Clay and Stone Stay Longer

   Clay  and Stone  Stay Longer

When  I  started  revamping my  loft

Containing Brass, and  Silver utensils,

Also  a  Clay pot,  memory  revitalizes

Past   and  ancestral lineage. That  specific

Pot  was used in   musical  orchestra  as

A  music  accompanying  artist’s instrument.

 The Chiseled  clay sang  tunes  and rhythms  

For  the Great  uncle  used to play  with

His  dexterous  hands, his  fingers  spoke

 unique  language . He  gifted it to me

to foster music  and melody. Until I find

a suitable player, I preserve it in my  loft.

  Now,  a  shift  to my grandma’s  mansion.

 How  often   I recollect   my  grandma’s

Home, my pride ancestral lineage, the

Stone  slab covering  the  main  entrance,

The  numbers  engraved still stupefy me,

What does it signify? You delve deep

Into  the past. The  inmates, the dwelling,

Their  mode of living. How oftener we

Have walked over it, erasing many a

Spilt  scar, tar and  tin, but  nothing  can  Erase 

Memory of them whom I know,

Their  habits  in the habituation .

They are a Batch

 They   Are  a    Batch

Fallen ,dry leaves loitering aimless

Gather  pals  on  ground.

There  are   dead  bones,

Plastic  disposables ,disposing

Our  hygienic and  calm.

 Like  nomads,desperate,

Go, curled  into  a  corner

Of their own  choice.

They  are Frisbee  like.

 In  dark,  they  are like

Threatening  heaps, ghastly

Ghost like. Yet  again, blown

By a  whiff of wind, roam  and romp,

Off   their stems, they are in doldrums.

Rattle within walls

      Rattle    within walls

In  the  garb  of  mechanical,

Duty Conscious act, also

 a mad, inhuman Drive,

those  in  power hang him

upside down  to  wring  out

truth, beat him up merciless.

Real  culprit as  a  feline

Is  loitering  elsewhere.

The  roof  is   the  silent witness

Helpless   as  the  victim.

In  the  day  time, when  sun

Beams shine, he is restored

To normal position; a Rattle

Strikes  his conscience,

His  being. Mirror  on 

The wall   cannot reflect

His rattle, only his face .

   

Mother's prayer and concern for her siblings

Mother’s   Prayer and  concern  for  her  siblings

 Fruits   and foliage sing  a  lullaby

 For  the twittering  buds of blossom,

 Mother Earth is for propagation

And  growth to foster  humanity’s

Needs  and nuggets of  survival .

Our forefathers  believed in

 Concept of ritual of marriage

A  time honoured Tradition

For Progeny is very vital.

Ye! Children,  your beauty, wealth

And  estate   and shares should be

Shared by your offspring

When winters cold bites us

Pushing us into  a corner,

Your care  we need, for the

Womb  to be blessed. Sooner

You all ring  the bell of

Matrimony for a pleasant

 Lineage of  patrimony.

My Companion

      MY COMPANION

The  saliva  dripping, rosy  tongued

Wagging  till now  briskly,

but  now  twirled around

as  if  on a   band of  coils sit

and  speculate  the  world

with   the spy’s  breath .

When  alive  life  is  in

Full  force  and throb

And   a  vanguard   to  police.

A watchdog  for  a house

And  a  fierce companion,

Faithful  life long friend.

In  real life stories,

Many a  dog   has died

To  protect  its master’s

Prestige  and precious life.

A t the same time

What is this coinage?

I oft wonder what it

Is  to  die  a dog’ s Death,

Uncared for, trampled  upon

A  bundle  of  bleeding  flesh.

Every night its bark is  a

Wary  call  or menace for

The commuters. My dog

Is  my   Console.

Skin's hairy pores

Skin’s hairy pores

From the soft  film like,

Hidden, secretive hairy

Pals  of  skin, pores

Gloat  over  the gloomy

Area. There  are the drops

Of  sweat. Sweat drops

Flow  sequential  to  the  

Labour. The possessor of 

Skins dispossess   and disposes

Those  drops .Sweat feels  uncanny

And unpolished   and unethical act

This is .Representative   sweat

Opines  ‘we all  belong to same  area’

Why  this  animadversion?

It  is  not  Love’s labour  but

Labour’s Love  is  emitted.

Skin  responds “ you  are not  static,

Moreover, we  abrogate your

Saltish  move. Sweat  mocks 

“if  we don’t  come out, you

Will go down by obese.

Skins

            Skins

All   the  skins    and genders

Under this  Sun, have one  common

Logo  of  touch   and   go.

Nothing  stays  ever ;

Endure  this logic  of   pathology

Skin plys   skin, touch  and  feel.

