'What if the sun shines?'

   ‘ What if the  sun  shines?’

   Me born, denied  of   vision,

   my dark room  like x ray theatre;        

    my living luxury with unbounded

   Forte. What if the seasons blossom

  with respective smiles, up swelling  like

  springs of water taps in corners of

  railway platforms, for me the dark

  is my ordained luxury.

   A gentle tap   going afore

  when compelled by necessity

  on the traffic ridden roads, sun beams

  glare at me impartial, jasmine and rose

  those captivating, nosedrils    piercing                                                           

   fragrance, foray that they belong to

   their category, for I see them not.

 All  these  for   the sense of my being,

 Flip for the skin and  flesh;

 But  my four walls, for my soul  attuned 

 ever since I came into this blessed soil!

for  it bears me still ,still and  silent. 

What  if the sun peeps out!

Winter pause ( after guardian)

Winter  pause ( after guardian)

 Memory does not forsake me

for relieving in your face  and beauty

is a  bliss, which I enjoy viewing the

outside pouring stars; still  snow

pollution stagnant every where.

Grass  is green and so is desire

where amplifiers and trade

go on, trafficking people,

from morn till dusk where

dark descends in all corners.

Like Eliot’s mixing memory

and desire here  youth and strong

desire for flesh, cathedrals  and choir

play with cats  and tender  toys;

wild peeps in with a zest of curiosity.

Hour passes  by, flowers shrink at dusk,

when birds go back to their protective caves,

silence   and serenity with lowing beams

sing along inward bidding good bye;

what is called winter sun on its own path.

After Daft patter ( guardian)

After  Daft   patter  ( guardian)

What is loneliness, if you define

And defy loneliness, it is a sort

Of strengthening, analyzing your

Vicinity, your being, and nature

and surroundings; may be with a

tinge of  introspection and sullen brood.

Bearing all that is dark and chill

In cold, your pinafore a guard and care

Doesn’t  care for wind and grass,

Riding on  in free grass mounds

and  paddy chanting tomorrow

is breezing fast around you;

at times, seasons and almanac

timed in ancient codifications,

ruled your expectations, still

I am far away from these time bound

Restrictions, you are aware perhaps;

Still waking around  chained by

Bond of togetherness and oneness

Permeating our  culture  and cue.

Ring of words ( after Guardian)

Ring of words ( after Guardian)

Every thing has got its own place,

tune and corner, ringing in its pace.

Words well said sound  apt when

Uttered   by right thinking  and

Song has its meaning and melody

Sung by a ringer in tunes warped

In his moods of choice set to times;

I have understood impact of words

In day to day life and sail of each minute.

Lover  and lunatic  sing their own songs

In day light, in noon’s bright and day’s  beam.

Sunset and fall  never intervene,

Their affairs and afflictions, for red  and white

linger in the same valley for all.

Me, color and moon

Me, color  and moon

I  want color, zest in colorful life,

 a song to merge with color of life,

 greenness in the greenery of life’s

blooming green, adding color to my life

of   merry singing in love’s take;

my singing is not dull for it draws

inspiration from the chirping and moving

above  endless in grafting  all around us;

The moon, plump like babe’s cheek

 touching my  love pad, waxing its melody.

I walk and walk, looking at the moon,

Moon is my light, my  bright, my cheers

Moon is my beam of  love and lure,

Moon is  my day of luck, my love;

In my lady love, the moon and color

Merge with prosperity and bloom,

Moon is my  philosopher and guide,

Propelling into love and  pots of luck.

Conversation between the tree and wall

 After  ( Sycamore Gap)

Conversation between the tree  and wall

 Between you and me

There is always an edge,

a feel of  uncompromising

complex; though driven by the wind,

 I spread  and establish my territory,

Roots beyond counts and not be shaken;

Tree  began its inner feelings;

Wall replies  now, unyielding,

This valley belong to me,

Though you have  occupied, unauthorized,

taking asylum, I allowed  you to grow

further deep in my crevices and cleavage;

you survive because of my solidarity,

 you spread like a  terrifying ghost,

at times, even  I am scared by your

luminous growth and spread.

Wall continues, but there is one

Common spectator  and listener,

 Silence  pervades in and around.

