(105) A busy road in our view

(105) A busy road in our view


We drive along the green savannas too,
as green as the cherished ambition of the
Schoolboy’s future plan to be executed,
nearing the metropolitan road thronged,
Sellers’ shouts of coffee, tea bread and butter
Keep the day going, going, going.
The uncovered pits distract us
abominably shocked at the careless ,
callously kept man-holes, or death traps,
the jumping vehicles counteract hump teen
speed-breakers, perfectly shaped mounds
upside turn us to break the speed
of our lives, the crossed buffalo criss-crossed
by the laden lorry, the foul pungent smell of
the dog’s death, the garbage piles await
the arrival of the young, helpless urchins
to help themselves, the beggar’s hungry looks ,
the broken coconut chips outside
the temple, the act of the devotees amplified,
the autos replete with kids to school,
the lunch bags peeping outside,
water tankers wetting the road by wasting
through the pipes, the temple elephant
bound by the mahout, the sudden wonder of
street children, the traffic blocked;
my pen scribbles hurriedly on the pad,
the versification takes a zig zag route,
to circumvent the busy road,
The busy road, the busy road.

(104) Mirrors

(104) Mirrors



What do you call those white-glazed tiles?
Shiny , resplendent in the bath-room,
be friended by the showers of the oval-shaped bath tub?
reflected and refracted by the Belgium white mirrors,
as candid and as outspoken as the innocent children:
The bordering wooden frame nailed to the walls
forcibly yet protect the mirrors.
The mirrors sympathize like a generous lord:
You give a congenial smile,
 they are equally reciprocal,
your friendly warm laughter
doubled up by the pearly teeth,
doubled before you, definitely not dubious,
your spotted white garment
conspicuous before you, guilty,
gains at your carelessness,
your dyed hair,yet,reminds the fact,
age has indeed withered you,
you are conscious of your image,
you hold your four year old baby,
the chiselled creamy set of teeth,
embodies perfection and purity
as pure as raining droplets,
the splash of water drops in the mirror,
the nasty feel of belligerent scoop
of cockroaches, nibbling insects and pests
A blurred visibility, why this intrusion?
We are the exclusion with our carelessness.

(103) Christmas and New Year.

(103) Christmas and New Year



Ending bygone year beckons the New Year,
ushering into happenings and events galore,
mending old and yielding new and novel,
A fresh hope which the advent of Christmas to unravel.

The Birth of Christ , an event joyous and auspicious,
with cakes and candles and candelabrum(s),
the celebration which many look forward with carols,
for kids and children an aura of amplified bliss.


Yet for the poor urchins and the pauper,
a day of contentment with the wrapper
of stale bread and dried orange
A luxury which they alone can image.

Can the beggar in the street and the blind
be proud of New Year and Christmas ?
when belly is pinching and tongue parching,
will the balloons and pictures be enamouring?

Merry is a misnomer for him in the street,
whose piper is the sole comfort ,
misery and penury tie him to his fate,
till Time alone should redeem him trite!

Life for him is a barren and jejune as a balloon
will Santa Claus and cherry cake conjoin
to transmute misfortunes to miracles?
will it lead to him to a sea-change of bliss?


Yet the sombre and cold December comes and goes,
January with a fresh lease of hope leaps and bounds .

(102) Love's Lure

(102) Love’s lure



Love’s Lure.
Yonder a picture on the wall,
A mendicant with a motherless child
with a bowl of coins to proclaim
his double penury jingling, jingling,
a young tender girl sheds tears
to share her love with lone sufferer.
Oh! The four –lettered word Love,
with myriad word-- counts and meanings:
when Love’s anchor unfolds
the arenas and offspring are many,
The history of creation
for all propagation and procreation
is due to love, conjugal love,
Adam fell out of Love for Eve,
an act of negation and for
Mankind’s immediate incarceration.
A slave’s manumission sought,
out of love for freedom,
and dignity for his self.
The Almighty protects His creation
out of sheer Love,
His clemency for the cruel,
Forgiveness for wicked and vile,
is it not for the love of
His own creatures?
Just as a musician plays
with his notes,
the poet puns with his words,
Out of sheer love for his artefact,
A stroke of brush for the painter
to paint the love’s lure,
A pure love for hi s profession,
The entire universe in nocturnal silence,
for humanity is locked up
In the web of love,
If it were not for poetry and creativity,
Would I translate my enriched thoughts
Into poetry that ruled the roost
from Chaucer to Gillian Clarke
and to Philip Larkin,
Oh! My love, I dedicate this piece
So that you may have PEACE for ever.

Her metalanguage

(August theme) Her metalanguage



Feeding his wife, family, is a burden,
Duress of times’ collocations,
The Bar is his only blatant and pleasant asylum.
They pull on with a conviction
fending him with, fend off
his bugging shortcomings,
they, the sufferers are not pretentious ,
She , the house wife bears
the burden of his angst ,
Narrow, selfish and corroding,
In her blood runs the sacrificial
Urge of sacrifice and charity ;
throwing grains and rice balls each morn:
Crow and parrot in the same balcony
Caw and pour their metalanguage:
She configures the Nature and the world
from the conflicting self from within,
yet the unanswered queries remain,
how much to endure? How long?
Her metalanguage quirks .

(101) A Catch

(101) A catch


The garbage mound in the narrow street corner
Stinks of bad odour, abominable odour,
paper bits ,vegetables and decayed parts,
dried flowers, rice balls and rotten tomatoes,
apples and garnished onions in pouches
befriend the sanitary towels titled ‘whispers’,
what do they whisper ? to whom?
crumbled to corners thrown to pieces?


He measures his steps through the garbage corner,
with a hang bang on his left shoulder, a faithful friend,
he walks meticulously through bustle and noise,
to the mound of his garbage influenced by friends of flies.
an employee of the corporation office
with a meagre pittance for his sustenance.

A glittering coin----rolls, rolls,rolls,
deep down to the bottom ,settles;
He picks up the garbage waste,
what is thrown  amidst waste,
His hand anxious to catch,
A priceless catch for the day!

(100) A dissection or intersection.

( 100) A dissection or intersection



What are you up to ? is it a search for peripheral minimal?
Or soul-searching scrutiny for phenomenal eternal?
Or momentary scribbling of meaningless nominal?

What is a poem? A piece of writing
Which triggers your pen after prolonged waiting,
an attempt in versification trying,

or to portray the feelings in plain,
full of sentiments, afflictions in language to complain?
my propelling spirits induce me to refrain,


Is it an artefact steeped in puns and similes?
drawn from ancient and modern times
metaphors and poetic symbols,


myriad forms in blatant attempts,
sometimes ending up in nasty grins,
more often due to the whims and fancies,

or an affinity towards poetry Modern,
with a belief hope would transform you ultra-modern,
or a study in themes and in techniques post-modern,

Do you favour the concept of feminism?
Be it only for nihilism?
Some may construe it is only for fatalism,



Some unbiased cling to Post-structuralism,
to propagate it is not for somnambulism,
as long as the theory not for cataclysm?


Is it instantaneous impromptu child of inspiration?
Or uncouth mess of purblind perspiration?
who bothers if it is to be for exasperation?

