grin and glamour,

I wear as armour in this inn.

Here is my peace and calm,

Here is my serene and yearn

to weave a carpet of my own.

After a full round of life,

The end of journey beckons

A New Beginning in the inn,

SMOG ( AFTER GUARDIAN)

SMOG ( AFTER GUARDIAN)

 I have so much to write,

 longer than ten novels immediate,

 more and more of themes and takes,

my small head cannot take as much,

though headache sporadic resting

upon my  forehead and  veins,

yet  a commitment like that of

God’s   Boon and  Assured Protection.

Under the sticky fog and smog,

always a  face-mask and  air -purifier,

noisy air pollution and traffic

unavoidable, pouring out  themes

and  thoughts ,colorless shapes in

heaps and  boundary less . pray for

a new  Science  be born to save these

 “breathing and coughing and dying

 too soon”.

Here for me, no love, neither love lost,

But  a  yearning passion to save these

Trodden by  penury and drudgery .

After Guardian( Green Boughs)

   After  Guardian  ( Green Boughs)

My young friends  are dead,

My beloved old generation,

my  bosom pals, strong pillars,

shoulders  right in earnest

moments of grief and  glue,

dipped in blue sitting on the

edge of  sad contemplation.

Girls unwed, those wedded

Loyal to their young exuberant

masters,  now bereaved, in soil

of sacrifice and warfare for the

sake of nation’s honor and pride.   

With sanguine thought steering

always the appropriate path;

All are gone, now;  Peace  and

Glory be to them all. Elders

Now rule the roost,always governed

by stupid rules, stringent laws

over the nation of  historic pride;

“And all my own generation
They have cast into the fire”.

Within a prison of four walls

Within a  prison of four walls

Me  a convict within a

Cell of four walls, all the

Time watching and hearing me.

I am a listener of my own

Heartbeat, faster than sentinels;

Don’t ask me how I landed there;

rounded up in streets by cops

along with others as unruly elements.

Other cases of criminals, not proven,

another cell, lathis and wailings of

shock treatments, pangs of brutal deaths.

A man at the corner has his own moorings:

This vast world, a  shell for us,

Our deeds or misdeeds.

Heaven or haven,we have to make

Visitor hours our time of  bliss!

else, a doleful day of guilt and corrosion,

ruling our passions, also guiltless moments;     

why his life? Why hypocrisy? Why

relentless move and meaningless clatter?

Besides, digging, watering, gardening

we have  to dig into many a dark cells,

water our hardened, palsy smitten spaces

of discussions and dingy rooms, stuffed

with irate ruminations clear up fast.

Heaven or haven,we have to make.

  

  

Strike it up Tabor

Strike it up Tabor

 Strike it up Tabor

We are in  party galore,

moods of singing and dancing roar

Strike it up Tabor,

well tuned strings afore.

My spirits  go about the maypole,

I will be blithe and  brisk,

Hop skip and  jump,

roll over the pole,

merge and mingle in the crowd.

My joints don’t ache,

my thews  grow strong,

We are in a frenzied

 Dancing mood.

Three poetess ( Guardian)

Three  poetess ( Guardian)

Three poetesses dressed in

full decorum, around polished

oval shaped table, group their

discussions on poetry and meter.

Suddenly   a man comes

 through  the back door

 on friendly note and terms,

smiles to begin a conversation.

Is he a poet, or a stranger?

a wizard, a  snow man dripping ?

or  a sage or miracle man

tying talisman to the needy?

The three are alive to the

Situation yet converse in

full throated ease, their

point of view tapping the Muse.

Just as  the door, air peeps in

and out, their books glow

turn the pages, the mirror

opposite reflect all in grandeur.

As he came, the figure walked out.

  

After---- Manhattan by Lola Ridge

After---- Manhattan by Lola Ridge

Out of the night,you burn, burn,

City’s attraction and fame

attracting vast tourists like

A sudden flame, numinous  

In its burning through :

Capturing markets and trade centers

Just as Gold in uppermost corners

Shining with a glow and  spark;

Jades and  blues almost fanning

Sky’s jubilant star kingdom.

Diaphanous gold in tall towers,

in stock markets  and  chambers

Of commerce   and   storied buildings

change hand to hand in different modes.

Trading  soaring into dizzy heights!

Nebulous gold, example of ephemeral

glory and vanishing principles rampant

in gambling and business shifts and lifts

mechanical in up and down exercises.

Still you glow glow into

ever-increasing charm

of full blown harvest nodding.

After Guardian ( A corner of the road)

After Guardian   ( A corner of the road)

As  I have  a  stroll in the wake

Of pristine Dawn, cool moon

Still shining, a gangly rose bush

Five flowers of hope and opulence

Spreading  aura along the pathway.

