sailing blissfully in the happy new year

 sailing blissfully in the happy new year 2022

In pursuit of a philosophy Radhamani sarma

 

Poem of the week: The Jailbird by Maurice Riordan

  In pursuit of a philosophy:

 Often a  persistent feeling rouses in me

 An awareness, of something new, strange,

 unusual, requires my visits, my scrutiny,

  Break from routine, from shell;

 but from sometime, it was in isolate ward,

 within the corner of my heart, soul’s room, 

  in its own ward, overcoming all temptations,

t times, yields no doubt some small tempts, harmless,

 yet, an awareness taps it, for  the soul to break

away, from the   little  show, to higher realm;

now is the time to rise skywards, 

soar higher in pursuit of  a philosophy.

 

Watch over pool

 

 

Watch over pool

 

Looking from atop

 So many  in our purview,

taking us by surprise, cool,

a  pool   comforting spirit,

where a frog  jumping ,

your jump too entwined.

Why there are  more in number

One after  another,  their homes;

Tadpoles breed, in calm,

 encouragement for writers,

a comparison with imitation

for their writing oeuvre;

 you see a whirl in water,

stirring in circles, big and small

a drawing in water perhaps;

dry roots are part and parcel

of life circle,  allowing predation

in multiples;  flora  and  fauna

all looking for  radiance.

Poem of the week: Wherever I Go … by Jennifer Rahim (After Guardian)

 

 

Wherever I go,

Land or river, or sea

keeps me and my being

afresh with a feel of cling,

a bond of not dilution

at any cost; nor digression;

I hold in esteem

the place, the soil, the ground,

always a merry go round,

those I left long ago,

or they that are far away ;

so many   washed eggs

on shore, so much white surf

break and splash, yet on the same

unique time-honored path;

after all travel, come back

to same home and peace.

 

 

 

Poem of the week: Homesick by Hugo Williams

 

Where  are these young and innocent

lost perhaps from their home towns,

Or hired for labor, escaping from servile

authoritative  handcuffs, landed here

with wounds or cuts or injuries,

could be in search of jobs in this hospital

where I am lying sick, similar to their predicament.

So much in their faces, I can read 

faces  are maps , depicting sad irony,

plights or missing their parental affection;

 now they tend  to care for me,  spirit

of dedication and  service, unquestioned;

 my nurses, these lost souls, me  longing

for change to go back to my village,

all sail in the same boat, going back

 to our villages ,our places of  roots.

 

After Guardian’s Rest.

 

 

After Guardian’s  Rest.

 

Oh! Earth, be close with her

Always wary and care for her well-being,

 Extend your hand of reason, a realm

Fair in times of distress  and digression,

Share  her merry laughter  and mood,

Till her time fate sealing her end,

 Slowly lead her to the moment of silence

and resignation, song and celebration

Serenity and lull for another move;

Still getting shaped and silent.

She  closes  her eyes, against her will

Her body unmoving on a cot,

All by herself,  only Eternity hugs her

For another world, realm, and garden,

Where she reaps plenty of peace.

 

Poem of the week: Montale’s Lemons by Ishion Hutchinson

 

 

Poem of the week: Montale’s Lemons by Ishion Hutchinson

 

 How much of lemon flows..

How much of lemon and   lemonade flow….

In her  home of  summer garden

 Yellow lemons as big as   big

as her jewel box, special mellow

coming out of orchard, where boys

buoyant with kites  play and aim

lemons, no longer they are toys to play;

 

lemons, trees, special aura from garden

as if from their jar just pounded lemons

with juice and flavor to serve a treat

of some VIPS and guests of gathering vital.

Majestic, the master of the house enters

Not askance at the boys, but with all

endeared looks of favor and affinity.

 

Swinging a   book of classics in his hand,

Master looks up at those of luminescent

Lemons hanging as if attached to the leaves.

All to feel at home, to feel the imbibe aura

of lemon and lemonade, a victorious flag  atop.

 

My home, my place of remedy and calyx

Where lemon blossoms are  handy in all shapes.

