Nature's Care---Human's Cruelty

 Nature’s  Care  ----Human’s  Cruelty.

He  races  on  a  bicycle of rugged  wheels,

A  worn out  junk  to be assembled in parts

almost to be thrown out on streets,

yet  he  treasured it  for his  daily  sustenance,

He  races, peddles  to his  office  with  a   wife

Works   as   a  midwife  and  a   two  year old  child;

As     an    avid  writer       records  on his paper,

To  be  time-bound but  willed   for  different  fort;

It is   a  rugged   road  of  stones   and speed  -breakers,

dug up  holes  and   drainage ill –maintained,

vegetable     vendors   and   corporation  lorries

criss—crossing, chased  by   a  chin  snatcher, 

hits   the  victim   with   a  knife, the  woman’s  squeals,

the  rider  loses   balance, the presence of mind

of  the  midwife works  faster  than  the  culprit,

quickly  throws  the   innocent  on the road,

as  far  as away as the  stretch    of  the  culprit.

The  cruel   hands  of  fate   are  defeated, deterred,

The   asylum  is  granted,  the child  is  shifted  by  force,

by  the  basket of  the  vegetable.

The   vendor’s  long   unfulfilled   dream comes   true,

When the  lap  had  to  fail, the leaved  greenery  protected!

Haiku ( section 2)

Haiku  (  section 2)

1)  My    garden   carrots

Feed   my  family  daily,

A   fecund feed-back.

2)  Orange kerchief, your  gift,

A  mover,   a   mentor;-------me,

A    nonentity.

3) Snakes couple ,dandle,

Rustle me not in the field,

The leaves rustle.                          

The Love Of Lifetime.

  The  Love of  a  Lifetime

The  Love of  a life time

Is   the rarest of the rarities,

like  a  Boon  of  God,

Unsurpassed  , like  the

Third   Eye, stretching  far

Beyond   the   boundaries,

Visualising  and integrating

The  Timeless   and  universalised 

Sacred  and  sacrificial  

That   relentless    urge  to 

Merge with the One,

 Precious  like  a  Diamond,

Love of  a life time 

Is   inarticulate.

Sleep

                                      Sleep

If  you  sleep over  the 

Slumbering holocaust 

Booming   sudden   like

a   crashing  fall    of

aircraft, you  sleep  forever

in   the  den of  ignoramus

goofing  of   enormous 

 cavity  and  growing

declivity    and   nullifying  

aridity. Don’t  sleep  over  the

loss   and  amiss,

gain   the  vital  consciousness

of  wakeup  and  thunderous

 awakening. Only  reasoning is

struggle   hard  and   resurrect.

 I see  the  barn   slowly

gets   reinvested. 

Go to Himalayas.

    Go to Himalayas!

 Come  out  of  your  mushroom  growth of

dazzling  apartments, those  apartments

that   proliferate  through the entire stretch

of the   busy trafficked   roads,

 walk  through  the  seepage

water-logged  streets, stench  pierces,

cover    your   nose  ,clear  the  buffer

of  grills   raised  for  men  at work,

water-logged  streets,

do  you  look  for  the  postman 

for   the letter  of  a sinecure,

for your  age is  such,

but  your  will  is  all the  more agog,

segregate   your  disappointment,

set off  to  Himalayas, trekking 

through  the  thistles  and thimbles

that prick  your  sole  of  the feet,

blisters    and wounds  less  inimical

than    words  of  human  tricksters ;

crush  the  leaves of the Messages 

of  wisdom   and clairvoyance

of   Sages  and   visionary    Seers ,

drink  the    vial of  Times’ Bliss  and  Beatitude

Uprooted grass

Uprooted  grass

A few   hours ago the cute  grass bunch

Silently    weeps for  the loss,

Loss  of  its  innocence,

A  butterfly  has its moorings on it,

its  freshness, its  dew   glanced,

Innocent  looks  upfront,

I mercilessly trampled upon it

during my inadvertent   walk  :

after  all  the  grass  with its

ancestral  lineage, its   peerless  smell,

sooner,  nods   elegantly  around the  soil,

It  does not   have  a  mouth   to  cry, for

no  hurt   or  crushed  pain  emitting  thereon,

no  rocky  stones, no  tornado

could  whiz past  the  earthy  queen,

on   my  return  from   gravel  path,

a  gardener’s  sickle   swaps,

crude   ‘ unkindest  cut’, grass

Looks   as  if  flamboyantly

Relieved from the  mud  cuddled   posture.