It has too many offspring’s-----
Sonnets ,Lyrics ,Elegies and Odes,
Structural ,rhymed, free verse in different modes,


Is it the bland conviction of unflinching loyalty?
that an imitation of Dryden and Pope with fealty
would fetch laurels with ovation hearty,


Yet, creativity continues in all its forms,
Creativity flourishes at all times,
Creativity flushes all obstacles.

The wailing of a xerox machine

The wailing of a Xerox machine.

Like a disfigured , disgruntled statue,
I stand in the stuffy corner of the shop
for business, throbbing business,
as throbbing as the calling birds
in the spiralling yard.
Chirping, calling , in the calm, creative morn.
Xeroxing my poems is my creative
Business for the day.
Many with an air of punch and push,
Sweat and run stand and wait. .
The machine squeaks
A helpless cry:
Gone are those days of drudgery,
hand swollen show after manual copying,
a dexterous hand on my head,
quick press button,
I am expected to multiply,
A mother’s period of expectancy
 nine months; mine less than
Nine seconds.
I breed unwanted, unhealthy too.
I am unable to bear the load,
Crumbled sheets chuckle in the corner.

Again on London Tubes

Again on London Tube



Again on London Tubes,
intersecting North and South;
after yesteryears of hardship
slowly, creeping, Combining awareness,
you see commuters in London tubes
No romping romance, see struggle
for survival stretching far beyond,
Newspapers fritter of approval.
Yes! You have to mind the gap,
Gap, continuum between Chaucer and poets modern
waking up to days of post modern,
terribly innocent child,
Yet to study the crude world,
Ignorant parent, immersed in creativity,
Alert Trinity in incarnation ,
foraying into a wakeful dawn,
those poking itinerary
Follow you from afar,
You wheel on the London Eye,
Reach a destination beyond
The boundaries of rich galore!

(99) Taming the rider

(99) Taming the rider


He is not an ostler, not a dedicated soldier, nor even
a Seasoned man knowledgeable in matters of horse.
A rider of pleasure at his own will and wish,
always bent upon taming the good horse,
literal ride on it, right from fodder down to stable,
the mild tamed horse yields to his pressure,
even the grazing on the green savannah is
time-bound and checked by the rider,
brownish and slender the tamed brute,
is not a brute but in perfect diapason?
With the rider with the rigid bridle
and sadistic bent of mind in taming
the innocent further: the rider
more often than not has a jolly good ride,
and thanked heaven for such a mild creature.
yet his ego does not permit him to accept
Goodness and reality.
He continues to bully the brute.
The all seeing gods and all knowing gods
one day decide to test the
Rider to teach a lesson,
One day on his way back to the stable
when the sun has travelled westward,
the birds and animals reach their habitat
the sky’s blue is merged by the stars twinkling,
when The Deep is aggravated by the roaring waves,
the tired rider now walking alone chances to
see the horse flat on the ground , motionless,
seemingly sad face with a pointed arrow
on its left leg,
Appearances are deceptive, the dictum is true,
for the horse seems to be on its heals
the moment the arrow is taken,
the rider aghast, now chases, runs,
gasping for breadth, catching the strap,
but the horse kicks him so often,
that this experience is quite new,
he pats now on the brute, sits on it,
when the ride starts, alas! It comes to a halt,
refuses to move, this time a mild pat on his body,
the infuriated brute, untameable, jumps high
that the rider is tamed to the ground.

An appeal to Krihsna

An appeal to Krishna


Oh! Krishna, how can I know
you are the cow boy now,
playing hide and seek
among your pals
your tantalising flute
captivating notes
through the oaken,
timbre interlacing the
mood of forgotten days,
I am sending SOS now
Hostile arrows piercing
On all sides, don’t don
Your favourite childish robe,
Be thou in my midst
Be thou my inspiring strength,
Be thou by my side
all times strong and steady.

(98) Bracelet

(98) Bracelet



It was an ancient temple precinct
of high vaulted,oilyroofs, cracks and cleavages,
the cement floors which bore the brunt of
coconut shell as offerings
a custom of religiosity,
a time –honoured ritual, relegated.
The smoky smell of camphor and candlewick,
the glitter of candelabra coax but not choke.

I rolled down as a fulfilment of my vow,
in tune with the sacred utterances of the priest,
the plantain leaved sweet pudding and rice
immersed in ghee with cashew nut tempt
to end my vow.

How often we have visited bare-footed the local temple
braving the stones and stubbles,
the temple was the local simple  emblem   of the town,
the sole gift of a congregation for many,
not minding the distance and climbing
the steps up and down .

When I tumbled, your kind hand reached me and protected,
We dilated on domestic functions, cared for religious ceremonies.
You gifted me with a bracelet, a token of our long –standing friendship.
The coral and pearl bracelet riveted and jingled,
The coral and pearl bracelet riveted and jingled,
It was a gift kissing my veins, pierced the thews and sinews.

The coral and pearl bracelet befriended the talisman,
tied by my grandmother who was struggling for survival,
I rushed home to see my grandmother,
It was her last breath which mocked the Tanjore plate on the wall,
The oak elephant and the carpet on the marble floor,
The house that she nourished and cherished.
She lived a life of dignity and serenity,
The bracelet befriended the talisman.

From within

              From within---



You are seated in the centre of my heart
Suave and smiling, ready with a helping hand,
Set with Srushti, ordained by the Divine,
in the previous Birth sanguine and Devout,
He the Creator, set not with a Time Bound programme,
but mixing with a concretised image ,viewing outside,
from within, Eternity, the sole objective,
propelling further and further with a
goal of Devotion and NOT with denigration;
He, who set you foresaw the change and the challenge,
Changing world order towards chagrin
I bow before you, oh! Brahma,
I worship you, my Avatar,
for you alone can bear the brunt of,
You alone can redeem Humanity
from its growing tentacles.

(97) Temperature

( 97) Temperature



AS I walk the thronged city amidst hot pellets of winds,
even all the perfumes of Arabia would not wipe my sweat
the cool cotton sari as supposed to have been gifted
by my PARAMOUR who is an expert in necromancy
as imagined and concocted by a
libidinous woman, would not keep me cool,
for the heat of summer is emitting fire like boiling cauldron,
methinks sin in all its forms blows, blows in the summer winds,
yonder the thatched roof of a school catches fire,
innocent children run helter-skelter,
yes! Innocence always pays for the misdeeds of some body,
I run to the nearby shop to quench my thirst,
to my surprise a lizard in coca cola bottle,
The goddess of nemesis would form a tsunami,
Puissant , ordained in its pursuit
‘ P is silent for perfection is also silent’
before she engulfs all the sinister in her ire

96) This carnivorous world

96) This carnivorous world




Eye for eye, tooth for tooth,

flesh for flesh, this is the order
of this carnivorous world,
where chaos prevails, where libidinous
laws overrule, where forest guns and gunpowder
plots dominate, tissues of soft textures crushed ,
ravenous hunting for money as the highway men,
not more rapacious than the woman hunting for flesh ,
for her meat eating time endless,
she stops the needles of the clock,
lest her biting and tearing the flesh
should be checked. She is not the only one,
many similar in her cue and character,
leading the life of depravity and plunder,
nothing can shake them, nor will they deter to
indulge in ruinous paths. Their names sink
as their flesh stinks yet they don’t stop stinging,
as the wasp and scorpion sting in moves perpetual.
The only remedy is protecting
yourself from this Malady.

On the grass I make a table

On the grass I make a table...




