The Picture

    The  Picture.

Somewhere    drum beating   goes  on,

A   thread bare  warning   to the

Ecological   imbalance:   dead  fish

In the running   water ;internalize  your  query,

My  house  protected   by  whom? What?

 A  seamlessly     colourful   radiant    picture

On  the   clean wall, a picture    with  

Universalised    vision, extraordinarily

With  unique    third   vision   conversant

  with  The   Holy  Trinity.

 Only  the   ugly,   divested   of   reason ,

See  sex   and    seduction  in those  eyes,

 You   encounter  a    morbid  irreligious

World  of   gross    intrusion   into   the 

World  of    uncouth    invasion .

How  long  this  struggle  goes on?

At least   one  picture,   Your Mentor,

 With whom you confide   at the

End of  the  day  exhausted ,

Frustration   swallowing you

Like  cannibals :   you  are 

Retrieved , consoled,  holistic

Approach  is  essential.

Picture  as usual

Silent  and  serene. 

Crow in my balcony

Crow   in    my    balcony.

In   the   troubled   weather,  in  the  seedy  

corner!  Seedy  for   the  speeding  wind 

 dishevels   all   dust   around:

 on   the  oval   shaped  edge,

 There  it  comes  like  the   ghost 

In   Hamlet, with   a   suspense, with   a   message,

Shattering   my   existence,  my   conviction,

Looks   askance, here   and there,

Pecks   a   piece  of  bread  crumb,

Now   caws   of  comradeship,

The  scattered  food  particles  are

 Certainly   not    Relief  to  hunger,

Gathered   crows  are    garnishing  confidence.

It  looks  as if  a  pastimes   for  the   clan.

Crows   befriend    the   lookers-on.

Blessed are the Times gone.

 Blessed  are  the  Times  Gone.

Blessed   are   the  times   gone.

To  be  part  of  the   Age,

Is    like a  rusted  metal,

Inevitably  dons   wear  and   tear.

  Weird  like ,  weans  away ,

The  thinning   worn out  coils

drop  crumbling    down 

To   your  feet,  yesterday  it  was

The   steady  tunnel, struck its  lane,

 now  wheeling, now  whirling   

around, leaving  the  age    to its

dismay  and  devilish  warp.

Blessed   are  the  Times   gone.

Sunset(s)

  Sunset

 Your  untiring ,egalitarian quill

 Rests   a while  on the   rose wood  table,

Your  mind  wanders   lonely

As  the  clouds of  bardic  epiphany,

 The   ambered  ,tired    retires,

 Behind     the  Hill,   

It  looks  as    if

 The   angry ,infuriated  giant

 Who  customises   Day  and  Night,

  draws   The  chariot  back  into  his   orb,

You  look  forward   to  the 

Restoration, it is  past   midnight,

Slowly  the  chirps  of 

Strange  notations 

 on the  Orange   flowered  tree :

Sunrise   like  The  Happening

Thrills   you. your  quill  back

To   its   moods.

What is most annoying...

                 What  is  most  annoying.........

For   decades    you were   in   Dark,totally

Immersed  in  conniving  cataclysm of

Romp  of  mischief  , as  plunging   Darkness  encircling

 You   after  heavy   thunderstorm,

 The  cheat, the  fraudulent  multiplying,

 gambling  deception  enormously

posing   as  goodly pile, donning the

elusive     robe  of  success.

 groping    in   wilderness,

Yonder, the   shopkeeper’s    accustomed

Doors , give  way, the  almost  rotten   eggs,

Upgraded  on the  top shelf, soon  to  be 

warded    off  by  the  choosy    experts,

the  spicy  cake  cools   at

 the  downward   trend,

it  is  all   trendy : a  game.

Learning poetry by Rote

           Learning   Poetry     by  Rote 

           Is   a  must    which  leads  to  quote 

           In times  of   BLISS   and  in times

         Of  Stress   for  all ,which teaches  us

        To  cultivate   serenity   at   wills

         Of  clashes , even  from ancient  practices.

                                                                                                    

I look through my grilled window

I  look  through  my  grilled  window

Shutting  the   doors  of   dejection,

Let    the   Sun  and   wind   in,

Who  can monopolise  them?

