A Desire For Furthering My Move.

                   A Desire  For  Furthering  My Move.

( Please  do not  berate me  as a person  SANS patriotic  fervor, but this is a

Blatant ,inevitable depiction of   the contemporary  scenario).

       I like this House, a  sacred Abode,

      Where  I  know   the set things

      Where I kept, also comfortable with.

       I need   move, a change.

      I wait, long for, also pine oftener,

      What  about  those for whom

     Doors  are shut. No Chance .      

     But  I need  to  leave this, a  Move,

     At least  for  a while. To soil

    Which promotes your  creative aura,

   Lands  where language   and literature

  The lustre of which glow, fetch you peace

   and  serenity. Here  dirt   and  waste

  cankering  our bodies  and rancor

  corroding  deadly our  souls.  Garbage 

  and  flies pile up, despite  best efforts

 to  keep  alerts  of   sanitation  drive.

 Money from  coffee  houses  to coffers

And  coffins   thence to  crematorium,

Looks  as if  people are eating money.

 You  are not allowed to do

Your own work, your salt is not yours.

Realize, no point raging, or  racing through

The rusted  times. The country of Vedas

 And Upanishads  has  been slowly

Going asunder. But I am sure

That something  we are  searching

We  will have one  day. This  is

My  house, my  land  of  firm  stand.

   

Burn not thyself

  Burn  not  thyself.

Burn midnight candle

In   dutiful   serendipity,

to achieve healthy goal

Or   avowed  commitment.

But  Not thyself, nor  your  flesh,

It is not your business.

Burn your Angst of  temerity

and  anger ;but  not  your

 peace  and   serenity.

Stillness,stirring you.

   Stillness, stirring you.   

Sitting  on gravel mound  

In  front  of a lawn spread

With  green   Savannah like,

Neatly  clipped on, Your

Moorings  stretch  far beyond

Aeons  of Memory.

Breeze, freeze, fritters ,

Powders  all your surges

Roving  within  you.

Stillness  is   now  perceptible.

Look up the  canopy

Of  cool  firmament,

Some shade or journey

In the cool moon.

May be some ancestor’s

Soul   dwells in serenity.

Moon glides  slow

A steering lesson for 

Mankind to follow.

Though high, stillness

Is perceptible.

Your  paper fritters,

Measure the immeasurable

In  lines  of compete  rhythms

Surpassed  by the tossing roars.

On   the    ageless sands of

Crab play, hide and seek;

Pebble    and pop corns,

 business of Ground nut vendor.

Go  through  the lines

in the poly vocal  rehearsal

there is vibrant   Stillness.

A contrast

              A contrast  

 You  go  to  the  Himalayas,

 Avowed  Penance  and

 Profound  string of meditation 

Are not  the only  remedies.

Stultifying   revelations 

Are too many, mysterious

  Ground breaking too.

In  the  melting  snow,

In the downpour of rains,

You see  the hardness of 

Human  hearts, Thaw  Not.

 In the hard  stone,                                   

Beneath  the exterior,

There is a   wet  border.

The  carpenter’s chiseled

Hammer  and  intermittent 

Beats   on the wooden teapot,

emit   unique rhythms,

Cautionary  tale for bystanders

And  listeners  as well.

Painful  rhythm to listen to.

Salt  in the ocean waters,

sea shell  and conch ,

roars  and frothy  foams

powering   sands  and  helpless

Anchorage  and   marooned

Ships –weave tales of ample past.

All contrast to man’s small brain.

Manna From Heaven

  Manna  from   Heaven

Shelly’s  wintry bed,

Byron’s   mighty ocean,

Keats’ west  wind aura,

Wordsworth’s  leaping  heart

And   colourful Rain, the

Azure  sky  carrying  so

Much of  innovations and

Technological intrusions,

All  get wet, jubilant by

The   rain bearing  clouds

 Concomitant   drops.

The  dry  leaves  fallen

On  the ground  typify

Age’s  metaphor. For All,

for Those, rain drops are

Manna from Heaven.

    Our itch  and Sketch.

“  our   Beauties  are not ours”.

Autumnal Flowers, the ground

Smeared, loaded with  uncanny

Leaves, the  broken sounds

Of  aridity on the  pond, nearby.

Age  has its toll on them too.

We  are no exceptions, wrinkles

On our  skin, the itch and  sketch,

Are  the  undoubted  monopoly

Of  Age. Age’s doing and undoing.

 Oh! Man! Slow  on your steer, 

  Let  the Clutches  be under your

  Purview. Our  Beauty is  only

  A passing shadow. In  due course

  They  are our  Beauties are

  At  the mercy of Beauty parlour.