On the grass I make a table,

On the grass I unmake a rubble,
Of hoary imagination turning into wild,
transforming ribald and raucous to a mild grid,
My needle of creativity spins and spins
Interlacing with flawless imagination pirouettes,
A depiction of rhyming skylark in bow,
or pecking green parrot, or cawing crow,
chick in the nestle peeping out in the morn,
when man is still in the inebriated run,
I  am still on the grass, build life that you shun.

A moment into a sad lawn

1) A moment into a sad lawn

A full round of one year is gone,
since you bade good bye to this earth  green,
a farewell to the world woebegone.



There a tree with brown, barren twigs,

A sparrow twitters, dances, squeaks,
methinks it weaves a forlorn tale of sadness,



for a soul departed to a better abode,
deserting this body unkind and crude and rude,
for kind she was to her conscience sane and good.

I have a fall

I have a fall


I have a fall:
Surrounded by a weltering
mass of messy, enmeshing,
gnomes, dwarfish in thinking,
giggle with a grouse for everything,
you spot a grumpy mouse with a
look of growl at the corner
of a dumping yard at the rear,
garnished invitatory smell
of spices, yet another side,
the fallen paper kite severed
from the deserting thread;
by the window, you draw an analogy,
one day your enticing,
endearing, perfumed ,intoxicated
skin is totally peeled off
by a ruling dictator at His will,
you also see a volley of
torn, distorted Xerox copies
fritter in the air, many lives
are disfigured, a big question mark,
you have fallen into
the deep insurmountable well
of Maya, ignorance,
Ignoramus flag flying high
above your head.

95) Disabled or enabled

95) Disabled or enabled


I was walking in the midst of
the busy motley crowd,
yet alone nibbling my left fingers,
for the right hand was laden with
the load of vegetable bag.
A sudden noise stops me:
Tut! Tut! Tut!
The measured beat on the road,
it was a walking stick,
serving just as a third eye,
as a vision of wisdom for the lost man,
The stick slender but sturdy,
substitutes his loss of his leg,
I was pondering at the philosophy,
machines move, man is marooned,
Tut! Tut! Tut! The fast moving vehicles,
The man on the moped,
all despaired, driven to a halt,
The handicapped was muttering,
cursing the polio that affected him young,
even unable to wipe the sweat on his forehead,
yet he buried his pains for long ago reconciled
his loss of his vital part of his existence.
not one impediment but many-----the sweat, the heat
and the melting tar and the jarring sound of the horns
impatient, yet impossible to nullify,
“cursed be the polio, cursed be the polio”,
his lips muttered as he moved along the crowd,
sudden, the handicapped senses the crossing of a dog,
he stops, Tut! Tut! Tut!
He cannot afford to be
as impatient as the others,
nearby a cell phone rings softly,
for it reminds he needs be different.

94 Silence

(94) Silence

The breakfast in the table became stale,

even-I the duty-conscious made the breakfast

burning my fingers in the stove,
rushed to my work spot,
stunned to see the flies
around the vessel kept half open,
he thought he was wise, for he slipped off
to sleep by a woman, for whom
skin to skin there is no skin,
who, vile , poisoned into his ears
that his wife was infidel,
somebody made nocturnal visits
for sinful cash and insidious flesh ,
thirty long years of long living
was marred by three years of stealthy slips
only to know that she made beds with many before
he came back to me with defeated fake smile
not knowing I know the world afore,
only to continue my silence more.

93 An outcry

93) An outcry


Oh! Man, why this double dealing, double-faced
attitude, besmeared and blackish in actions,
ike a deer chased and driven by circumstances:
yet milk white in appearance, misleading the plain
and innocent, neither open-hearted nor decisive
but doubt and antipathy corroding you forever
encircling the surrounding like the blinds drawn abruptly,
doubting your life partner who gave her life to you
but you were ensnared by a woman libidinous
with her sugar-coated words enticing you,
embittering your life and living around you,
words of arrows aimed at you deeply ingrained
and hatred embedded made you
susceptible, freedom frozen;
I pray don’t be drawn by the mirage and diluted
By the optic illusion, to be sustained longer and stronger
let your ears be clogged by cotton of disbelief,
lest you should be convinced by tricks of con women,
let not your ego be traded upon, trafficking into other’s lives
to make a reasonable living on this earth transitory.

A flicker in confusion

A flicker in confusion.
A prolonged zig zag, tedious path
of setbacks and thimbles, where
You stumble and fall often,
just as Confusion which often
misleads humanity into NOT tangible orb,
cut or cross the brambles thick grown,
You seek salvation to a clear cut path,
a tumultuous roar of waterfall
deafening and deadly, somewhere
It is also medicinal, cures ailment,
cleanses corrupting ground,
You hear the cacophony of where is god,
No need to capitalize god for god
Is capitalized in terms of flesh and
Coin by those skinny, unconscious :
yet, He sees these knowingly unseeing,
He endures for some more.

Better to be a pebble.

Better to be a pebble or a stone.

Yonder in the beach, I spot a shimmering
pebble , does not wear a
Paranoid ambition, rolls and tumbles
and not turgid, Succumbs to splashes,
white , foamy, lathered, sounding a ghastly siren,
what does it matter for the globular pebble,
I see it embedded on the sandy dunes ,
no angst of sorrowed despondency , nor
redoubled jubilation, it is born with
The ageless age, lives with the corroding times,
imbibes the synergy, yet stable and stubborn
in its spectrum of cave.

Who is she?

She sits by my side, reclines on the
Unseductive pillow, does not care
to count ages in the
milestone of her flag post
nor does she work on life of
savour less colours , figures
and numbers on the calendars,
she does not seek rhythm in the
lengthy passages of prosaic beauty,
hardly ever weaves a tale on the
veil of patches:
She is HOPE looking up
for a quick dawn and safe morrow.

(92) Me thought we played a stealthy game.

Me thought we played a stealthy game.

Me thought we played a stealthy game,
Cupid’s arrows strong and straight forward,
did I say Cupid or, infatuation shall we call?
flesh for flesh, kiss for kiss, during daylight
hide and seek within four walls, like the petals
fallen till our ego satisfied, till passion saturated,
she gave me cups and cups of poison in insinuations,
mixed with the mix of love for a motive,
our nocturnal bliss full of actions and actions replay,
midnight adventure maddened and blindfolded,
hooked into a mirage of vainglory,
construed God as callous, concupiscent,
cuts the phone, severed my ties with family,
concubine lascivious on my lap,
bit every inch of my flesh,
as she bit my ears with undeserving ambitions ,
drought set in and thirst doubled,
shame in a land of God’s plenty,
drought and heat scorched mankind,
some in a mood of clairvoyance predicted,
seasons failed rightfully when sins doubled,
mankind’s heart parched with aridity,
drinking water purchased, the wells studded
with black stones, the dried land
became a sinned mound: sleepless , tainted
nights haunting us. Our mutual lips
muttering each other’s names in disturbed
Nightmares betrayed our histrionic colours.

91) If I am pained by the colour of the black...