Keeping    the  beating   doors  open

  in good  humour, hook   them,

rusted  hinges   helplessly   grind,

let  them   scrutinise , peer

humanity , warring,  animation,

jostling   and   jeering  at  some:

I  hear   the  special    Mantra 

Or  the   inner  voice  of   Gratitude

Gyrating   from within ,owing  its

Allegiance   to  all  the    blessed

Happenings   around  me ,  as if 

A  cyclic   rhythm   going  around,

Every   happening   is  a  mystery

Twining  with   the   breeze  

That  barges  in.

Filthy rich

 Filthy  rich.

The    roomy  layered  gossip  of

Filthy   rich  perpetrated  on me

Like  a   gossamer  flies    above 

Spreads  around  me, gauzy  it  is

 for   it  hovers   any  time

  to  be   dissolved. Yet   I am 

not  dismayed.

There  is  neither  filth  nor

Rich except  the  aggrandised,

Falsified   flagpole   laid.

Let  me  live  my   life  today,

Shared    auto, flies  with  many,

Your  wallet  does  not  surpass

Your   calculus, limits.

The  gossamer   slowly  

Escapes , above    my  head.

                                                  

This blemishless burning fire

This blemish less  burning fire.

This  blemish less  burning    fire,  ever  alert

Queries    why  the  same  is   inactive   in  others

With  a  vindictive   destructive    ire,

 A  cool  sip  of  ice  water  and  you  turn  to 

Catch  the  running   dialogues   in  TV.

TV show   boomerangs  with virile   fist  cuffs

 arson   and  lootings,  uncanny   episodes,

it   is    sad ,  bad  karma  to  be  born

in  these   unchecked ,  inductile   atmosphere,

spearheading   one  to  another,

 I see the key chain  dangling

A   whiff  of  wind     sweeps   it  past,

The    car   key   moving  hither and thither

Falls  as  if  bemoaning  its  karma:

Still    consoling itself ,   me, as well,  

Tomorrow  I am the starter,

Driver,  run  racer,  with  a  killer  instinct,

Even in  crash  I  hang  on 

To my  space,  my  special  space,

The   car  key  jingles  with  a

Blemish less    fire.

I wear the Sacred Thread

I  wear  the  Sacred Thread of Patience.

This   strong  undiluted ,twisted 

like  a  multilayered   knot

 A    thread  Of    Patience   

Runs   Cap-a-pie  :   not

Bogged   down   by  any  Fear

  Or   Sagged  down   by                                

Wearied, sweat    and  care.

Drilled   by Will, powered   by

A    Supreme   cavalcade     of

Predetermined   foregone  images,

This   Architect  called   Soul,

Unyielding  to the  mounting 

Pressures   of   day to day  seemingly          

Declivity , no  certainly  not .

The   self willed    God  -ordained 

Thread  of  Patience  pulls

Me  up,   furthering  with  a

Ladder   of  Patience 

Accompanied  by  a hope

Of   Bright  Days  Ahead.

  

Blood! Blood! Red Blood.

 Blood!  Blood! Red  Blood.

There  it  flows  out of its veins,

 Green veins restricted,  now   as if                                                                                

In  a  flow  chart,

Now   looks   liberated, no not?

Congealed , no more  use  to 

Anybody,ANY BODY in  need

beckoned  by   accidents and surgeries,                                                                                                      

Blood, red Blood, is it  my  blood?

Your  Blood,  Blood  is  Blood .                     

It  looks  as if  giving  a  message,

Man’s  heart  is  congealed,                                          

hardened  like a granite ,                              

I am already   frozen inside.

This  is  only  an extension

Of  my aberrated   status   outside.                                                                                             

Glaring two

I   walk  by  the  symmetrical  lawn.       

The  measured  ,sprawling , gravel

 as  if  chiselled  by  the  architect

of  the  mansion, by  the  side, coagulating

  and    supine    grass   up fronting

the  sky   for  its   clangs of  Mercy,

it is  getting  hotter  slowly,

 the  cloth  drier  is  empty,

 not  yet   time  for  the housewife

to unload  her  bucket of  garments,

sparrows   safe  in their  shady  nook

of   neem     tree , my  ancestral            

symbol   of lineage   the  leaves 

serve  a s  good  exorcist of  umbrage,

my   BRITISH POETRY   fritters  in a  corner,           

return  of  the  crow  to  dip

its    long    beak   in  the  bucket,               

you    too    go  to  the  cool pot.                 