After Harlem

What is that grim night

in the grip of darkness;

desire  and   feet of  crave

move about in search of

something strange, cringing like.

Streets are busy, streets are illumined,

streets are  throbbing with energy.

 these girls in the dead of night

spring like ping pong ball, all through

the night,  irrespective of snow

on their feet  and head, raising like

 wild fever;

Rags  and  hand to mouth life,

pinching belly and parched headache

 thirsty tongues and   yielding

desires propelling to corners;

always   Harlem and dissatisfaction

of  fallen  race,  mixed with haste

and hunger,  yet  feel of  helplessness. 

Myself ( after Guardian)

  Myself  ( after  Guardian)

Life is governed by laws, rudimentary rules,

how to live, what to abrogate, but we mostly

flout  so much only for belated realization;

home is the watchword, catchword,

rushing home after day’s ordeal

your conscience, your avowed commitment.

Some for sex, some for serenity, some

for both in equal proportions, you know

they follow balance is the word;

sometimes, pressure is  the tool for those

who fall a  prey, ignorant of consequences,

for some, it is in the skin, blood, to pressurize;

I am not in the game anyhow,

I  am monopolized for something new

Something novel and strange and unique;

All happening in their dream.

Ticking off the calendar

Ticking off  the calendar

With the advent of New year

a new born elm, a smile always

welcoming all in the household,

looking at the corners of every page

a calendar in each room, a visage

of Messiah,holding  numbers in wand;

some dates crossed for bringing tears

some dates marked  highlighting events

happening and harkening, soft touch

is  the heal. A new  face, new  laminated bulk

new  beckoning, yet effacing old memories

impossible; a straight horse  jumping into field

crossing all barriers, thistled  hoofs, high jumps

over  bush, speeding fast to an unknown

destination; fog clogging nose  and pathway;

wind across  window pane, calendars

fritter and  face ordeal of hands and push.

They  have   a special place on the wall.

My home, my own lock

My home, my own lock

 A house is a must for all,

To stay and be sheltered

with comforts and corners

each in an ambiance of cool;

From simple earning to this state,

Where  cobwebs and lizards

In safe mode, from corner to corner

Move about, like scenes in a movie camera.

All are welcome to this abode

Of self constructed and self designed,i

Where freedom and  choice of individual

Care rule in all quarters, pets and cats

Mew and move about, wagging,

Drinking from the plates  in  demure.

A house in alien land

where earthquake and war

I have seen often as common

as  smiles in dreams.

Still mahogany table  of carved edges,

And upholstery  of ancient realm

 Stayed for long, now  memory

Fading slow  and  I am stuck in my own,

Nothing can lock , nothing can prevail,

For my home, is my adoration and devotion.

peace ---

Peace

You cannot run like an avid sportsman   kicking   ball

from foot to pillar wiping your flowing sweat fondly

touching your shirt-wet with your skin hot hot.

Running after Peace, in marketplace of wear and tear,

amidst jostling crowd, do you see or  grab it?

Is it a sari decked on the super model

or  is it   spicy  birthday cake to be displayed

on  a Tanjore   plate of ancient carve of exquisite     

tradition criss cross overwhelming all our eyes of taste?

At the end of the day, go home searching

In the eyes of cute kids welcoming with smile

Cherubic and serene, sipping juice in tasty buds ooze;

Peace!  Can it be bought like a peanut  butter

for a momentary gulping with a coke or sprite:

spreading like a  banana jam on  whole wheat bread;

or brushing aside hundred lies for  one momentary survival

in fast moving like concord taking our breaths away.

Wheeling and wheeling leading us nowhere.

Peace! Peace! Under the bodhi tree in the past,

Now in closed corner, away from din and bustle.

Love towards have-nots - (human values)

Walking on the footpath

Walking on footpath, goggles on your eyes,

 your   decorated   eyeliner and sophistication

with foreign umbrella tilting   and exotic perfume

all around you, colorful handbag gentle 

on hand tucking away your silk  sari away lest

it should reach the beggar   with a touch

 of itch , you careful on the path, but least

caring for his dented vessel  for alms, to suffice

his hunger and day and night with his kids

in tattered rags dependent on him ;

you throw away  a  coin-   not out

of your urge for   fellow feeling or

concern for his precarious situation,

but your eight-year-old should not

chide you for ignoring and callousness.