If I am pained by the colour of the black....(91)
If I am perplexed and pained by the colour of the black,
by the devilish ravenous, black, thoughts thrown on me,
deliberate attempt on my white apparel and plain demeanour,
I pondered whom to reprimand and take refuge in,
the deluge is devastating and yonder the black bird caws,
driven away by the gathering clouds , disperse to nest,
wound cuts and wronged sentiments throw further scum,
the colour of the black is not ever black for the thatched roof
and the milking black cow and the black maid to keep the
room clean, do they care for their colour or abhor their creator?
does the red blood refuse my black skin?
white-tiled kitchen ,does it vie with the polished black granite?
does the farmer refuse the black sickle ?
does the sickle refuse the green and grass and vegetation?
if the black huge elephant with white tusks
resist the colour of black where can it weep?
Yet a moment of with drawl for my white heart
captured by the aromatic jasmine!

Exorcist (90)

Exorcist ( 90)
The huge eucalyptus tree with drooping branches,
conical leaves, swings and swings with sweeping thud,
just as an elephant with a lengthy trunk
parades in the centre of the market with
its nose or mouth whatever you may call it,
rolling or unrolling blessing the visitors
and the young undaunted children;
I know not who has planted the sharp edged
tree befriended by the tree with orange flowers
ornate on the wall, a bifurcation between my house
and the famous health -centre.
The cool breeze whiz past the surroundings
as if to blow the conch of freedom,
serving a therapy for the sickly , shattered,
comes as a splash, a Messiah, to my
wounded heart and soul:
The wood pecker enjoys the monopoly
of the branch of orange and red flowers
Perchance weaving a tale of expectation
and hope swinging and swinging.
I sit marooned in front of my balcony,
oval-shaped, to the edge of which the
wind blows, my hands ready to reach
drooping leaves, exorcising me.

Beyond the sunset ( 89)

Beyond the sunset

I walk along the sanguine path of my anguished soul takes in,
to be redeemed by the floral paradise of flowers and trees,
I see I am in sylvan forest or floral fort, not of stone walls
but of beautifully arranged red and violent flowers,
the tall trees, the shade of which falls like graphics on the floor,
the thick green leaves pose as gravels and pebbles on a villa,
the V-shaped pathway leads me on to an arch,
my dampened, dispirited soul gets an aura, enthusiasm,
not for nothing, the great bardic poet said,
“ every flower enjoys the air it breaths”,
I too partake of the sanguine breadth and feels
elated for this birth.
Passing through the pathway is like
passing a period of transition,
The V-shaped pathway as if sounds
You are pushed down only to climb up:
I sit in the golden chariot of Sunset
to journey across boundaries unlimited.

The green parrot

The Green parrot (theme)

It is not a parrot green in the cage,
as if to pirouette when let loose,
pour squeaks of message as if a sage,

it is my pet, the pet of my choice,
who delights, the warped cage rotates,
it echoes, entwines, shrills and thrills ,

yet, I see the sage in Him endures,
for those around and accustomed,
It is a warning of impending holocaust:

My pet is the same, cool, casual,
I envisage it offers me a talisman,
for some, it is better to shun as slam.


A growing menace, nuisance,
Naughty to be abrogated,
Me it is the same with its endearing signals
Of miracles.

(88) A mystey

(88) A mystery
It is miracle and mystery beyond comprehension ,
why I worshipfully cling to you?
is it due to the sacrifice you made?
in upbringing me amidst teething troubles?
could it be because of the rigours of
Discipline encored by the rhythm
of your training?
is it because of the concept of charity
ingrained into my blood?
is it due to the spirit of strength
instilled by your benign grace?
The lesson of life –force dragged
by the two wheels of patience and penance
unyielding to the mounting pressures,
The cockpit of the uncaring world closes,
makes me lose its balance
yet I muster courage to go on and on and on.

(87) Why the dark side of life?

(87) Why the dark side of life?

Life is a beautiful rainbow
spreading its resplendence,
EVEN on the butterfly colourful
and merry on flowers,
the Deep blue and the vast firmament
certain you call it the limitless sky,
can you and I try to vie?
An outing in the vast green field,
wading amidst full blown corn
yellow and green and serenading,
would your sickle plunge into action?
Would your mind give it a command?
A walk further in the field,
both the hands sidelining the grasses,
a tumble upon the stubble and thimble,
at noon by the waterfalls white and foamy,
The siblings call you for a simple lunch
of thick curd rice with mango pickle
meticulously prepared by grandma,
Playful they are, go to catch colourful fish
in the rivulet simply swept along,
simply swept along the fish,
before the sunset they play hide and seek
in the white sand , the pebbles popping out
The dark clouds gather, hasten us home
only to illumine , to dispel gloom,
awake with a cheery dawn of hopes.

The Three

The Three

The fetid flesh called body,
not knowing its days are numbered,
engined by smart mind propels,
bony ,nerve bulging skin
Craving for embalmed fragrance,
Tiptoes not; pulls up the jacket;
The hidden soul always serene,
we rarely go in search of it,
but IT hardly cares, endures ,
still the body in its depolarised
State vies, not accepting defeat.

(86) Who is this nocturnal visitor?

(86) Who is this nocturnal visitor?
who is this nocturnal visitor incognito?
is he seen only by a few, or naked eyes,
does he slip in like a cat for kind or cash
or for both ? or with pseudo -kindness,
like the itching dandruff, creating a bald,
bugging all the time, draining your purse,
people with all devious thinking imagine
the visitor is fond of my house,
yet, till today, I have not seen the mysterious,
nor am I inclined to catch him red-handed,
when imagination runs devious,
taking a sinister turn,
when my guardian angel is vigilant,
this acrimony only would lead to acrobatics,
undoing all nonsense and hypocrisy,
you can wake up a sleeping dog,
but you cannot infuse sense and sanity
in a seemingly deaf and blind.

(85) Concubine's gift

(85) Concubine’s gift.
Sona that was her name, a name she created for herself,
bed coffee to the full sip, followed by bread toast with jam,
she was licking to the full satisfaction, her habit was wont to be,
licking all the fingers top to the bottom, threw the plate to the sink,
licking, licking with sounds similar to kisses and nothing more.
It was really a sink full of stink and smell foul, flies and cockroaches,
invading as desires and passion infected her body to the core.
The fire was burning, burning, the paramour was generating,
His fire was burning by her filthy desire,
Her mouth watering, hungry looks craving for more and more.
“ I want somemore,”she looked, hunger unappeased,
“ I am exhausted”, he fell unconscious.

From bread to bed decked with perfumed and floral scents,
her thighs and eyes vied with each other,
she unrobed her garb with a glib smile,
untimely knock at the door,waterboy with the can.
she decried her time and the gods who were helpful till now.
final alarm and the house owner’s mistress came.
the concubine ran through the back door as she came.
She chanced to cross the huge sickle kept by the gardener,
it was meant to cut the twigs of the trees and weeds,
Alas! The sickle executed a job, rightly done,
severed her foot and the hand right in earnest , betimes.
the green parrots were pouring in full fledged ease,
“ you ribald, who would marry you now, who would abed you?”
how many men you have seduced, how many families wrecked,
go to whorehouse, whorehouse, in good haste.”

(84) The village vegetable vendor

(84) The village vegetable vendor.