Glory of morn (for Oct 2021) RADHAMANI

 

 

Glory of morn      (for   Oct 2021)

 

His milking the cow

In the early morn,

when dawn and wisdom

Of  sunlight  merge

in his   agile fingers

managing the show.

Indeed a tough show

for the dead calf  all tied

made to stand before the cow

to give a fond affection, by lick.

 

 

it is not an easy show,

for  pity for dead  and alive

runs in between there;

  the owner and sweet

cute little girl   of five

witnessing agile the usual;

a custom she does not

want to miss, for the

taste of first sip of milk

child eager   NOT to miss

 

fresh and accustomed;

far  off   somebody stands

for a philosophy, to be

comprehended complete:

why almost  an adage

somebody’s toil

 elsewhere the beneficiary.

Happening  around us

Happening now unquestioned.

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

All by yourself Radhamani sarma

 

Poem of the week: Musings by William Barnes

All by yourself

A summer  to behold, to experience

With all flowers  and gatherings,

by pool and pond and kites and fishing nets

A joy pure in summer.

By my side, summer fair, dealing fair,

 Visits to city  fair  in colorful apparels

Unique  and till evening sharing all joy!

Sunsets  with colorful ambience,

But my mood of writing by river,

Unbated with my quill and flair,

no girl in the past, no love failed,

for home  and duty replete with care :

time’s calculation  in different compartment,

makes me set on another  journey,

coals ’coats  and jerkins in wintry bed

 make me ruminate on  different shed,

seasons  and shifts are there permeate,

but nothing like fair summer in bloom

and trees’ blossom with fragrance

all touch and go  your mood  and mind

summer  grand is on its bloom.

Poem of the week: Before the Map by Carola Luther ( guardian) Night’s warmth they are:

 

Poem of the week: Before the Map by Carola Luther ( guardian)

Night’s warmth they are:

We need our imagination,

We need our specific likes

to be explored and effected;

 I write, I sense a special 

sense of hills, their stay

by mound and by floors,

 I call them, cows, cattle,

 the waste, the mound

 the coil to roll, create

 a mood of mystery and awe.

In my mind’s map 

they keep rolling 

I keep assigning them

their own places, status,

smells and distance,

 my pastime, my pleasure;

in the world vast, they 

give me company immense

in their innocence, ignorance.

Multidimensional approach

 

 

Mystery surrounds us

My school days adventure

 by the riverside of gurgling pot,

the pond where  fish and salted pickle

for curd rice serve appetizer ;

my school days of charm and play,

sky changing color, sudden clouds

sweep into your nerve for your 

home without electricity, home

without the modern unfractured,

hurdle for your studies, inculcating

fear at the same time, for the nights

eerie and make you feel some spirit

around you keeps always watching;

  

A fear always runs through,

Fear for your living in and around

Your village where belief and charm

Mostly govern every move, every hour

arresting your furthering stand;

grandma’s stories, grandma’s belief,

akin to that of mysterious things

in life, water encircling, the currents,

the force and power, a redoubled mystery

 governing all .Eternity and death

already in and around the spirits,

where and why they lead, I know not.

Running after the sudden light

 

Running after  the sudden light

Where is the light from?

Where is the power from

to this floor of   keen and delve?

Nodding grass, the puffed wind,

The green smell in dawn’s wake,

the light,  my awareness that

we all fly on the wings of Time.

What you call, sudden awareness,

 A mood, salient best befitting your

 Line falling into mine, Time sets 

Everything right. I have sensed this

In a mood of rumination, a mindset

Converting this light into mine;

A sort of after life for both

Prediction a safe sail and move

When you and I will have  Time

 A different in its soul,

Merging with our soul.

Till my last my love for thee:

 Poem of the week: Love and Death by Lord Byron

Till my last my love for thee:

What can separate us both

clinging to each, so loyal,

So strong and sturdy, every moment:

I watched you in all my earnest.

Every distraction on your side

away from my genuine move,

every affectionate step unalloyed

from me, my words beyond  articulation.

Fever or earthquake or fury 

of nature in all its tides,

overpowering mankind, 

but you shall be away from all.