What is for these thugs?

          What  is  for  these  thugs?

You   sail  westward  of  your   delectable

Notations and  wide choice,

Twin  sisters  crude  hypocrisy  and

Deceit  in  full  fulcrum,  spiralling

everywhere  around the  visibility,

They  execute   in  invincible   way,

Inconceivable    clouts they  are;

 yet you Determinately

  abrogate  those deadly  Sinners:

daily  sinister s  they   become

like   tsunami   tidal  waves

sudden   and  swallowing,

we  are  like, caught  in the

elevators, waiting  for the

restoration of  power, a   somewhat

prolonged   wait, a swift jerk,

a  movement, hoping   similar

swop   would  denigrade  the thugs. 

Imagine life without..

Imagine  life  without

Imagine  life  without  a  bed coffee,

And   a   newspaper  of  global   coverage,

 Your  pride,    sitting  cross-legged,

A  plain  glass  water  would  suffice,

A  life  without   delicious  meal

On  a   mahogany  rectangle  table,

Bread  crumbs would  suffice your

Hungered, accustomed tastes buds,

Imagine  a  life  without  a pen and paper,

What if   bereft of them, your fertile

Imaginations ,lasting recordation

On   your  cerebellum, gyrating ever,

Imagine  a  life  without  the  pouring

Mercy  of  the   firmament,

You  and  I  are   dried  grass;

Imagine  a  life  without  His

Watchful   Grace  and vigilant

 Protection, we  are  the  Cud.

Distance

  Distance

In the  Distance of  a   rubric ,

Well constructed  wall,

Untresspassed, there is a

Delectable  intimacy,

It  is  like   a  beautiful

thin, neatly  folded,

Embroidered  handkerchief,

Not to wipe your sweat

On your powered, perfumed

 face, but  a  cute  kit  to  be

tucked  in the  sari,

it  is the   malleable  Distance

to  chase    the  angst  of  your

felt   or  imagined  feeling,

Distance  is  delectable.

Eyes

                               Eyes

I   effortlessly   eye  the  world

With   its  masochistic,eyeless,

heartless  beings, those  that   view

abject   penury and   drudgery

as    abominable  eyesore, the

eyes  even  refuse to   look  at them,

oftener, I am in  a quandary,

why  the  very  same  eyes that

imbibe  the   scintillating   Beauty,

eyes  that  scan  heavenly  charm

should   abrogate ,unwilling to 

share the  despicable ,for  them

they  are  horror  of  Draconic;

Don't be angry with the Gods!

Don’t  be  angry  with  the Gods!

No, never ,show  your  fury, undue

  Ire  On the  sacrosanct    Sages  and  Divines;

 Blow  off your  angst  ridden  ambition ,

You  are  the Maker of  your own  makings,

You  are the  inimitable  ruler of your

Own   dubious ,indulgent,   staking.

His  wrath  is  warranted, He  being  an

Efficient   sleuth, solves  the  mystery,

Reel   or  reek , you  need  to  take

Asylum  in   His   Majestic, invincible  creek.

A foreseen perpetuaion.

A  foreseen perpetuation ....

What  has been  going on like

An  anthill corroding  and

 Corrugating whatever  that

Comes  its   supple  ways,

What  is going on for decades,

Like  the  backdrop of  curtain,

Waving  for  unethical   shows,

Unhealthy   silent  mode,

What  will continue  to  enforce

Its   sardonic  and detrimental

Persuasion   or   ribald   dissuasion

Will   occupy  its  throttlehold

At least    for sometime, 

Until  some  quirk  whizz past.