  

Grey sky, white beams of Sun

 Grey sky, white   beams of  Sun

  Grey   sky, Straight white beams

 of    gubernatorial  Sun, twinkle  of stars,

A galaxy carrying  all our ancestors’ souls;

All  get clouded, transient   and temporal;

All come and go, take  turns  to govern

Yet  on  a  lasting  ambiance.

Small  or   big Nature  always fascinates,

Enthralls, tutors   and  warns  all of us.

Grey(ing )is  always there in

Some  unpalatable  form or other.

We  sit  still, stillness  is  there

Only calm and  guide.  We watch

The influx of humanity moving

About, throb  and sensation .

Extraordinary   moment of  

Ordinariness   stemming  into

Realization, grey  is

Inevitable. Live the resplendent

Part  and remember it.

We  continue to write

And reflect  and record,

We have to live.

I Hold My Love

   I  Hold My Love.

In My Cupped palm

Of  criss cross lines,

I hold you, my Love!

You  are my breeze,

My bonanza, my bouquet!

Opening  like a  flower

Blossoming  into eternal,

Lasting  fragrance  dwelling

In Unshakable  Edifice.

I   hold  you my  Love.

Hidden  behind   gossamer

veil of fritter  and  frill,

aroma  of  Breeze peeps

In   and  out  of  the  window.

Curtain  partakes   of  the

Jubilation  Of Love’s  mirth.

 I hold you my Love,

My song, melody  rejuvenates

From   the tombs of

Antony  and  Cleopatra

Their  dead  angst into

 Not  A  Permanent  Threnody

But    everlasting   Bliss.

I hold  you  my  Love.

 Not a   cake, but a   cakewalk

Into  a life of  serendipity

And  high  thinking.

The World Is..

The World Is .....

The World is in

 In The  Process of Ending;

In  an imaginary  quest

Of  burning  the

Hot  sand, the  lonely  

Desert, not as  a marauder,

A ride on the horse,

Hoofs  make imprints.

Trample upon uncared for

Dying Plants, half  dead insects,

Sands, sand  dunes  voice

Eerie, lonely  chores.

Huskiness  dwells in.

Far  beyond  the  edge,

A  spooky  giant  like,

A  Tree  by  a  pond;

Miles  to go  far beyond,

When  Thirst  throttles

You  are not dying:

World is almost ending.

A Doleful plea to the policemen ( prompted by ghastly newspaper reports of innocent dying in prison.)

 A Doleful plea to  the policemen

( prompted  by ghastly  newspaper reports of innocent dying in prison.)

Ye! Policemen, you are great,

You protect  the public, on rounds

Dutiful  and  vigilant.  Catch   thief

Count  perils too. Yet  in most cases,

 milk  of human kindness, miserably

Is missing. Let your kaki livery,

Hardened  Lathe  be more  poised

Not poisoned   by the  stringent  Law

Of  rigour   and  legal   thumb.

Let  not  luxury  be  lashes of

Your  Lathe, let  patience and

And  Reason  rule  your  roost.

Your  promotion  should  not

Demote  a  soul  into  a flicker

Of  soulless  life. Let  your  finger

Point  to  the  right, let   not your

Legs  rough  the  subtle. Open

Your  eyes, see  your loving

Daughter  and  son in victim

 In front of you.  You can  let go

One guilty  but not one innocent

 be punished. Remember this

Law  from  Above.

Sawing of the Wood

            Sawing  Of  the  Wood

Sitting  on the Mahogany   table 

 I  View  the Chippendale curio

On the wall, an emblem of  grandfather

Days, decor on the  long painted wall.

The  same  hearth  also  saw  the

Cabin  of termites in the backyard .

Ere the days of chainsaw, the raw

Wood cutting, carpenter’s dexterity

Coupled with his see-saw axe.

Saw  history  and serendipity,

 Designer’s  technical   mastery.

The  wood  cutting   a   rough job

 It  is  a  seasoned semi roar from

The  hands  and  the  blades of  axe.

Saw  dust   sprinkled   all over

 Besmear  the  scenario. Now

 I see  the about to be felled

 Round giant   Tree. A segregation

Of  Nature from  Man.Eve’s  Taste

Our distaste. Distaste  for much.

In the darkness, falls  many a leave

For   a  bright  morrow

 to  unravel mystery.  

Lullaby

        Lullaby

 From  Dusk  to  Dawn,

 She   dreams in  the lawn.

