After Guardian  --The Horse and the Monkey by Mary Jean Chan

What does it matter?

Let them call me a  donkey

Let them brand you a  jumping

Monkey,or  vice versa , as long as

You and I are knit together in a

 Bond of incessantly tied up

togetherness and  long relationship;

you respect my sentiments, equally

I go by your dictum of leadership

In the sacred  well being  of  our threshold;

Under  the sun and stars, we are all ,

Ought to be governed by the common

Wholesome principle of love ,

Give and take  and mutual  respect.

Our mothers should always continue

To love and teach us tolerance.

What if we move like monkeys to move

And horses  to run from place to place

Tree to tree as long as there is one

Common point of togetherness,

Reach and  rivet in our cozy hearth

Of love  and affection and loyalty.

I am not professional singer

I am not a professional singer,

Nor a proclaimed composer,

Nor can my unmeditated art

As one may term it at his will,

Soothe your ills, or cool your

Disturbed thoughts .My Muse

Inspired by her  dictum like the

Ancient saying  or  scriptural truths

Governed by laws of Nature,

Tapping my voices  to sing or

Compose, at intervals, those

Profuse outcomes are final

 Juicy fruits filling  our thirst.

I seen in records, in my physical eyes

Those that live by rote  and write,

The  dead and eternal ,living and  

Wandering  all--   day and nights

Keep write for some reason or rhyme.,

Sad or sanguine, pine  or peace,

As SUN  and STARS shine and hide,

Again back in the orb, as seasons flow

In turns   the Art of Writing will flourish,

As Music like ripples go in veins of

Musicians and strings unbounded.

Our accustomed   turmoil,

Our pathless struggles and pains,

Hidden stories in our rocky hearts,

Coveted desires stay , some to be

Slain, some to be prolonged until

Filtered like sediments in the bottom;

All reflected in the mirror of letters.

There is  no Death to  these forms

Long live, literature, long life Music.

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 scloars 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.

 

Smart phones

SMART PHONES

  Bus horns and  bikes
  jarring around our busy  schedules
  like cattle  bells hanging round
  our  crossing lanes and lines across;
   But something  in   our   palms  or bags,
   our fingers can  access  and scroll,
   a ringtone, vibrations  or loud message
   vital signals as important as our breaths!
   calls continuous  or hoax  our ears are tuned
   for our lives in  post modern age, as fast as
   our fast food and   burger  a  bonanza, you
   may call it.   Uploads  and updates  cropping up
  like  magic tricks and  glowworms. At one   click
  mobile transactions, with guards  checking;
  they are  OTPS  with send  and resend commands.
   I tunes, google  and twitter all in one small box, 
   Facebook and email yahoo - all in compressed
  smart phone, globally knit; camera  with zoom
  and shrink  smarter than real shows.  A  sketch
  thumbnail , mode of ruminations at your will.

His benign look is rich enough

 His benign look is rich enough.

Dont call me filthy rich
for I own some landed
property, all of  my own
sweat  and   blood, ground
still wet with smell of toil
grounded in sickle and bent;     
 self   earned income;

No pride of rental income
 nor any booming flow of
harvest and copious corns,
for aridity and parchment
strikes here, parchement
in man's tongue and heart
like whirlpool rolling on;

 somewhere  far off, cascade
of water flow as if catchment areas,
could be  cheering dawn in my heart
of hope and  undulated Faith
consoling like a Mantra from Heaven.
I move on, there is no time for specuation.
Time's serendipity in and out pouring .

In praise of thee, oh! my tree

In praise of thee, oh my tree

My parrot pecked  and chirped

many a  call of melody  to this

world of  malady sinking in plotting

parasites veering around us;

cool zephyr  fanned by  aurora

steady  blowing, tree’s bliss and pride,

now touching upon branch after

branch, withering away yellow leaves;

beneath thy shady nook and corner

many a  devout,schlorlay  sage

have done penance for the sake

of worldly redemption,

when one morning  for timber’s sake

an axe had befallen the brown layers

panicking all   caves and inmates;

the thud  had spread on the floor.

Muse had silently spread all her

Wings of poesy and creativity,

Now in books and  broad shelters

Some even  bitten by insects ;

I always think of that Fruit

wrought so much  here, yet

to thee ,thy shade, hanging boughs

my rhyme ever sings a rhapsody.