Adamant   Bull lies its way.

You are dragged by...

You  are dragged  by  ........

 You    sit  in the  window   seat  of the

Deluxe bus, a  window  , a must  for  all ;

  The  flying horse,   already  started with 

A  mechanical  load of  passengers,

Red  soil, agitated, flares   up,

Playing  blind man’s buff,

e- Ticket punctures   your   countenance

for it is disappointed since  you  scantily

care  for your destination:  knocks

  your    panjandrums  though  you 

 don’t  appear  to be.  You  cant 

measure  the  distance,  hot  and

cold   temperature,  for  there is  a

boiling point  from within,  fling  the

euphoria  of  suffocated   existence,

blow  the  balloon of   heightened

Scattered   imagination,   a  live

Rehearsal of  the hollowed    past,

You   are   immersed in   a  different world,

Destination  reaches  you, by the repeated

Call of the  Conductor, your  handbag

Dragging  you  slowly there.

                    

I surf today in the lake of my dream

   I surf  today  in  the  lake of  my dream

Not  with  a  faint  glimmer   of  hope,

For  hope is  the only   swim  suit  which

Pulls the   string of all –our  lives  and 

Dreams  and   beings on this  planet,

In  search  of  The   abode of  Righteousness;

I  surf  today  in the  lake of  my  dream,

Chance   a   lotus   like  a    sacred  boon,

Looking   at  the  Sun  for   more   and  more

Beams  of  Radiance   to  spearhead  

The   message  of   Bright ,  Fight  for 

The    abode of  Righteousness;

  

   I surf  today  in  the  lake of  my dream

   To   shun  the    Rigmarole   and  clutter

  Of   confusion,  the  white  swan  nods  by,

  Passing  clear  pool  of  water  not 

  Wishing  to  meddle  with my  dream,

  We   both  in  search  of  Righteousness.

  

A wailing....

A  wailing....

  For  her,  the  quietly   withdrawn,

Is  there  no  space  in this  vast  ,vast,

Immeasurable , mysterious   land of 

Colourful   crayons, cults, and cannibalistic   

Beings  of   untold , repeatedly  arguing  guts?

Is  there  no  tiny  speck  of  corner

In this  land sliding    soil  of  decadence

And  irredeemable  principles   going   awry?

Is   it  perhaps, her  wilful ,salient ,   choice?

She  is  happier  in  a   different  domain,

Yet,  we  feel   the  loss,  the  awful  separation,

The  uncanny  way  of  bidding  good bye;

From  a    far  better  realm, she  waves  a

Flag  of   supple  acquaintance,

Is  there  no  space in this  vast, vast

Panoramic   sweep  of   surge   and  upsurge?

For  her?  Her?

A chuckle from the corner.

   A  chuckle  from    the corner

The  loose  hanging , irate cobweb,

As  if  to  sever  its  life  and living

from the  hitherto   asylum  giving 

wall,   mocks  at me ,chuckles  at

my    pecuniary  approach,

you   save plastics  and pennies ,

pence  in   cute  bamboo    boxes,

scribble   and  sweat,

peas  are   luxury  for    your   

hungry   stomach,  pizzas   crave

some  other  dominion, you

bend  to   assemble  the  broom

to   swipe   and  sweep  and struggle,

when your pence  sleep, steady

in   their   safe  vault, blank

cheques   and  pounds 

fly  in the   air,  they  are  airborne.

I   measure the scale  range 

In  between  the  price  of 

Prized   poignancy   and  priggish,

self-centred   buoyancy. 

 

In the busy throb of ..

     In  the  busy  throb of  .....