The sensible bends down to remove the

half hearted coin; instead gently puts

below ten rupees note in his hands.

A  mockery for his  father and like minded.

A life bereft of gentle and understanding no use.

Not for that city of Silence ( after Guardian

Not for  that  city of  Silence ( after  Guardian)

No, not for  that of orb of white,

without which globe will be dark upright,

 still, we are not in favor of that city,

 full of golden gates  and rays sharp

piercing to the dazzle  of our eyes,

eternity of heat swelling in summer

much to the chagrin of our delve,

soon wearied we become detriment

to our wholesome body and mood.

Yet, in winter dark and devouring,

When shiver  runs through, like

A tremor, when jerkins and fur coat

become hot commodities, this white

City missing for a while, taps your memory.

The  hot orb, we shun when dazzling,

its mild orange rays while descending

other side of hill eluding our grip

and visibility,till its wakes us in

respectable Dawn,all  Mantras

chanting veering round all,

we  clamoring for that Silence

celestial governing principle

of the Universe too.

After Guardian’s The Corn-Stalk Fiddle

After Guardian’s    The Corn-Stalk Fiddle

The boon of a farmer is the day

of harvest when  his field is all

bloom and glow with shiny corn

enriching his  looks and mindset as well.

It is not like “burnished spears … of gold”

It is – mine of  gold coins all cut and set

For field mice  to ply and play unchecked.  

Your eyes catch corn stalks

That lie all around with yearning

Passion and care for you to pour;

 How many melody and songs

from the strings  and bow of the

fiddle of stalks lengthy after chisel !

it is  like collaborative birds in the

morn of greenery  clothed in sunny wisdom;

bow and fiddle from the same stalk

the proud owner is  happy  and ready

to improvise notes from his dainty tune.

It is slow  and low  for many wonder

wherefrom the sweet secret melody flows’

Then comes the dance of girls adorned -

Simple ornaments  dipped in beads

Of  bells    woven by grandma’s call

Preserved in chest of  oaken drawers.

My dream is well knit sleep-

Images of  colorful costumes

Shining  on corn stalk fiddle.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving

Receiving The Mercy of God,

Just as  The showers from  the Blue,

Azure  tapping all its sources,

The superfluous twinkling of the stars,

Gates  of charity open and alms

Pouring  in times of needy;

War and fighting and gun shots,

Like hot pellets seizing the mood;

and blood oozing, mostly frozen;

still, healing not as fast as  vendetta

and pain which is grueling;

another concept of receiving;

no balm or appeasement for these;

some ray of hope lingering;                    

for all  of us  Thanksgiving

concept of thanks giving,

that one special Gift of mankind

kindling all flames,

nurturing hope and growth;

kernel of Divine Ordinance

governing principle of mankind.

The flea ( after Guardian)

The flea  ( after  Guardian)

All  the  four  walls   frequented

With  these  ringing near fleas,

may be springing from different sources,

all the more safe in net  clothing in rooms.

We sneeze, discard, drive away these,

Sucking monsters, secretive  and sudden.

Surreptitious sucking  blood , after  wooing,

A kind of seduction,  after  sin and singing,

A mellifluous ringing,  continual process

In bed and blood  oozing in tender

Waking up triggered   by a painful sting;

Our  skins swelling, our helpless

Predicament  thwarted by care .

Every drop is every cell’s nutrition ,

Every succession is fleas’ attempt

In murdering innocent and flowing .

There  is  a combat always between,

Our efforts in driving , their sitting

Persistent going on and on.

Singing all through.

 Singing all  through.

For  him the winter  is slow,

The songbird  feels could be

April  with its  coil of spring

 mellifluous  rising hopes

in all . Certainly for him /her

November is the same as Dec Morn;

Me  as  a spectator in the corner

Stand and witness all  birds

Start singing if they are prompted

By a tune special and in surrounding

 calm and cool; Advent of Jan,

throb of  April chill November

throughout, the same singing

profuse and not a premeditated art;                                                                                  

seasons change, love and hate

in mutations and buff and blow,

you grow long in singing loud,

most of times, a silent singing

into yourself goes on within,

along with the birds and flora and fauna

in a nod or beckoning , aura of   own.