Mortuary Breathes

Mortuary   Breathes

                                                                                                                           

This   ghastly , weird  mortuary

breathes  with    many a  breathless

those   of  whom  throbbing    till 

A while  ago,                              

This  mortuary  preaches 

The otherness of  Life,

Figures   in   some,   distorted,

Some  in  amputated  shapes

  heaped up, their  souls

already  embarked upon

A  different  journey, their

Own   predestined  routes,

While  the living  ,the kith and kin

In  a   hurried  journey  here,

  land  and  Search    them:

This  place:  a  white cloth

Covers  and  closes  the grand finale.

Morbid  yet, sheltering

All  the voiceless  now.

                                                         

 

April poem

          April  poem   

 Here  comes the good Samaritan,

 here   acts  the  exorcist,

 the  magic  wand

 dries  the   wintry   bed.

  April    comes     anew  

 touch  of  the  cool  breeze

  ward   off    sombre  and   sad,

 hooded    mood   and   discomfiture,     

   you  wipe  off  running   sweat ;

  believe  anguish  also  runs,  

  lean  against  the  wall               

   in   the  balcony, expect

   the  breeze  stays  ever,

   April   showers already

   on   the  way,  Sparrow’s

  chic   serenades  on your

  pot’s    pet  of   Roses,

  your   tomorrow   already  came.  

I am a pebble cast ashore

I am  a  pebble   cast   ashore

I   am  a  pebble  cast  ashore,

 After  battering ,roaring   waves,

Surfed   to  the  corner  of  the  shore

Embedded   dramatically somewhere

In   a  mound  of    sand  dunes:                                                                                                          

I  view  my  own  predicament,

After     myriad  births  and deaths,

 Come  upon   this  shore,   now   

Of    castaway.  Who   knows   a

Giant  wave   might    extricate 

and transplant  me ? Till   then

many   whips  of   tidal  waves,

splashing  on  me.                              

I  am a  pebble  cast  ashore.                                                                                                                                                

A Dance Not in rig morale.

   A  Dance   NOT    in  rig morale.

It  is  Not  a dance of   dance macabre,

 Not   a ballet   in    supple   move,

It   is  not  a  dance of   romantic  twigs

In    show   or   posture of snake’s  hood,

Not  a   dance   stunning  the  stage,

Nor   a twitch   and  turn  of  hands ,

It  is    a  dance  of  karmic  tune

Gyrating   within  your  self

Jumping   to  the  rhythm  of   preset   dawn.

  

The only Love that stands ....

         The only  Love  that   stands the test of  times,

           I learnt it  betimes,

          Is the  LOVE of  God,

           His   true  manifestation 

          true   and  selfless  for His  ardent  devotees,

           just mutual, Just  and justly  granted,

      The  pith   and marrow of  your  unquestioned surrender

        is  paid  bounteous  by His unique  vision

        which  does  not   crave  for clamour. and glamour.

Washing,washing, dish washing.

 Washing, washing  dish washing.

Washing  the   thick layered  soot

 in and   around  the  vessel , addicted

to the  corners  and in  the brim,

the  spikes   of  the  scrub  slippery

beneath  my  quick  moving   hands,

Washing , washing, washing,

Mind   dashing   against   memory galore.

Water in   taps,  slow  moving  motion,

  Foamed   lemonade fragrant

Liquid  cleaner, stagnate  in the sink,

So   much  in the  sink

 also     submerged  in   the  sink   of  life, 

washing, washing,  washing.

Running  the  race  of  life.

At times you feel..

 At   times you   feel..            

Let  me  be   a  worn- out,

half broken, lying    alone   cog

in  a   corner  to be tossed  out

by  hustle  bustle  ragamuffin

in  a   careless   play.

Let  me  be    broken   egg   shells

gathered   amidst   gathering  clouds  

 for  a   warming  nestle;

be  dripping   drops  while 

wringing   clothes, part of

my    drudgery, ridiculous

for   others, let  me  don 

the  robe  of  all my jejune,

crushed feelings  wailing

in  a corner  for  reasons  many. 

This Cool Moon today.

   This   Cool   Moon  today.

 The merciless   hot  summer 

Bazillion   cogitations  throng  me,

Summer  unsulking  spreads

 every corner  and mood,

Singular   you   stand  and sweat;

Afternoon    passes slowly

 after Vexing  us  all.

At   eventide you  stroll

This  cool  moon  is  not  cool,

Tarnished  by some   subtle 

Intruder,  she  too   unmakes 

Us , our  refuge  in  her,

Our  following   her, our

Longing  for  her company.

The  cool moon  is disturbed

By  some  concocted  clippings.     