Me wrought in pangs and fury

 of convulsions, saddened by those

days of earning and love,

dipped in robe of loyalty, still;

I will rock in earthquakes,

Roll in drums of wars and vigor,

Whether you reciprocate 

Or not, still love you till my last.

Poem of the week: The Wife of Usher’s Well

 She was  a wealthy woman

of  care  and  caution and pure,

Who had brought up her  gifts,

three sons, whom she bestowed,

personal care and affection

unalloyed all along.

When one morning they left home

Hopefully for better prospects,

She waited with cool and positive

Patience, her  home always with prayers

and  chanting both morn and eve.

Whereabouts of three  she is yet to know

Some said,   could be they were drowned,

Some opined, they were abroad,

 Some felt, collective business loss,

Hence, they would return after a long,

 Northward would she always pray,

 For the return of her blessed three;

She woke up from sleep and anxiety,

“That her children would come 

but will not stay along,”    was  it a mystery,

Or weird, a prediction from far off?

Her motherly affection wants 

at least once their face, their smile,

Their company, rest, leaving it to Time.

 

Poem of the week: The Concert by Edna St Vincent Millay

All  on a concert

This argument between them

equally agile and in fighting  mood

like a bouncing  ball in a fierce  hand:

all  for permission to go to concert

since music in her  blood, unabated;

she   pleads, cringes, stoops

out of affection and company in hall

where time spent with him will be time

precious and smooth; yet his concurrence

is awaited.

A singing   town can I imagine?

 Does  she  enact an  opera, does

She  hear  a military dialogue

Or love  and hate  throwing 

Weapons  and  bloodless  wound?

Winning at last with her winning

Words prevailing upon him,

till now  unyielding, she gets ready

dresses  up   for  a change 

only to come back smiling 

endearing for a fresh start.

Thames’ charm, a magic…

 

Poem of the week: Thames by John Challis

‘ Thames’ charm, a magic…

Thames! Oh! The very name sounds 

like a magician, like wonder working 

machine in my mind, triggers a salient

 norm running   through whole day;

All days’ accumulation, running in its pile,

gathering of waste and sagged iron,

rusty musty wooden carves, bolts, sediments,

boats and commuters, Thames unyielding

finds a space within its space, a lure 

 to visitors; reveling from unfading sight

of unbounded joy, pulsating within;

Thames resurrects the past, history, hidden

mysteries, “drowned possessions”, jewels,

 coins, submerged souls tied up to boats,

a belief all proved to be futile, nullified,

now the blessed hour, turn of Thames,

undogging all agile farmers, resurrectionists,

those  ill-fated with suicidal tendencies;

a time for mourning for Thames, how

to surmount the chaos, Nature’s wrath

all past and recurring bow? Still finding 

a space to sleep, or rest, or  in its own

dream world, where is there is no space.

HADE OR FADE AFTER ‘Poem of the week: Sonnet 65 by William Shakespeare’

 

SHADE  OR FADE 

AFTER  ‘Poem of the week: Sonnet 65 by William Shakespeare’

LOVE and love’s rays 

Sing a song of radiance 

 with its abiding notes,

in summer’s lasting day,

its rays prevail over young

those in deep love;

no stone, nor weapon, 

nor angered throw 

shall withstand their sway;

their love like tender flower

nothing can suppress,

yet  stubborn sway persists

what can undo the dying ?

  the young don’t believe in time

nor do they rebel, yet a will

carries them ahead, bend them

to annihilation in days 

resistance  and not yield.

 

Walking along the green path

 Poem of the week: Beer for two in Böckler Park, Berlin by Lucy Burnett

Walking along the green path

Walking along the green path

You asked me love poem

but I composed a voluminous 

book of writes running beyond

describes and my cherished feeling 

running every nook and corner.

Tiling my umbrella protecting

You, I promised I would always

Stand by you in rain and sunshine;

A ring for your ring finger, 

Smile pouring out from your

Jubilant face, hugging me

With all warmth and innocence.

Waiting for a great day 

When our two hearts and souls

and bodies in unison celebrate

HIS move, now a coke 

Would we revel in .