In  the  busy  throb of  vociferous

Humanity’s    hubbub, a  claptrap,

Or  a  congregation  of  wilful  ,searching,

Scrutinizing,   assertively   defensive   or

Obnoxiously   offensive  groupism ,   or

Garrulity,you  bypass  the  cute  cat  or

The terribly  innocent    bleating 

Ram ,select   a  secure   corner to

Ruminate  the Universe ,governing

Laws of the  Magnum opus of  God,

The   architect:   you  also  peer  into

blinding  realities  just  as the blinds

that  are  drawn  during  curfew;

here  there is  no  curfew;

you  drink  the   juice of   consolation

but  for  THE  UNSEEN,

you  would  have  been  SEEN in

bits  and   pieces.

It is catching.....

           It  is  catching...

You   are    seated   in  the

Centre  of   the    bash  convulsions

Of  the   knocking  ,turbulent  Times,

 NOT  the   invigorating

  Bermudas  islands,  cruises,

You  were  in the  core  of  the

Rut  not knowing the sinister   roots,

You   have  sufficiently  lived 

Through the  irate  chamber of  

Iglood  ,isolated  ignorance,

Now,    You  live through the  rut ,

View   silently  the  mad  desire  like

 the  bubonic   plague   Catches  ,

countless  are the  wilful  victims ,

wait  and  watch  how long  the

ironic    fire , dire,  spreads,

it  catches, catches ,like  a

bubonic plague.

Through the troubled Times....

Through  the  troubled  Times....

Through  the   Troubled   and  Troubling Times,

not  yet  completely  through,   most  of  us

  surf through, at times even trapped by

the  slimy   pond  of intricate  ,clumsy   quagmire,

what  quaint  essential   full   moon ,or

   amber  in the  westward sun or the

 fringes of   the brook  could  pass

on  us    for   a  relief , or  cessation of 

our  teething   or  thrust  upon  convulsions  :

devoid of  compunctions , these  corrugated

 tin   sheets   mangle  and   manipulate ,

foils, they  are,  ever  agitated,

 or  even  foxed  or  bamboozle    tricks ,

These  already   Perforated  upswings

Or   openings    still  hang on,

Surfing, undaunted ,  goes  on  until

You   reach  a  perspective  shore.

Shadow of what?

Shadow  of    what?

Summer  like  a  militant    soldier  sets in,

Counteract   the  drooping  winter’s

Grim, falling  visage,   the hot

Pellets  of  heat  waves  barge in,

Somewhere   the  dog’s  bark  ,

Barking  of  man’s  seemingly  

 effulgent, arrogance,  it is  a

a  sepulchral  voicing of   seedy

happenings, unchecked,

my  key board    cravingly

looks   on for certitude

of   typing  and tapping,

somewhat  like  a  shadow

of  crow   peeps in ,

hop skips on the letters,

may  be  the  Soul  of  a

good hearted , long  ago

forgotten, reminds me the

cruelty  of the world ,

“ awake  always, else

You   are in for clean burial.”

  

Imagine how a girl in teenage would be...

Imagine   how    a    girl   in   teenage    would be....

              Just  a  parody  in first person.

My  semi –transparent  gown

Projecting   my  oily, perfumed  skin,

I  would   up  from  my bed

At  nine  in the morn, drooping

Eyelids   still   longing for  sleep

In the Dunlop  ordering for  a

Dunlop  cheese cake  and a  hot

Brewing  cup of  coffee  from

My housekeeper, my  lingerie

Helpless in the corner , in the

Basket  craves a   wash,

A  French bath  or  not   what

Does it mater   for the  ever

Perfumed  skin,

Percolation   of  a  juice  from

A  transparent  china  glass  through

My deft  nail polished  fingers,

Delicate not to spill it on  my

Just   donned ,glowing,                                                                                                             

Shiny,    Velvet   tea shirt,

Adjust  my  bobbed  hair

Which  bristle out  like

Pop ups  or  prying  looks

 What  happens in the next door,

I am out  in my  car

With   Agatha  Christie ,

Say   a  hurried  good bye

to  my   house  keeper,

for  my  parents  in heaven

Long ,long ago.

    

How Spring comes....

             How  Spring   comes...