She  holds  the cute   tiny,

Leans  against her roomy

Shoulder  to  pat  with  lullaby.

Ever  since  that  day on  role,

Of  a   class   she was sterile,

Agile  enough  to  console,

Also  to console  her soul .

Stretches   a lullaby  full.

 Recollects  her  days of

 grandma’s   falling   hands  

Rocking  a  cloth  cradle

Sets  in tune of  ageless 

Melody  and  timbre .

It  is  a  colorful  doll

Made  to  sleep  to  her tune.

Time's Travelogue.

         Time’s Travelogue

    In  a  moment of   reverse

    Adjudication   of pondering,

   Time  doesn’t  fleet nor fly.

   It  takes its own  steady course

  On its embittered wheels.

 At times  coarse  tapping

Your  memory. Otherness 

Is  always  there.  Its  doing 

And   undoing a wonder.

 It  is a  crow morn  to  noon,

Hop  skips on the  brown stems

Or branches, looking  askance

and  pecking  hither  and thither.

Wheeling  on Time’s   immutable circa

You wonder at those  basking  in the

Luminous galaxy, a   rebirth of

Their  identity. For  some,

 A wanted   quick  release

From  this  cacophonous  trauma .

Say The Word Death.

   Say   The Word   Death

Death strikes  many with

A  blow off. The final begin

Of a  journey to an unknown,

Unknowable. A stiffening state

Soon  to be dismembered

Into embers of  flames.

A sleep into the  ordained  Deep.

Into  the  Other world  or  Nether world.

Yet for  some, Death wish

Is  a  relief from the unendurable

Pain of  body  or tormenting  Soul.

The  stupid  step of  tormenting

Soul  for ever, ever. For  the onlookers

A  feel of ‘could have lived  Life better’ .

For  the  Foreseeing  Potter,

the multi task of gyrating,

How  to  fix  the Soul  and

 Where   In  Whom .

Behind these hard strings..

     Beyond Misery a   clout .

    Behind   Mystery a  cloud.

    Behind ostentation in  some 

   Cases, shallow  thrill

   Sooner  to  desiccate.

    Life  shrouds  another life,

    even  swallowing   uncertainty,

    Opens  like  lobes of

    Plantain; on  most occasions,

    Like   a   seasoned   thug,

     Only   upon   severe  

     Interrogation, Multi layered  

     hinges touch upon

     but  not  Demure.

     You  are boiling, with  Calm

    Stays  the surface  of   your heart.

Clay

       Clay

Decor  in my balcony

Inculcating   a Belief

It  wards off evil

In the first look

At the morn.

From  the  pot of  clay

A dainty Rose blossoming,

We forget the clay, but

Not the Rose. Water every day,

 Cool the clay pot,

Buds the  Rose,

We forget the pot

Of clay. We tend to

Forget  the Creator,

Gain  the laurels.

Mostly that is how

It works.

        Prisoner  weeps   silently

 It  is  not French medieval prison.

It is contemporary cell  for  the  branded

Criminal. Victim  branded by the  police

And law in force  but  not by the  legal,

 Judiciary.   Verdict  is   awaited.

  His guiltless ,free  conscience within  

 Weeps to the walls.  Not totally

Contemporary, ere Modernity took

Its   reels; cells   grind  his day

And  night.  One  day, from the

Platform took him, mauled him

For  drinking, slowly entangled

Him  for  a  murder, he didn’t

Have   an  iota  of clue. Ruthless

Police  could  only  show  their

Prowess on him .Whips their  rains ,

 Merciless,  Privilege on him,

for none he had To argue, for he was pauper,

His rags, his companion throughout.

 Chagrin of his life, his routine .

Yet, Meditation, prayer, his solace.

Sun’s  ray ,regular beam through the

 Cells ,affirms  to solace  him, intuition

Augurs  he will be scotfree.

The Three Rules.

     The   Three   Rules.

  This  unfaltering  canopy,

This  world  is  governed  by   

Three   unique  cardinal  Rules

Ever  since  superb  Creation,

Creation, Protection, Destruction .

Planned, sustained   and calculated

Respectively. Of course, according

To one’s own  Karma.

Within this ambit of vastness,

Life   and leadership  and luminosity

All  take place. Words  lead to

Complexity  and  misunderstanding

At times.  Misinterpretations  too.

Sometimes   tantamount   to  eternal

Waiting  for a   platform in which

Trains  don’t  arrive  at all.

Existence  notates  within the

Inevitable  Rs thus:

Rainbow, Romance, Reconciliation,

Recreation, reproduction, retribution.

Anyway  Life  has  to go on.