Fashion as a general garment goes a begging,
before the innocent , vegetable vendor’s toiling,
She in her country type yarn of length shines,
A sari of white serene cotton with a blend of sanguine red
in checks of short and interlaced embroidered,
The sari rolls her heavy body, her dark skin,
her tawny forehead adorned by her coin size of saffron,
her lengthy sari covers her heavy body, the pride, the gift,
the wedding gift by her sincere husband,
the green leaved basket on her head rested on a ring of mound ,
Pops out and mocks at her sari,
She tucks in her six months old baby
the left side provisioned for a cradle of convenience,
The cute babe innocence embodied sleeps,
the woman walks in a see-saw.
her bell shaped key chain of bells jingles, jingles,
The mermaid like hastens homeward,
She unrobes her sari to wipe her sweat,
to have a bath by the well.

Poetry-what? (83)

(83) Poetry-what?
There is to be a tender blossoming flower,
in my garden of imagination tends to be fertile,
needs the nurturing of observation,
watered by endless experiences,
germinated by inspiration, what are those lovely petals?
The carved pages, those designed drafts preserved
Or photocopied,
each, rosy ,beautiful petal decorating the dignified design,
Symbolizes the designer’s architectonics of beauty,
those petals of aura of lovely shapes spread the aroma
far and wide beyond the ambit.

What do the petals preach?
Unity and loveliness,
Spread by radiance a divinity of the divine,
as the small ringing bees and roaming butterflies
in a dancing mode monopolise the smiling beauty,
so the metaphors and similes and symbols
cluster to give fine frame and name;
to be printed or read in poetry reading workshops.
you call it versification or damnation,
It is my experience of cogitation and cognition.

Not the empty cupboard and the game

Not the empty cupboard and the game

Nuts and spices in the cupboard lie awake,
nutmeg rolls around in the corner, untouched,
grandma’s predictive value goes idle,
You go berserk after the day’s toil
moiling after stinted environmental politicking,
can you go bang against the sturdy walls?
nay, long to embody yourself into a lump
of clay, but a spirit subject to negation, for
the clay breaks into pieces. Before that,
no feeling, no angst, no aging and no desire:
yet, the diabolic devil called Birthing clamours
around you, surges in leaps and bounds
ever since the creation,

spices spy through the glass jar, what for?
Nordic ambitions still poking high,
the dividing wall echoes the feeble cries
of a new cherub,
The unanswered question lies
Can anyone stop the ordained game?

Heaven plays

Heaven plays

Heaven, canopy from above,
Unique, ubiquitous and unceasing, pours

Stares, watches and weaves
a Cautious tale of happenings

pretentious at times giving
a let it go feeling

though a tsunami or
thunderous blackish hell fire engulfs

those as a remedy
these as the only solution.

A true confession

A true confession.

What would be my condition
If Omnipotent did not descend in

times of distress and duress ?
The question of which is an

obsession ingrained in my blood
and permeating through my breath ,bosom,

sprouting the inevitable answer that
life would have become a bundle

of mess and destruction , devastation
a total loss , meaning of Birth.

Impossibility

Impossibility

She envisages
the impossibility of

running away
to a corner

free from
sin and gossip

for corners
are infested with

this sickly
syndrome of drinking

wining , sinning
envying silently occurring.

willow tree song

Willow tree song

I hear a willow
tree sing

a pensive song
of wisdom

mourning the slow , steady
decadence of

dignity and culture
of humanity.

The age is shrinking.

The age is shrinking

The Korean made, knife, glossy,
cuts not the green leaves,
slippery they are, recently unbound
from the sticky wrapper,
the knife inadvertently cuts my palm,
yet, can not delve , pierce the lines criss cross
for they are set, the palmist confirms;
no red blood, no bleeding, no pain,
for the blood vessels are long since
dried up, shrunken the lined skins are;
age is gone, each passing day wears
a decrepit bone.
She attributes sex and sexism :
There are so many she’s and wolfs
loitering around,
Religiosity, certainly, not the affected one,
afflicting a few all the times,
runs like a tremor , wails,
‘ oh! God ! when will be the end of all this’.

Unbounded care

Un bounded care

when sparrow nestles
its chick

in hard, diligent
self-made,

collected roof of brambled
Straw

gains Heaven's the
redoubled protection.

A preordained journey

A preordained journey

Life is a preordained
Journey

meandering its own
Course

whether you want
or abjure

you are dragged
its way.

(82) Beat the heat.

(82) Beat the heat
Beat the summer heat or bear the brunt,
as an expectant mother would,
as patient as spectators of the vast arena,
as the scores of the cricket match dilly dally.
I wipe with my handkerchief , my faithful alley,
the sweat at my face which interfaces with the skin,
there at the hospital the father releases yet another
aspect of his anger, a sort of heat to know the result
of the awaited, the scan ,heat of anger intensifies
to know it is the girl, the mother fails to beat the heat,
beats up her forehead, the headmaster beats up the ward,
not for the poor performance but for the betrayal of the bribe;
the mason counteracts the heat and hunger
by gulping the rice-soaked water,
the audience in the cinema theatre,
gulp the coco cola to quench the thirst or heat:
The lust ridden man has many ways to
beat up the unbearable heat,
this method can you beat or retreat?

(81) Brick and mortar.

( 81 ) Brick and mortar
When the knaves pulled down the ancient building,
it was not the lime and brick and mortar,
it was not the crumbled pieces that were strewn,
it was not the timber and wood pieces that
once protected the roofs and decorated the cupboards,
not, the mango trees, that were felled, nor even
the tamarind clusters that once brought much money,
it was not these material objects that saddened my thoughts,
it was the very memory, it was the life and breadth,
it was the LIFE SOURCE THAT LIVED THERE FOR A CENTURY,
THESE REAWAKENDED MY THOUGHTS,
the old grandfather clock that was thrown by the mason,
Still tick-tocks to approve that there is life,
the felled plantain leaves and the dried up tender stems,
take me those tender days that were fresh as salad,
Prepared by my grandmother, the savour still lingers my tongue,
I tread through still brick and mortar,
The building is gone, but the memory lingers on.

Life painted in Black and White

Life painted into Black and white.

They have grown in isolation befriending them,
no father, no brother, no mother,
no kith to suck the blood in rightful terms of law.
Orphaned at an young age,
The twin recourse often in the surging beach,
Their tender feet playing in the white foam, froth
Hoping to catch life by its forelock,
May be to enter into the sprightly life of a
Whale, a fish , sea-horse, to swim and swim
but the forging black clouds thundering
shatter their dreams, just as the waves recede,
equally too young to cognise
clouds are soon to dispel and
in the mid sea a white liner sails west ward.

(80) Vibrations

(80) Vibrations
My tape-recorder a Messiah mesmerising,
reprints into my ears, the recorded Musings,
you call those vibrations or waves?
creating ripples into my heart’s cogitations,
are those vibrations positive or negative?
are those up surging waves bold and naive?
as the ambitions of a conqueror tout?
to a huge fort or treat?
do these vibrations like a fondling mother, sing lullaby?
or counsel the ones in a frenzied lobby?
to those in search of eternal serenity?
to those in search of serene eternity?
do they combat, the ready ones to fight the romping?
do they counteract me with an immortal ode singing?
My tape came to a halt, yet the notes keep on ringing, ringing?

This sunny day

This sunny day----
This sunny day, when you stare
at the sky, the starry domain twinkling
in the eventide, the pervasive
stillness above, stirs your demented soul
craving for unanswered questions,
singing, spinning , weaving a lengthy yarn
of sonorous tale of woe, threnody, for
the so many untimely dead, leaving you
to a quandary ,turning poetic pages into
philosophical notations,
it dawns, chirping, citation dawns ,
slowly expanding into an arena,
eternity itself is a coil of conundrum.