Suffering speaks

Suffering  speaks.          

Suffering   sniffs   some  trouble, brewing

In the air, stares  from   afar,

Suffering   endures  suffering

Not knowing the   cause of suffering,

The  greatest  suffering, my dictates 

Tell me  is  to  suffer   not  knowing

What    for you  suffer, you   are  stifled,

Diplomatic  relationships  around you

Aplomb: disowning   you, yet buttress

A  solidarity   to you , you  know  it is 

All   fake.  Your  suffering    

 understandingly   Giggles  at   you,

suffering    unfurls  this  uncanny

and   conniving   world   around  you,

suffering   makes  you  read ,scan

the  hitherto  blank  pages                    

 a  void,  a   hidden   vista  of

secrets, you   read  many  encryption            

behind   this   suffering.

Suffering    says   you   endure me.

This is an age of dissent.

          This   is  an  age of  dissent.

 This is  an age of  flamboyant    dissent    

Pact   with   disagreement, thwarting

Disambiguation . I see  the  intricate  bunches,

mushrooms  are  many.

Burning, burning, burning,

Piety  is  compressed ,a  pea-nut

  burnt  like weeds and                 

Straw   in the  garden,          

Acoustics  proliferate 

Honest good living,

 Kind of     Weathering  goes on.

This is an age of flamboyant dissent.

Nov 1st 2008 Message

Women dive,dignified,into the sea of life,
 struggle and surface even underwater,
men , egoistic suppress, choking your breadth underwater.
 Women display prowess,
courageous emerge,
 successful from being submerged, lost.

Nov 02nd 2008 Message

Fear grips for horror 
of female infanticide, 
she,ensconces though 
lifeless for lost child, 
heavy jostle and bustle
in the railway platform,
live with commuters,
emotions vie with 
wheeling brakes.

Nov 03 rd Message 2008

 I am lost today,
for my connectivity to laptop is slow,
 and my fury and disgust 
is shown in the home department,
 for what is lost tapped in the utensils .

Nov 04 th 2008 Message

It is the dead of night,
humanity is still,
phone vibrates pitch darkness,
he,remorseful, recompenses
the message of love and
lost connection, at sixty,
wrong calls, at wrong times.

Nov 5th 2008 Message

In the God ordained book of Life,
every page is marvelous working,
a mystery, beginnings, endings 
mythical middle, a debate,
like a pendulum swings,
Predestination or man’s own
doing, persists .

Nov 6th 2008 Message

To earn her bread, English classics,
a masters in the subject paved the way,
but she realized, to be somebody special, something else is required,
She being in identity crisis.

Nov 7th 2008 Message

The hermaphrodite was least concerned for his predicament,

on the contrary he delighted to be so, for the government has extended

some concessions for the peculiar clan, for happy life.

Nov 08th 2008 Message

If you pour only undue curses,
What for those blessings and benedictions?
She muses, speechless, aghast,
for the ashes in the urn, the corner,
her loved one, makes her sober.

Nov 09th 2008 Message

Stumbling blocks stir up experiences
Of conundrums, yet, those fallen petals,
Of mixed emotions,
Mock at my predilections,
You cling to your Avatar, diligence,
Your blood , children, hope and rejuvenation.

Nov 10th 2008 Message

As a beauty conscious mother,
She preferred dancing then,
Child’s crying she construed
a detestable noise, abhorred
rocking cradle, child bearing
a burden, now God silenced
her womb , her abode.

Nov 11th 2008 Message

The poison in the woman’s form
deep seated, deadly with the
Seductive seeds of venom paired,
in the garden of his heart,
smug, colourful, roses of divinity,
serve as antidote.

Nov 12th 2oo8 Message

your day-dream is an extended 
metaphor of realized ambition, 
elephant, symbol of strength,
majesty, leads to the untapped 
aviary of colourful birds, 
melody in chirping
ryhthm in rivulets,
mountains, mysteries.

Nov 13th 2008 Messages

The copious, lengthy book of my life,
replete with serendipities, struggles,
open ,blue with buoyancy,
floats, not submerged, dashes rocks
dives into the mighty ocean of
Oystered pearls and wisdom.

Nov 14th 2008 Message

The village was inundated with floods,
two years ago, now no rains,
drought, scorching sun ,not a drop
of water, new taps , shower dry,
parched , fields, wandering livestock,
stealthy cry.