Not that easy to say good bye

 Not that easy to say  good bye

Not that easy  to say  good bye

Welcome, welcome, we all like 

  the note and tone, cordial and congenial,

 but to bid good bye is sad and severe,

strict to your heart to digest;

yet some moments and times,

testing and teasing beyond your patience

drawing you  for more solution.

The  sea is  calm, full of lull, 

As if to partake of my farewell,

 Not upsetting my mood and mindset,

A baggage full of memories 

Cannot be erased, still and steady

  Wherever I am , waves  and shores

Recall me, the same sail and spot.

Poppies ( after guardian)

 After  guardian

We  are called poppies, 

Red in color, large  and boom

Governed by our own norms

and ethics, growing strong

we  are  like humans, share

our feelings, be it summer

or winter, but man is yet

to understand our moods;

our leader from above, 

the sun shines bright  and 

we have special   cordial 

note of permission to view

and imbibe warmth from sun;

 we  like to have the same

openness from mankind,

same colorful cordiality

ever lingering among us;

urge in us always  there

but humans lag behind;

one among is bold, make

us shine in group and bolder;

but growing depredation

killing us, taking our breadth 

away, we only seek solace

only from leader sungod.

n the eyes of the old and aged,

 

 

In the eyes of the old and aged,

all new and strange with warp

taking  a  mould  out of tune

and out of times, their own course,

 

where  questioning and quarrelling

grow bigger than reasoning

like sediments stuck up in zinc,

a process  hard  and difficult to remove.

 

handy wool in  dexterous ambience

yet  grandma’s eyes  synthetic  transparent

 getting torn pieces lie like abandoned

puppy in porch curled up  its future bleak.

 

grinders  and  mix  advanced yet

tongue and taste the same for all those

who believe in tradition  not short course.

She  believes not being vociferous.

 

What  about those days of carts

not cars when life dragged  by poor

and struggled :  now luxury eating

man’s conscience and control.

 

 

 

 

Once upon a time

 

Once upon  a  time

 

Once upon a  time

tossing up a  toy

Waiting for its return

Catching up to throw back

was  his  feat  and pastime.

 

Now he is in a different world

Not ruled by toys  and kites,

Nor small cycle rides, nor

On rocking horse when flying

With wild imagination high.

 

In a room of his own,

Desires  not his, but ruled

by instincts, dominated 

by jealous multiplied

quick turns of money making

 

rackets, mirage or miracle

only Time should descend

to prevail upon. All around

fake discipline intruding ,

questioning his spirits “why” ,

 

he is in doldrums,

knows  not how to convert

the whyness   into wellness,

no toy around , but only

mugs  and key boards ;

 

waiting  for his Muse

to spread  around

her  magic wand

so that he will be back

to childhood days innocent.

 

 

 

 

fter Guardian :Phantom or Fact: A Dialogue in Verse

   After  Guardian :Phantom or Fact: A Dialogue in Verse

What is that form that set in

Surreptious by my bed, cool 

and tender, nearer to my sway,

me wondering, if it  is a sudden 

angelic beauty with a silken cloth

wooing me with  endearing smile,

so sudden its arrival, a mystery

evolves around questioning if

it is   the doings of heaven or earth;

or gentle  bewitching into my soul,

sometime   back, it coiled around

in not so beautiful form, effacing

my youthful jollity and mirth,

into my mirror often, tapping 

its source; wait for both;

now comes a different form

friendly   shape, awakening 

dream or time playing  cards,

a game of strife or emotion

still a world of  conundrum 

Leaf color ( guardian)

 

Leaf color  ( guardian)

What greater grin and your pain 

of morn can you see than in gathered

leaves   spread in garden, once your

copious flow of green and verdant full; 

 now shining yellow with dimmed brown

swallowing green, borders on pond,

what do they teach us, tell us in this

fast decadent world, intense loosening

our hope, artificiality in seeds   dipped

by pests  and withered corners; not 

much swallows nor crows with cries

echoing the fields parched now;

our days are gone, with colorful

fruits hanging quench thirsts then.