Constellation of the  Goat is there

glowing like  a message of   Messiah!

No drought! Water flows and pink

Blooming! but suddenly I witness

A reverse elsewhere “The ditch ran ink”

Is it due to the soil or the times?

Diurnal falling slow, night shadowed

by another shadow; I began to see,

me in helpless predicament. A ray

of  Hope  in the white sky

“Constellation of the Goat is there”

A Spirit breathes in

A  Spirit breathes in

It is not a  black granite

or  carved  idols  of some

Indian  deities we worship

by offerings of sandal paste,

fragrant flowers and holy waters,

It is not a blotched plant,

bunch of sacred leaves,

décor adorning the  urn,

sprinkles holy all around

the venerable spot of Belief,

Not the Mantra chanting

aloud  or  Vedic recitals

of scholars and erudite pundits,

propitiating   Gods and  angels

throughout the day from Dawn,

neither the offerings of

puddings and   rice cakes

of jaggery and pure ghee

flowing in plantain leaves

or holding in sacred vessels,

mind wandering elsewhere,

application rescinded or duplication

entertained with currency embalmed

in  conscience of convenience,

but a Firm Dedicated Spirit

of Absolute Surrender to  HIS WILL

that prevails His Domain and care.

After (The Quiet Snow by Raymond Knister)

  After  (The Quiet Snow by Raymond Knister)

Snow is speed enough

Static train or moving trucks

curvature of tracks, it snows,

merciless and snowy still.

Open the window ajar,

look through window.

If it is still snowing;

There is a space less

 rhythm in its fall,

 though may not be

in your flavor. All

activity in standstill,

yet moving ahead.

walkers  and  vendors

office goers and busy

commuters view this

mirage throughout.

Mirage for it is

melting soon.

All things ( after Guardian) Reformation

All things ( after  Guardian)

All things bright and   beautiful,

Polished by His creative, crafty  

Hands, shaping, allowing each

to his /her  karma /or karmic debt;

upon His first Creation,

 prismatic colors,

 chirping birds, in cages

 just as chained men,

seeking liberation,

animals in tents and

wild wood, roaming

and those tethered,

all have had free play.

Exploiting His freedom

 he  ends up in degeneracy.

His smallness is due

to his meanness, let

God be born again

amidst to nurture

Salvation and refinement.

Wig or periwig

  Wig or periwig

On a bright Sunday morn

She wakes her son up- soon

to be in barber shop, for

the bushy growth of hair

requires immediate cut

in his regular shop- she

vociferously taps him.

Sweat and swap,

thick and  curl,

knot and comb’s

plod - all weary

into a cluster of

rebelling force

of hanging on.

In front of the mirror

counting those lovely

Days of cute curls and

watching those  locks  

now fallen, cut short

in quick shots.

Like fallen angels, they look,

 some are lying flat,

now for upgradation: if it

is from women, those hair

 can go in for making

  false hair:  form men

where will they go?

Wig  or periwig?

Tersa Rima contest

Terza  Rima  contest

Spring  and  summer- two eyes  shimmer ever

Summer ! thou art  my   wholesome promenade

Immediate  pal  of propitious Spring,

Both swing with swift wings in  most esplanade.

Spring ye both   in your own  times, awesome ring

 Over roofs, rigmaroles of rich fragrance,

  pleasant as  palmyras’  in endless bring .

Bad  cold   defies not  your  exuberance

In spring blossoms, facades  and  summer shades.

Wintry bed coils calm   in its resonance .

Cokes  and  lemonade our   retreat in  glades,

Slant in grass  shiver less with   book of ryhmes,

 Blades of grass seasons’ heaven  in  high grades,

Summer  and   floral spring ever in thymes .

In pursuit of silk sari

In   pursuit of silk sari   

Read the variety of weavers and looms

in webs  and links  and  papers and TV ads,

much awaited discounts and   mega sales,

reach to get on showrooms much ahead!

Counter to counter varieties’ galore,

colors parade and  chequered   designs,

all in front of you, in broad spectrums,

eyes enchanted but mind still bemused.

At last, you pick one to cross check

if attached with blouse, broad pallu,

go for trimming and packing with

elegant box in cloth cover handy.

Straight it goes  into your wardrobe,

hanger  taking longer care;though

a fresh piece, you unfold it to let

air free and flexi   silken touch on.

Now comes the pleasant task of

choosing one auspicious day

and avoiding inauspicious time

to deck your much liked sari.

Greater surprise your grand daughter

next  morn  enrobes your  sari!