Nov 15th 2008 Message

She is violet, dancer,
a hard life,
fishing, preserving salted
fish , making nets, wine,
toils by the kitchen,
makes wafer, tends
sick uncle, sweats
flute making , bamboo works
writing satire.

Nov 16th 2008 Message

It was the much hugged bottle,
it was the beer which made him the addict,
it was the same which made inroads
into his life,
deprived his warmth, his wife.

Nov 17th Message 2008

In the unhealthy winter of
this , wet and grass intertwine,
I view frogs croak in rings
of prolonged beat, I sing my
summer , not chariot,
girl with a jolly ride.

Nov 18th Message 2008

She reads , verbatim, every
page of her book of life,
voluminous, doubts and
misgivings, sweet memories
backlashes, why to hug another
heavy, The Book of Doubts?
she Ponders, pities shelf.

Nov 19th Message 2008

1. Sun beams glow on the
   baby, in perambulator
   but the baby no longer
   breathes, yesterday,the house
   reverberated with the babble, coos
   and caws of lip rounding,
   now eerie silence.

   
   

Nov 20th 2008 Message

Karma or destiny synonymous
with a dog’s watchfulness,
fidelity. Merry or morose,
Struggle or surrender, karma,
like espoused saint or shadow,
chases you to the end.
My dog my Karma.

21 st Message 2008

Leeches in pearl shells,
wrong place to dwell,
if the devil stops thinking evil,
if angels fail to descend,
if leeches don’t suck blood,
greatest conundrums
incredible in the world.

Nov 22nd Message 2008

1. The wordy duel between them
   which came first,
   chicken or egg,
   or the egg or chicken,
   the debate took drastic turn,
   no more eggs in the house,
   only radishes ,turnips.

Nov 23rd 2008 Message

God the Magician, the Maker, UNMaker,
looks through His crystal glass,
Doing and Undoing, His routine rhythm,
We see miracles , mirages,
Yet, think devious,
Interpret more, Misinterpret
more and more.

Nov 24th message 2008

She, prudish, became suddenly
European, addict to French wine,
frilled , smacking frock on
her perfumed skin, western
notes in Anglophile villa,
Turkish Cigarettes,
But her children remind
their Indian Father.

Nov 25th Message 2008

In the stillness of night,
Eyes search for special in the
Picture of aquarium tub, he
Revives his dream, passion
for, Swimming, diving, his mouth
waters, tastes spiced, fish fry.

Nov 26th Message 2008

What those cracks, mud baked walls
Could do their aging selves?
Dilapidation and trepidation of death,
Shake them not, memory of 
early life, the roses and jasmines,
revitalise dying cells.

Nov 27th 2008 Message

She has obsession with lengthy
Gold chains, risk to keep 
in house, the drunkard husband
often pledged and pawned her desire,
them as well as her peace,
she cannot but.

Nov 28th 2008 Message

My son comes from school,
Removes his tight shoes ,
heaves sigh, a stringent measure of
school discipline of blisters,
I see pearly
smiles in his face, I abrogate
such rules .

Nov.29 th 2008

She is a coolie, daily wage earner,
Can afford only buttermilk,
Chocolates and cakes beyond her purse,
Sees a craving for these affluence 
in her son’s eyes,
Affection stretches beyond.

Nov 30 th 2008 Message

As man’s meticulous plans,
Almighty’s decisions mismatch,
I started with poem of thirty words,
ended up with narration of hundred
lines, began with my tale, ended
in her confounding story.

It is a hazardous journey.

 It    is  a    hazardous    journey

Rueful    of  the tricky ,dark  hazardous

Journey, you   type    your  geography less

Out pouring, each  tab  is  a   ping  pong ,

Reflective , recording  your  innings:

He  comes  straight  through  the undiluted

Undeviated  path   as usual   as his   white

Beams   are   a  therapy  to  your   tormented

Soul. For  him   no  dogma,  nor  miasma:

Yet   my encircling   darkness,

 a  connivance  by   small    human ,

To  undo   my  survival . Sun      

To   replenish , to  console  and   care.

Dark  is  riveted   in the  corner.

Karma of consciousness

    Karma of consciousness

I carry my Karma of consciousness,
Or Consciousness of karma,
On my head, prudent and wary,
Different nomenclature,
Yet one identity,one reality,

I carry my Karma of consciousness,
Or Consciousness of karma,
A pot of injunctions,
A fear,tremor, shiver:
Lest it should incur wrath of Gods.