Now only shadows in parchments.

Look up to skies for mercy and pour.

After Guardian ( …. It was my destiny to live long.

 

After  Guardian ( …. It was my destiny to live long.

Ten years of  cancer 

Struggle with drive and alone,

At times with rumination 

in  corner with lymph nodes,

Doctors’ notes on prescription

With chemo, death chasing me 

Slow and steady, fear running 

Across, eating me alive.

Death chasing me down

Not knowing that equally 

With vigor and will  I am 

Fighting back; Death chasing 

Me down ;with a warning

My days are numbered.

My deaths every minute

 unfulfilled like lines

extending in artists’ sketch

unabated  sill; desires,

 ageless norms, debts 

 and unsolved mysteries,

death chasing me down,

death on its adamant

steps giggling at me

me , reciprocating

with a reconciliatory 

smile, embrace sleep.

A maid.. ( after Guardian)

 A  maid, ….

What a morning to receive a call!

eager  to receive new assignment

with all anxiety to know about

surroundings, to know more about 

inmates, the   involved merits ;

 roses colorful in bloom and nourish

 infusing a fragrance of enthusiasm

among   inmates all around.

A special, notation of roses all colors,

Invitatory smell an ambience of sacred

event, permeating through all pantry too,

cook, with all right tasting smell

all dish and rule.   There comes agog

house keeper, slowly with a look of concern

looking all around the merriment

going on, helpless she is.

Our expectations are different

From reality, occurrences with a sudden

flip of happenings veering into maze.

 

A final command (After Guardian)

 

A final command  (After  Guardian)

After years of suffering 

Time has come at last,

A voice from some  corner

Unable to decipher;

Go away from me, yet

My mind unwilling to accept

your suggestions, your way 

of recompense these times. 

The life led by us, moments

of memory, petty issues, unsolved

queries, still lingering, as fragrance

in pet jar, even after its exhaustion;

wine and sunshine, jar and dice

play and fun all in our lives,

till, chord of separation is struck;

with a final appeal to Sun god

my soul merges with the one

appeal for unification. Thank 

God for all blessings.

Nocturnal reverie After guardian

 Nocturnal reverie

A pleasant walk and lonely light

There is a song of philomel, a mild

 Cool air permeates, the tree mute 

Witness to owl on the branch, silent

watching; nodding grass in the banks,

cool moon on bench and shadow

on the banks – all  kinds of flowers

interplay, all  imaginative free play

 serenade on wings of leaves and falls;

a poet never leaves  Nature’s   beauty,

nor do objects of nature forsake a real

poet’s moods and serendipities; cows

and sheep , swallow  and bluebird  group 

 in a form of meadow, these happenings

in the fertile  free play of poet, magician,

nocturnal events in  daylight reverie of poet;

but somewhere , the crudity of unthinking man

taps, in its own way. All rage subdued, all

rigor controlled, all peace renewed in the 

morn, with rays rewinding morn and noon.

Poem of the week: Anima Anceps by Algernon Charles Swinburne

 

 After Poem of the week: Anima Anceps by Algernon Charles Swinburne

A while away 

----------------------

Spring showers

Soon  cold nod 

Of biting chill

In your room 

where your cozy

writing obstructed

by throat infection,

close your tap, away 

from your laptop;

soul’s journey 

into long forgotten

souls’  end dead

bereaved untimely

same time into realm

of birth and growth

ripped short by cruel

hands of fate  and Time.

Yet more room for flesh.

Sorrow  yields to morrow

Joy doused by painful ire

moods   and gain all in sink

to be submerged into basin;

far off  ugly premonition

yells often  making you ready

for realm not liked but only read

in scriptures  and books;

yet back to life  and dizzy song.

Poem of the week: from War of the Beasts and the Animals by Maria Stepanova

 

Poem of the week: from War of the Beasts and the Animals by Maria Stepanova

It was a horrid night

watching over  the window,

not merely  sleepless  night,

but birds   among birds, four legged

in mutual cacophony disturbing

stillness of night. Not merely 

sounds of human bickering,

volley of  shots nonstops amidst 

blood shed  and wail, but also

a different from bird calls,

shots piecing through birches

and branches, twigs  and leaves

not  a momentary threat to birds

but scarry noise from gun pellets;

 some wounded in search of shifts,

dying soldier passing on gesture

for water, dead  just now, all 

for nation  and creed  merge 

with birds  and animals, poet

feels sorry for scant respect lives.