My Umbrella (79)

(79) My Umbrella
My umbrella shrinks and flies away,
unable to withstand the stormy wind,
as would a thief escape the claws of police,
my adamant hand clings to balance the black protector,
yet the protector is protracted by a more forcible force:
the dark colour dances to a pathless way,
boldly combats the ruling kite , kisses rustling leaves ,
runs to a corner to be confronted by a tree,
The protesting kite gets torn, adamantly waves,
waves to rule the sky , the tree seems to be an asylum
to this refuge, like a lizard hanging up the branches,
the freedom is curbed, curbed and controlled!

(78) The carpenter's axe

(78 ) The carpenter’s axe

The carpenter’s axe deftly dances,
in a see-saw makes modulations,
moves up and down in measured beats
of an expert violinist’s nuances:

The sounds tut, tut, tut, tut,
pierce my eyes and ears straight,
which by my ignorance ,I construe a rubble,
rosy infant in the opposite cradle,
Squeals. Squeals to come out to dwaddle,

I strictly pass orders,
by passing the toils of rigours,

“ Look here, let not your axe in bold hand
touch and tarnish the ground
and spoil the design on the mosaic mound,"
little realizing the hazard to his flesh and thigh,
if the axe slips to pierce the loin close by!

(77) Not borrowed but plundered feather.

(77) Not borrowed but plundered feather.

You reap the harvest of my labour in the field,
in leaps and bounds, beyond the boundary line,
The grains in clusters cover the sickle and the hand,
the storage is in full, full, yet my efforts are null,
you plundered my land by force, in my absence,
you have even stifled your conscience,
You had a tent in my land to unseat me,
to disposes me and my ward,
who else knows but only the Omnipotent God!
Reasons and rectifications ,my Lord!.

( 76) Cockroaches

(76) Cockroaches
Walls too have ears, they say,
who would this gainsay?
The wooden plank with a welcome board,
nailed to the demented wall,
gives shelter to the mushroom growth of cockroaches,
I could hear the ring of cockroaches,
I could recall the echo of the insects
on the ears or the holes,
The tiny lizard gives uncouth company to them,
unwelcome guest or enemy,
Plays hide and seek to swallow,
may be to unseat the strongly seated,
do they breed in darkness or cavities?
just as sins and stigmas in uncivilised minds
unsparing of God’s and Godhead!
the cockroaches run, run to their walled abodes,
or wooden wardrobes to woo perhaps their woebegone.

(75) You are far, yet, near.

(75) You are far, yet near.

My missing poem in a full-fledged floppy,
in the printed Performa with fecundity,

It is for my friend, philosopher, fellow-poet,(Mr. Peeran,)
Your very name sounds like a positive siren,

whatever poetry achieved with a feather touch,
Your skilled pen embellished with a humanitarian touch,

Your writing has inculcated a wide and saner vision,
with a more humane approach and radiance,

You are a saint and seer in your day-to day living,
the concept of which you have propagated in your writing,

May God’s benign blessings pour upon you
with uninterrupted successive galore!

May you write more and more more
to a point of unreachable height of soar!

The news of your transfer from here
brings you forever near and near!

(74) The skeleton

(74) The skeleton.
The skeleton in the graveyard stands erect
like the schoolboy whose answers are correct,
it, with its uncouth figure seems to mock at the flesh,
“ with aroma and acrobatic skill,
with hide and seek and extra fittings,
you plunder and deceive your fellow beings
I stand alone and need to fear none,
you follow the concept that skin to skin,
there is no sin,
hurl the conscience to wind,
the man at the dark corner with a darker idea,
to steal the silk garment on the dead,
Slips and runs and runs too far!”

(73) What is that ! it"?

(73) What is that IT?

The scorching heat does not affect them,
they dare not hide their faces,
do you wonder who are they?
wait, let your conjecture be wandering,
when I walk through the busy streets,
the colourful pots seemingly decorate the corners
like the majestic corner-stands in the walls of the houses,
can I construe that they block the streets?
The amorphous crowd waits,
wailing if it would be an eternal waiting,
some peep in between the pyal and pipeline,
the infuriated housemaid deftly adjusting her thick hair,
pronounces a precautious cry,
has IT come? Hurry up?
“ no ! it isn’t it,” the school boy’s curt lips burst out,
What is that “IT”?
It baffles me, could it be similar to that of Hamlet’s IT,
at last it comes with a bang at half past four,
the water tankers, the boon of many waiters
who throng it like the ants of jiggery.

Whisper of solace.

Whisper of solace

It is not a day of tourism ,
nor a commercial encounter where
deadly deals and no dealings
appear and disappear like clouds,
clouds weaving myriad gathering
pictures of woes and romping romances.
The populous city wears Summer’s
unbeatable heat ,melting tar
on the road glitters ,sticky, hot ;
you reach home in the wrong time
of all conniving power failure;
you are not querulous, only
buckets of water come to your rescue,
not a soup water is a mere solution.
Soul goes to the background when
Pulsating body already sweating
Needs double washing.
wind rustles through unruffled grills ,
Balcony and open terrace , garden of terracotta ,
Stones , not whispering of Love’s lure,
Directions from all sides , to this
directionless hankering after,
whisper of solace to this
whimpering ,whining, self.

(72) The motley.

(72) The motley
It was a huge hall of prayer and mediation
like the Indus-valley status and civilisation,
The ancient and obvious occult and not prone to corrosion,
with a cosmopolitan gathering and equally of cosmopolitan
attitudes and moods,
just as the violinist tunes his fingers and his bow to various nuances,
the motley crowd to many situations and secret stigmas too:
for some to cover these a fake smile,
a loud outcry and a gaudy silk-sari
a bold and beautiful a garguntine step,
occasionally many a form of Satan and sarcastic statements too,
only a few like the select ground nut seeds
amidst the false rotten nuts
in a bottle of savoury and preserved condiments
bothering only to bother themselves
their selves, their seats:

I observe with eagle’s eyes,
I decry the malady of motley,
outside air infested with vociferous cries
of the fear ridden accident victims,
The two wheeler under the tyres of water tanker,
Should I shed my fear for the victim?
Should I share to attribute to fate?
Should I flee the horrendous spot?
Should I feel sorry for the uncouth mass?

( 71) Dont you know me?

(71) Don’t you know me?

I suddenly wake up from my deep sleep
with a shudder as if struck by a wasp,
the sudden sweeping touch of which is more painful,
than the real sting,
Fear grips me, I look around in vain,
“ do you consider, I rule the roost,
I decide, I test and terminate,
like the terminal of the rail passengers”.
I cannot decipher the eerie sound!
“ from painful birth till undesired death,
militants , monarchs and Majestic mountains,
dutiful rivers and ponds, rivulets and deep Blue,
everything is bounded and confided by me!
“ Don’t you know me?”
I wide open my eyes,
I see nothing but pervasive darkness,
the trees in the painted pictures on the wall,
toss up and down, propelled by the
gushing wind from the window,
The loving paramour in the adjacent banner,
in a dancing mode, diverts me,
still the mysterious voice pervades,
“ I am unbounded ,unconfined,
even God functions within the precincts of my jurisdiction”.
I am bewildered like a sympathetic hangman,
The clock ticks one, two, three,
“ IT IS ME, IT IS TIME”.