Affection, affectation 

Genial  warmth  and gentle

Aura  all  permeate.

No major  souls’ play there.

Soul stands apart  and

Watches  there.

It is like canonization

)     It  is   like  canonization.

     When bamboo  notes

     Peer  out and strike  a  melody

     They  pay  hymn  to  those

     Wood  and  green  leaves,

      It  is  like  canonization.

      The  hard  bent wood

      and  chiseled   bamboo

      gracefully  acknowledge

      the rhythm of  sonority.

      It is like a   canonization.

     

     

     

She tweets in the lawn

   

        She  tweets  in  the  lawn

In  the quest of new, surrender of  self
To the  polymath  greenery of environment
She  sheds her plumage, retains  a few,
She tweets on the lawn,
No lamentations, no pining
Except  for  the cherished plumage,
She  reconciles  it is  all
For  the good,  a process by itself.
She  tweets on  the  lawn.
Hers is the lawn, loneliness gone,
She  lets go  a  white  feather
Meandering  giving  it  a  free pass.
She tweets  on  the lawn.

We are the Bunch of Grass.

 We  Are  The  Bunch Of  Grass

 Creepy insects  disturb us,

Butterflies   and  tiny flies

Pass us  taking  us for granted.

Dew  drops  as tears, as I construe,

Fall  on us for we  are trampled

 Foliage, pitiable, desperate.

 We  are   The bunch of  grass,

We  smell  green, we smell fresh,

 Vibrant  wet  Emanate  from our roots.

Roots, like  ancestral grandeur

Are  our  unshakable  Strength.

We  are  Not peel of plantains,

 We  bend and  yield to  sickle

Of  callous   cuts  and  removal.

We  have no   boundary  line,

At times, our brotherly kin

Pops out of gaps, of cleavage,

of walls  and  moles.

Sudden and Assured for Ever.

 Sudden  and  Assured  For Ever.

The  nymph comes  sudden 

Sure  to  lend its assured hands.

It  may  be  from  the  hidden 

Stone slab  or from  the  wavy

White  curtain behind which

The zephyr like. If  willed

It can be  dexterously  evasive

of uncanny  dangerous prevailing

on our  existence, moods ,why even

thwarting   them  to our  surprise.

It  could  be  the  cautious  ringtone

Of our futurity  or  winning 

Moiety  of  win  and victory.

It  is  angelic, pure  and pristine.

It is a  glow, glowing  for ever

In your heart and soul

Man's Shame, Sun's Beam

Man’s Shame, Sun’s beam

Man’s urge for  flesh and impulsive itch ,desire,

Youth and mirth  and  wine  and  liquor,

A mockery for his existence,

Finally  fetch in the  loss   of  gold  and coin

Currency ,his name  and reputation,

So are for  women’snudge   for costly , 

Result in loss of  the same .

Costly is  the   coveted  and   lost.

After years gone, realization stems

Bodily death man’s doing   and 

Soul pining  for  the loss  and  amiss

Flies to  a  different zone.

Sun’s beams  refract  Not the

Shame  of  the bend  of  the  day.

It  is  goalless  life, now  soulless too.

It is  the  grey  life ,ultimately

Coming  to  an  end .

Spring  and  sun  and  season’s

Nurture take turns , come and  shine.

On Hair Fall and Hair do

On  Hair Fall  and  Hair  do

On  Hair Fall  and  Hair  do

The Fall, Hair   Fall is 

Highly  dangerous, like

The  Fall of  Archangel

for  after  the degeneracy

Its  clusters ,coils,  gather

Round  and round and

Occupy  the corners ,

A predominant   supremacy

Asserting  their  wounded

Pride  on  the earth. My

Grandma  oftener  sounded

That  the  coils like cobwebs

Are  ill omen  and  forecast

Penury and  emptiness

In the household.

How  beautiful and

Filling ,decorative ,

The  hair on the head!

A thin  filmy layer like

we   comb, and reorganise   

to  our  tastes. On  top,

in their  due position,

hair layers  are safe,

in  the   dexterous, deft

hands of   hair dressers,

they  are subservient  and

undergo  different  twists

and  tangles  and  deaths.

  Also, Nowhere  they  are

On the ground.

The Twin

         The Twin

My personal Computers, agile

Not  Parried, but  compacted  

Into   pact  of union, emit  numbers

And papers in    steadied  ringtones  

Innate  and streamlined  in them.

Tab gently  mocks, 'bereft of me,

You  both  are null'.

 Now  I feel   My job is done.

I review my outcome, multiplied

On   colour    print, always

A touch , a smile on tab

Amidst  a  short silence

Of  the  friendly  Twin.

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.