After Guardian

 Norfolk  and  Lambeth go in history

Wars and fights get recorded

Losses  and   victories get embedded

in books of history for  people 

to read, feel and mourn and praise;

Clere saved  his friend Howard

A move selfless  and out of affection;

What ever be the result, we struggle

leaving result to Him, the creator,

believing in Him, for  the finale.

He who fought for his friend 

  Saved his friend, but   it is the

Situation, circumstance beyond 

Control, redeemer was pained,

Yielded  to a cause of his friendship.

In your wounds, there is time the healer.

In her world of Karma

 In her  world of Karma

 Her  day of writing

is not about costly fur coat

which hangs around  her

and  a few known;

 not about wardrobe and bedecked neck-

jewelry studded in   glittering stones.

 

Then what?

A day of scorching summer heat

On her head of pot brimming

with gurgling water equally hot,

her hand on hip for a supportive clip

while her sandals draw unsteady flip flops.

 

Each careful step aligned

with a concern of her child

in cloth cradle hanging from beam

of  dilapidated haven, a lullaby

by its elder sister echoing her still.

 

Reaching  the blessed  home

for some  lean  protection it gives

 for she is the sole bread winner

disowned by her husband  long ago.

Blessed landlord in wretched times!

 

Her  contacts not, never,

in swim bath suits  and 

rich flavored juice in jars

morning and noon in cool sips

matter of distance for this poor.

 Her improvised kitchen

Catering to her bare needs

Compels her to sing s self made

Song of karma , her  karma

Why this on her hearth and how long.

 

 

My mother says no after ( Guardian) Radhamani sarma

 My mother  says no after ( Guardian)

Yes! That Bloomsday sounds very important

in my resounding diary, making me visit often

the crucial moments of care  and  recipient.

Wheeling   elderly and aged, in my home,

my priority, for years with   commitment 

and devotion unmatched, driving me proud

for the blessing and healing it involves.

Personal care, veering moment after moment

Round the clock, for the   realization, this one

Birth, and life evolve around affection

And nothing but mutual affection. 

But the mother slowly in her own world 

Of past, her days, irredeemable, peculiar

Dream world beyond my comprehension;

Still my care persists; comfortably she sleeps

In her own world, cherishing memory of her

Husband, with whom, she had special days,

I am not wanted, now, slowly she merges 

Into a different round of entity, me, after all

Watching the dumb show.

Poem of the week: Nocturne by Wanda Coleman (after guardian)

 Poem of the week: Nocturne by Wanda Coleman (after  guardian)

I  move  in a steady pace, measured beats,

 Monitored by a steady tongue, for they say

tongue is a  powerful and balancing  fork;

I hum and run in smooth, unfaltering pace,

Governed by a smooth rhythm, its own pace,

But how long it lasts, is a question, how fast,

another, running a quest in search of death;

a departing point, “point of departure”

a stunning myth, direction towards

a dead end, irredeemable, towards

another border, new port, dark,

unpleasant and dismal, mind cant digest;

all this happening while running, running

beyond  a  mythical dark, or dark myth

mind is irreconcilable for this running ? 

After Square ( Guardian) Tishani Doshi

 After  Square   ( Guardian)  Tishani  Doshi

What is a square ? always a question,

Is  it  diagram, a figure, a graphic

Limited space, unique in my  mind.

A wooden framework, human invention,

image full of hidden crafts, would have been

arts embedded in it. Square is my home, serene

where frames of godheads are hanging 

on the wall. On extension, it is my garden,

where  sanctified aura blooms in  multiples.

Another square, cells multiple within our

Fragile body, again another side, a slow

Demarcation with the passing of time; 

When drawing close, when square shakes, 

falling from structures, become one 

mud, still it is a square, inimitable its way.