She  brushes  the  thimbles of   chilly

Autumnal     turmoil,

Wafts  the  fragrance of  rose  and

Earth’s  lovely  child  of  Grass

Nodding,  beckoning lark’s

Warm  notes to  touch  the  ground

for   a  while,  to make   the  sweet

melody  reachable to  man’s unkind

ears,  for   he  droops  to pick up

coins  of  pebbles , searches  shillings

and   pounds  amidst wasteful     

wet  sands of   decay,

Spring’s  blooming  flowers

Assay,  ‘’look up!

Look  at us, we  are  the

Timely therapy, we are

God’s   plenty’’,

Spring   is  the  candelabrum

to  dispel  the   dingy

mushroom  growth of  

negative   ambition,

She  is  the   pure  white   Dame, 

She is the   sprightly

Dame   Luck. Come   quick.

A speck of Spectrum

                       A  speck   of     Spectrum

I hear karma  wailing   in  some

Inner   rings  of outer walls,

The  ding dong   of  some local

Temples,  the   solemn chapels,

The  bird chirping on the roofs

Of   village   mounds  or the

Calling  bird’s   lifelike   notations,

For  there is  a  mark of  irreligious

Note  or    quirk  of  fate creeping,

You   turn   the   mosquito net

Outside  in, the   bucket of water

discoloured  , disfiguring the 

White  tiled   floors, you  are

Dismayed, that is the colour

Of the Heart of  Man ,

Possessed  by  the Devil.

All the same

     All  the  same  now

A  life, grass,   brick and   mortar,

Bunch of  weeds under the stone,

Crumbled    to   the core,   crushed

Beyond  the identity, all  the   same

  feelings   are  feline , to  topple us ,

our  feelings  gone, they  are

 only  realings as  long  as they 

are   our   sufferings,  start  counting

innings,  you  are  outscored,

This    Life, this    filmy   gossamer,

A  gauzy   cup  of    lure,

Devouring    many .

She peeps in

  She    peeps   in

 Osiris   smiles in my  sprightly    garden,

The   rose  buds  are proud ,reciprocal,

Recipients   of  warmth   and  honour.

I sit  with  Ginsberg’s   HOWL , a page

to  fan   me , not to  howl me,

  Slowly  the  heat   subsides,

Dog star  recedes  with a 

Look  of   expressed defeat.

It is  now past    six.

As   I drew  the delicate  blind,

the  artistically  woven  printed

frills  of  the   yellow   curtain  fritter,

 waves   a   salient    good bye   

 to the   gubernatorial  Sun:

Queen  Moon  enters,  quiet,

assisted   by  lucid  ,tranquil  charm, 

To   spy  my  writing   desk.

The  glow  of  mouse

Lurks into  nothing.

A stone throw

                              A   stone throw

A   tiny stone  toss   and    throw

At    a   throb    nest  of    crows,

chicks    cosy   and   nestle  within,

 sudden  flutter  and  disturbed ,

cacophony of  harmony  :

a  planned, meticulous  array

of    words    hurled  at  many,

stagnant    for  years   roomy

inerasable , like  sediments   

and    clay not   a   matter  of   guffaw,

even   times  take  their  own   sweet  

time  to   redeem   this     macabre   awe .

     

Of that thing that is called Death.

  Of  that  thing  that is called Death..

Oh, of that   Death, which is the end of Life,

Of  what you call the  extinction   of body  not of  Soul,

The  time honoured  belief  exists,

for   the Soul  transmigrates

to a  different   entity  or  preordained  zone,

oh!   of   death , the cessation  of  life  breath, 

for some  the end of sufferings and   torture,

some  willingly  crave, some    brave,

how  you  knock  on the door, how  you

depart,    imperceptible  , you  are 

calm    as   sedate    or   as  disturbing,

and   sweepingly   dangerous  as   volcano,

you     are   in a   solution,   you  are  in  vial,

your   ancestry is   bugging  mystery  and

your    smile  of  victory  is  inhuman  cruelty.