(70) A threat to so many.

(70) A threat to so many.

The closed double doors of the local temple,
with its rusted bells steadfast in the hinges,
sediments of dust sing tales of woe,
invite sweepers from the road side
who shudder for want of feeling secure!
Oily lamps and dust-laden idols weep
for priests hidden from the precincts,
termites brood over the dusty doors,
my brushes combat the corners of the
cockroach eggs loyal to their seats,
I think a while, why the local petty politics
Should creep the temple premises?
Sainthood is abrogated,
God and God head are crucified,
by ugly and ambivalent ways,
why this deadly prejudice,
and discrimination of race?

(69) Towards my hut.

(69) Towards my hut.


The gull takes off from the surface of the deep Blue,
not at all gullible, neither to gulp any deceit,
free to roam on the horizon, free to flutter;

What for the Blue mourns, roars, I know not,
or can I call it an excitement ,invincible might,
as that of the mighty superpowers,

by the shore I watch drawing lines on the sand,
my fingers inadvertently give shapes to wet lumps of sand,
the white surfaced waves roll on,

perhaps to move towards to undo the casual shapes,
a challenging spectacle, a warfare of black and white and blue waves,
I feel insignificant and pale into nothing with my petty craft;

The land not far inside throbs,
with haberdashers and vegetable vendors,
hawkers and meticulous merchants,

Far inside the feeble bell off the church
well informed cops counteracting goondas,
Merciless lathies on innocent and innocuous alike,

The small choultaries jubilant with cakes,
with silk and sandal paste,
a fleeing prisoner is handcuffed to the cell,

wearied and wonderstruck,
I walk along, sentiments touches me
touches me towards my hut, my palace and asylum.

Treasure amidst rubbish

Treasure amidst rubbish
“whether it is an awful daring of a moment’s surrender”,
or cool connivance of sexually aberrated , narcotic
who made inroads into the pristine sanctity of
a teenager , a house keeper, the mute victim
due to violation, speechless and aghast,
kindly bears the birth pangs, the symbol
premature , but most cruel and unkindly
shuns the ‘she, tomorrow’s burden, a bride’
into a bin, pitiably viewed by the blue cross ,
handed over to the Red cross,
to right the wrong of amiss and cross.

(68) What a slip!

68) What a slip! (

When she sipped the cup of coffee,
She slipped the metal tumbler,
She took it casually,
She had another sip of coffee.

When she slipped and fell,
The stair case connived,
The slippers slipped her feet,
She had another pair of slippers.

When the ball point pen slipped from her bag,
She had another ink pen and pencil to her rescue!
When the coin slipped from her palm she let it go,
She had some other coins to replace the slip.

When she slipped and fell a prey
To her vile passions, to hook a man away,
She fell a prey, a prey
Unable to take herself away.

She slipped when her matrimony survived and slipped,
She slipped into another man, a slap for matrimony,
It was just as a sip of coffee, yet a casual cool slip for her!
Yet the man slipped her it was a cool slip for her.

(67) If the Right is Wrongly done.

(67) If the Right is Wrongly done.......
When the devout prayer becomes priggish
as the opportunists would play the dice,
when the reason is toppled by treason,
as an ambitious girl crippled by polio,
and treason multiplies to numerous arrows of poison,
when man becomes persistent womaniser,
if woman is a woe to man,
when woman tends to overstep like a man,
the tremor devours , disturbs,
serenity loses to bemused senility,
fertility closes, aridity augments,
mendacity continues, stupidity rules!

A message to grasp

A Message to grasp.

My mobile innocently quirks
with ringtones sounding like
Messiah’s predictions, messages
from offers of Vodophone, astrologers’
predictions down to agnostic questions :
your precious time is plundered,
other incoming calls obstructed,

the gourmet swallows consciously,
the picture is getting detached
form the wall,
I rivet a picture of Krishna
on the wall ,Lord Krishna in the battle field:
War ever since Sun and Moon designed
to shine, also Shun,
Since the Forbidden fruit lurked
and lured in the Garden of Eden,
a deliberate conscious attack
on ethical philosophy, tirade on
Life, living and abjures thinking ,

You introspect, who cares? Who pines?
for what, for whom ?
A call of Consciousness appears,
may be Krishna ‘s stiff, steady
unbending arrows of Karma
shoot up message:
don’t indulge in uncanny, unwanted
caring for others, marring your prospects,
take care, He will ,take care of You.

(66) The wind and grass

The wind and grass

Oh! Sweeping wind, are you over-confident?
don’t you think before you sweep?
You can sway the trees and stems and plants,
but not the grass roots!
you scale, shake and scare,
but cannot rout the strong grass root.
my flute creates flutter on the green grass,
the grass as tender as new-born babies’ fingers,
I walk on the grass, upon the carved lawn.
the crowd treads upon grass,
does grass savanna cry?
It bends and holds as forgiving
as a martyr, as smooth as a cushion,
oh! Wind you too have a bend!

(65) Hail! Mobile.

(65) Hail! Mobile.
Smile,smile,I go simply mobile,
with varieties of cells-global and mobile,
to come out of my shell, I creep into my cell,
too many connections , too much of roaming,
I fly on the wings, winged wings,
to propel me about Air tell,
Reliance too indeed is reliable,
ripping, skipping,
Hutch does not clutch,
I go about roaming, romping,
I go about mobile, mobile, mobile,
for contingency go mobile,
for emergency go mobile,
for many necromancy is mobile,
A tiny toy with many keys,
missed calls, messages, reports and registers,
I go mobile, mobile, and mobile.

(64) A view from my balcony.

(65) A View from my balcony.

I curl like a cute kitten on the mosaic floor,
no smooth bed, no bed spread,
a terrible knock at the oak door
at the odd hour, relieves me from my summer siesta,
a pervasive peep through the balcony
with a cup of hot tea,
involuntary attraction for my eyes
on the dancing birds on the dancing boughs of trees,
the sight of pecking birds dancing,
pecking and dancing,
along with the dancing boughs,
in a see-saw way dancing,
a merry jollification!
yes! They swing and dance,
for the twittering merge on the leaves,
make colourful gestures!
The southerly wind sweeps through,
like aerial waves unseen,
yet, the force felt with gyrations,
an icon of splendid prosperity!
The hung up dried clothes , hurled
at the opposite poles,
a mini wardrobe washed away,
I cannot compete the race,
Yet the fast track of my eyes,
trace the upcoming hidden rays.

(63) The rustic smell of my ancestry is piercing.

(63) The rustic smell of ancestry is piercing.

Look at me grass-green and evenly cut,
the rudimentary and rustic smell of my
ancestry is piercing and profound,
they pass me for prosperity and plenty,
I don’t shape beyond a particular size,
People tread upon me, yet I don’t grudge,
I am pitiable and beautiful,
Bold and brave,
for tiny tots and twaddlers
teenagers and paramours,
My being is the bed of roses,
the rustic smell of ancestry is piercing
Piercing and prolonging.

(62) The mystery of Birth is eluding.

(62) The Mystery of BIRTH is eluding.