 

After Guardian ( Lucifer takes a break)

 

After  Guardian ( Lucifer takes a break)

All of us need  a break, even Gods do:

All work and no play, all work and no fun

Will  not work out for us  these  hard times,

 Body and mind need  a break , inevitable break,

 To churn chaos to order, to make  coffee  out 

Of  watery milk, need  some leisure  and patience

Inevitable break. Do you wander in these  aimless

World or wonder  how far is the distance 

from above to  these testing soil   with  times hard,

once  you are  in , do you taste  a sip of drink

strange, without sugar or less  sugar;

don’t you know man, life is  bitter struggle

here , not a sweet corn to be tasted, yet

man imbibes  a bitter sweetness for 

circumstances  beyond control.

What lies behind defeat and death Radhamani sarma

 

 What lies behind defeat  and death

The  hot days with hot pellets of gunshots

fiery raging with  angered valor and   courage

to defeat  our rivals, same hot blood still

amidst us from our trench, some from the

field, blood running like water, after all

the battle field is like child’s play;

unabated  vendetta  and ill will, the same

mood of violence prevailing after fire

quenched here  and there. We  fell  to the

ground with wounds  and breath hanging 

flimsy within  the orbed wall, much to the

 fear  and suspense of fellow warriors;

sudden, dismay, some falling like dusk

not knowing what is the next step, some 

still with a will to fight adversary, we  the

lying on the floor, not knowing, not fleeing,

still with a  pride,  a feel that we fought to 

redeem the honor of our country. Victory,

real victory lies still an acceptance that

though you fell, fell   and fled , fled for a

cause of a nation, matter  of pride, not defeat. 

omposed after "American Sonnet for My Past and Future Assassin Heal the wound, be blind to infliction

  Composed after   "American Sonnet for My Past and Future Assassin

 Heal the wound, be blind to  infliction

Live in the future, forget the past  and plan

for  your future is not my mood or motto now;

I live a world of my own, the deadly past haunting

me  over again, the present with its immediacy

appears elusive, but my  future with a strong hold

taking structures  on  a strong  platform ,my

prudent coined mound, unfaltering now

 before me .A  beautiful garden planting

rose, jasmine  and tulsi leaves  multicolored

and fragrance far reaching , my dream's 

aid from morn till evening, I keep travelling 

far  and wide, yet home is my ulterior savior

where  color  and chaos thwarted  by my 

 Mentor's    feather touch. In killing does not

live life, life lives in saving and protection plan;

introspection  and self awareness  order

of the day , forging ahead for a success.

Life is gritty void bugging all around

 Life  is  gritty void bugging all around

Hardly any space for us go out

and  breathe natural air, to play

game in broad day light with sanguine

mood to be culled into  the net around;

pollution, noise, gas and smoke 

all around, without   which mankind

is loggerheads with his self, despite

comforts  surge like mountain ranges,

like elephants rampaging forests, plantain

trees  and groves, hazards  and environmental

hiccoughs rummage our lives. Day and nights

vie with air pollution and noise pollution,

we  keep our fingers crossed waiting 

for sanguine  outcome, but heading 

towards  puffs of smokes blinding us .

after Guardian's

 This misty air...........

Life   as  committed soldier

 In the  warfront, in the urge

and wake of enthusiasm,

is life to be  celebrated  worth

A memory for years in history;

But to be treated like a slave,

to be  exploited, to be put

on garbs of starvation and thirst

a memory and moment to be erased.

Together in the same cell

 Tied up to their stories

Of village folk, to be behind

The scene of horrid happenings

How long – is their question.

Whole city, whole air infested

With pollution, poison and

Death and acrimony, running

Beyond remedy and  guilt

has left almost all, for their

need, is the essential want of hour.

Slave trade  and trafficking

Brutal argument with arrows

and chained metals their

day’s  thrills  and ends

when peace   mantra of desolate

of so many now  left on trees  and void.

from far off  a song of nothingness

amid  mist , mist of torpor

and  blood thirsty  resounding

every where. For some

only hope is the solace.