, Poem of the week: Prison Camp Violin, Riga by Robert Sheppard ( afer guardian)

My violin

It was a  German made violin

Which I bought on my own liking

And choice for my   passion for

Learning Violin was ingrained in my

Blood ; more and more from listening

To the sacred  instrument from expert

Players of world renown. Melody  entwined

With engross – we wonder.

Wood and  carving into shapes and

Strings,,tuning to pitches- your fingers

Play by the dictates of the bow up and down,

Jumping  into various lines .Eclectic notations

and  horse hair creating ripples and sensations

in you. How can be the voice inhuman?

when human craves for  Solace  and Divine

for his pained soul. My violin my sole  relief .

A TREE SPEAKS

A  tree  speaks

Black  or  nutty  brown,round or oblong

Whether farmers’ dutiful hands  sow

Or blown by wind’s thrilled  flow,

Or  low  lying until weatherd by climatic

Shifts to germination, these  seeds

Underground are calm to Sprout

Above ,exposed to the warm sun, like

Proud siblings, spread into multi branches,

 Sturdy twigs and leaves and fruits

 to cure thirst and ailment of many:

many passersby take rest under this

shady nook and corner and sleep till dawn

to do  business  and  play games .

Birds have no discrimination and rule

their  roost all over leafage.

Crows  and  pecking birds, parrots

sing  duets becoming our pets.

But, one day in the pretext of deforestation,

 We are felled and gone.

       

   

Please do not call me a pessimist

Please  do not call me a pessimist

This is a cruel world

Double diabolic cruel world where

less innocent, more cruel only survive:

Even the laws of nature are

tuned around more killings !

The lion  is  not  a  mighty warrior

 But  a   cruel monster, in  its orgy

 highlighted for its ferocity.

Rigid growling running after its fawn.

I shudder to see the ghastly even

In films, dare not go near the zoo.

 The Lion in man more often

Than not inherits the same ;

It is not the life giving source

But life taking force, blood

To sustain  another life.

Merciless is the  trigger of gunshot,

 I die hundred deaths ere I see such

Killings, be it hunters, or vengeful

Monsters or patriotic soldiers;

Under this cool moon, why hot blood?

Under  this suave  planet, why such

Barbaric  inroads into cut throat violence,

It is not  Death bleeding, it is not  Life bleeding,

It is  Human Heart bleeding to  endless fiasco.

Yonder  again, plotting parasites, shots,

I   run to a place of  calm and absolute serenity.

from The Gododdin by Aneirin ( GUARDIAN)

from The Gododdin by Aneirin ( GUARDIAN)

War Vine  and  Victory

 No  history without dates,

 No country without  wars

 and weapons and bloodshed.

 I  have read ,pride of weapon

 Was their  prowess,  their gamut.

 Leaving home and kin, the warfront

  Engaged them for months and  years

 Pain  and  loss  - engraved only

 On stones  and  books .

 Fearless they  were in

 Hiding with  guns and guts.

 Mead, not meadow is only

 their  reprieve. In death and

desolation  and there is sacrifice

and nobility. Army has its own norms

but ashamed to think even why

no  abrogation of arms and hatred?

Peace-should it be only in bloodshed?

It is an unanswered  question.

After Poem of the week: Us by Zaffar Kunial “ us”

  After  Poem of the week: Us by Zaffar Kunial    “ us”

“……When I was young,’us  equally  meant me,”

          Playing  and  sharing   breakfast  and

           Mingling with cowboys,  a   delectable

           Pleasure, I cannot describe.        

 Yes! I am united in one  word ‘us’.

  The  stars  pouring on  us,

 Twinkling as if  a  Blessings

 For all of us, born into this  earth;

  Unfold able   firmament

  A mystery  as far as we can go;

  A part  of  this  galaxy,

  The   Blue  in unruffled weather,

   tossing waves, hijacking whales

  the lone hut, once   habituated full

   by my   kith and  kin,encompassing

    now ‘us’ is  entwined in all.

Living  and enduring and  enjoying

Between  there is love  and  loss

You and  me  and us in all

Always the same to see   and  endure.

Its is colorless   and  clueless  and

Endless . Something in me  augurs

Feeling of ‘us’ is both for comfort and concern.