The hospital wards resound with sound of groaning,
Consequence of hard labour and grumbling,
The smell of blood-soaked cotton and medicine pervading,
the sponge-like child is born wriggling shrieking,
every step from the womb is measuring,
The mystery of birth is eluding,
the anxiety of the visitor is annoying,
arrival of the new-born is cheering,
with the new visitor to this land is quite interesting,
Mother’s blessed smiles kissed are lasting, lasting,
the proven emblem of bonded conjugal love is lasting,
but not for parting, parting, parting.

(61) Why you too brutal?

(61) Why you too brutal?

You are one among the brutal and brash,
odd fish whisked and forced,
to throw successive stones at Gandhi statue,
with all the ferocity of a blacksmith,
THE FATHER OF THE NATION PELTED AT,
The statue of Gandhi tumbled,
His principles too crumbling,
Is this independence? Or interdependence?
for survival a sacrilegious act; act
by passed to negate freedom earned hard,
You hardly ever think before the profane act, why?
Sever the association, shed your ill knit chord,
There lies the answer,threre lies the remedy.

(60) Life is like -pop up in computers.

(60) Life is like pop-up in computers.

There the bold brating on secular matters
just as the croaking of frogs on puddles of waters,
Here, the chanting of sacred verses,
yet, in various channels continues chaos.

The small room of a hospital ward,
the wriggling mother’s labour with her wail and nod,
the nurses humming , saunter about in steps bold,
coughs and cures amidst chartered duties on blackboard,

On the roadside preamble the coffin of flowered petals,
the agony writ on the aged and afflicted ones,
the name of Death plays cool, many a one shakes,
ye t it stands steadfast till its commission is done;

The dancing butterfly doubles on, doubles,
the aura of ambergris on the far off temples,
the devotees craving the deities and Gods
with saffron and camphor in flowered baskets,

The prayers and the preyed upon go on,
in this designed land of creation and destruction.

(59) A Muscle pull

(59) A Muscle pull
The transparent ice- cake melts to the floor,
the process of melting is easy,
your slow eyes construe it as a mirage,
your careless and confident tread, yet fall upon it,
the falling is like a curtain drawn.
you slowly muster courage to get up.
your fat body leans upon the supportive left hand,
The melted water on the mosaic mocks at you,
it is a puzzle to my thinking wizard , my mind,
why this happens, the pain increases in the mean time,
arresting my activity of mind and body ,
the hand that waves the tricolour flag,
The very hand that pulls the weight of many a burden,
now falls a prey to muscle pull and sprain.

(58) Outpourings

(58) Out pourings
Don’t you realize that you are
in the midst of hardcore villains?
You seldom taste the milk of human kindness,
you undergo trials and tribulations,
the parched vessels need be double washing,
A wet sponges of patience and perseverance,
of late a rare concurrence,
to be breathed in books not in looks,
everywhere you encounter a dried up heart,
a deliberate coil those inhuman wear around,
a demented soul, singing the song of cruelty,
not merely a dead land with aridity and drought
piercing, but also a dead heart with palpitations,
beating with the unbeatable rhythm of cruelty,
jettisoned by the poisonous arrows of calumny:

over there, on the jasmine garden the green parrots
with red chilly beaks pour all along,
in equally human language on esoteric terms
as eloquent as a head priest in a ceremony auspicious,
notations spreading all along and around:

The innocent siblings smile at the Gandhi statue,
Smile along with the statue’s smile,
unaware of the drops of blood untimely shed,
Smile to take shelter under the statue.
The next day the shelter is gone, for the statue is also gone,
A prey to the vile and vicious opportunities,
The parrots pour along with clairvoyance!

(57) My being in this blotted world.

57) My being in this blotted world.

I am private with my privations,
You tend to be public in perambulations,
of your untethered moorings and moods,
subservient to sarcasms and unholy hoots,

I know not how to adjust with the ambivalent state,
of confusions and collocations when in spate,
when suffocations thaw myself and spirit
like wriggling fish on the land to surrender to fate;

My HOUSEHOLD GOD clears all my inhibitions,
like the blotting paper absorbs the sediments
of imaginations and intrusion into my existence,
Pervasive of HIS RADIANCE and Exuberance.

(56) Esoteric encounter.

(56) Exotic encounter.
MY mind’s eye surreptiously closed and I wept,
my mind’s eye opened to view the ages and I dreamt
events and bygone days like layers of hairs unkempt,
to visit and view ways of vicissitudes aplomb prompt.

It was like moving from the outer ring to the inner circle,
a deliberate conscious move to pry into the sealed parcel,
a journey through the layers kept under sacred to conceal,
a mystery and soul’s manumission from the world of chaos at will.

It was not a day light dream of lures and luxuries private,
nor was it a vision of cities buried and civilisations trite,
like idols and gold coins buried into the deep, deep in spate,
Time’s everlasting tryst with destiny only to appropriate,

The soul craves and craves and clings to its adorable caves,
praising the Mentor and marvellous shaper to reach the bays,
like an infant separated from its mother in a busy market place
to realize only affection and not affectation can win and replace.

(55) A thief's day and delight.

(55) A thief’s day and delight
It was a scorching day of sun and drought,
the streets adorned with pots in lines kept,
punctuality in necessity and need preserved,
the conscience of the village folk ordered.

The wooden door of the dwelling was kept ajar,
the inmate to fetch water from the street least in a jar,
the intruder entered through the rear,
with careful steps like the cat’s paw to forbear.

The matted cradle in the corner, the poor child’s luxury,
at once a reflection of the dweller’s penury,
the surrounding uncouth atmosphere of umpteen accessory,
not a welcome matter of good augury.

The thief’s eyes drawn by the infant’s childlike , cherubic language,
of deft movements of delicate fingers and words of own coinage,
He unloaded the wicked idea of rummaging the cottage,
delighted to steal himself away alone with the INNOCNT’S IMAGE .

( 54) The fish

The fish
Like a spectacular pageant show,
on the day of declaration of independence,
my leisure led me to an aquarium tub
the cute colourful aquarium tub,
the crisss-cross of the colourful fish,
the tiny insects to be fed as a fodder,
the fins and fragments of fossils
create a beautiful foliage,
a feast to my eyes,
a down town calibre,
yet the fish breathless out of water;
I wish it were an amphibian,
yet the fish dies,
many a kind of the same, the next day to be,
in the basket of the markets of moribund
culture and housemaid’s frying pan;
either form the pond or from the sea what
does it matter for the fisherman or urchins?
the dumb, baited to be hooked to death,
The Creator proposes Life in the water,
but the land leads the victim to the end.

(53) Taxing and Taxing!

(53) Taxing and Taxing

It is indeed taxing in this taxing world!
untold taxes for all items accountable,
perishable like the rotten vegetables
and penalty for the default payment too.
Sales tax vie with service tax, a severe stringent law,
water tax even in times of drought and dryness,
Property tax even for improper construction,
Why this tag or tax to tax the common man?
is there tax for electric cremation?
The Ganges and the The Yamuna don’t tax
man for purification and ablution!
Hospitals charge the patients with the tax,
with the surcharge of insulin and inoculation,
God the supreme creator does not heavily tax,
for his tenants and tomboys .
Do the sun and moon and the firmament
align to this man-made configurement?
Plentiful bars and recreation clubs repress the
booming spirit of revels with the labels of tax,
my own income is subject to the law of income tax,
only the dying man does not have the threat of tax,
it is indeed taxing in this taxing world!