The Old Familiar Faces.

The   Old  Familiar  Faces.

In  my undergraduate  days,I  have read many

Prescribed books ,both for  detailed  and non-detailed,

gone  are  the old  faces, All, except  the  Faces in  Elia.

I   have read  and  re read ,many characters  I  have  grasped,

Some  live, some  relive beyond   effacement,

But   places   and   faces of Elia  live  forever in my  Mind.

 ‘Dream-children’  I always cherish with  Melancholy Adoration,

Woe  be to one ,who does not like line,...sentiments,

We   are  the phantom children, these live with an imprint ever.

“Old –china”   and  “south-sea  House”   Haunts   of my  readings,

 I always shed tears ,recalling  those memories ,old faces,

 Class mates, old faces  are gone, memory of  Elia   stays for ever.

The  ancestral  home,pillared ,high vaulted is gone,

Worshipful inmates are gone, pet cats  and sparrows are gone,

All  are gone, old  familiar and intimate  are gone.

You  are my bosom friend, my Mentor, Heart residing Deity,

Also  dwelling  in my HOME and   Guardian Angel,

All are gone, but  You will  stay forever.

All  are gone,but  it is  God ordained dictum,

The  God  whom  you like,worship in good earnest,

Will  Stay  With  You  Forever.

Secrets

 Secrets.

 What  kind  of  secrets  can you  share with HIM

Who  already has shared your  heart’s feel, your

Creative moves. It  is  He  who  has sown  the  seed

In  the  state of  tabula  rasa,to  grow  and more

to  confide  in  Him  the secret of  your  success,

the  secret,that  but  for  His  sacred  Blessings  

on   you  a  miraculous    thyme, parsley,

you  are  a  null  and  void. This   is a  public secret.

Underneath My Table

                Underneath  My  Table.

Underneath  my sturdy  Mahogany  table,

No mystery, they are   veering around?

I  am  enslaved by  the  writing  pad  on  table,

Yet   gripped  by    tabula rasa, now.

The  papers  crushed  or  crumbled

Fritter in a playful mood, as if  caterwauling:

Perpetuated  by the  fan above rotating,

They are the fertile   imagination  crushed.

Still every  letter folded    within   paper,

Every idea  lurking  within the   white

abandoned, looks  for  a  space out.

I remould them, recreate  them, now

They  shine  atop   with an elevated 

Status, a   new   title, new  flip.

The Great Mystery Of You.

1) The   Great  Mystery  of  YOU.

You  are  the  presiding  deity of the

Worshipping  rosebuds, their   infancy

A holistic  concept and  approach.

 Blossoming  afor, innocence grips  them,

Craving  for  the  warmth

skyward, call it  heavenward,

awaiting  the nod of  Sun God perhaps.

YOU   are the life giving source of

Stem  and  stalk  that  hold the

Progeny of  fragrance.

YOU  are the gardener’s pail

wetting  the   thirsty soil,

The  anthill   Verve  a   cleavage

To  serve themselves. 

You are  the  seed  and   the  porous,

Surfing   surge, final  deluge

 Whyness  of which  Deluding  us  all.

Time and Music.( Take from Guardian’s sonnet of irreconcilables)

Time    and Music.( Take  from Guardian’s  sonnet of  irreconcilables)

Time   and  Music,

Perhaps, let loose by the

Thread  and   kite,

also, this  way, thread  and kite,

timing  with the  fritter  and

musical bonanza in the air:

Twin  sisters, buzzing on  air,

Etherealized, floating  like   balloons,

Spectacularly   waving, reeling,

To unload our  heaviness of  heart.

Go  higher  and higher,

Balustrading   the wind  blowing 

Nearby, a soft touch  and   tender  feel,

Silencing  the  covey of  birds,

The music  holds  me in   enthralled  spirit,

 The  kite  with its  envisioned

 freedom of  music ,as if celebrating victory,

drowning   the appalling   gloom

Of  surroundings    and

“While its mobility thrills my temporal brain,”

My mood, my  speech, my articulation

Everything in tempered  awe and  culture.

A Take from Guardian's ........"no word at all"

A take from Guardian’s  ......  “no word at all”

  Yes ! no word to describe this  precarious

 This  crumbling, this  zero. No world  at all.

  The world would have gone  into hiding

  Behind this matter, anti-matter,If only

  His  Descent  is not  ordained. His  Ruling from

   Above is thus: The  Firmament ,its stars,stellar,

 Not precarious, no volition of its will.

 But superb gyrating according   to His  design.

  The  Solar system, the galaxy of stars, in totality,

 Proud of its own existence, shine  and  pray

 Its Maker; We humans only, like inebriated,

Mull ineffectual, try for null and void.

The laboriously built nest blown by

Hurricane and wild , the  chicks  and eggs

Fall  on the ground, the  broken  are broken,

As far as those tender, homeless,  

Some, genteel   passerby, gives  asylum

In his roof  garden, otherwise

No world at all for these  desperate,

Some wingless, on the ground.

No WORD  at all.

No WORLD  at all.

Either Side.

                    Either  side.

The  corroded   zinc    shutters  glided  down

With  the piercing   noise of  thud  and   grind,

I was  stupefied   by the  deafening   sudden.

Slipped  my  bread  and  jam   pack.

I saw  a  kitten  already, as  if  half   akimbo

Inside  the  go down  it  was   spiraling   dark,

The  half  white  and  brown  tenderly,

 mewed, with the paws  slowly, helplessly,

Foraying  on the shutters up and down .

I see  through  the   tiny  hole  riveting   the  corner

 the  beams  of  sun , only consolation  for the

trapped.  This side  my concern utmost,

the   other side, panicky  tension  swaying

the  cute  and  scrapping . The  shop owner   

and  the  passersby, cared  less,  more   for 

their  belongings,  their  attire, their posture.

Either  side, we  waited    for Heaven’s  call

And    Mercy to come down on us.

Take on Guardian's "But i will clothe him with this pen of mine"

Take  on  Guardian’s  “But  I will clothe him with  this  pen of mine”.

“The  sacred  muse that  first made  love divine”

Slowly   inculcates   a   path of   renunciation   and  saintliness   twine,                  

I   will clothe   him   with this pen of    mine

That  all this  world of  humanity  shall   venerate

And   respectfully  prostrate to  his  holy  feet

His  beauty   is  his   smile  of  endearing  warmth,

His  Glory, his   Chanting always, his  Meditation

Ever glowing  with   spirit  of  radiation,

Saffron  is  His  Robe of   dignity,

Behind  so much of   decency and  veracity.

His  piercing  arrows  of  stern  checks  and looks

  Will   thwart  human’s   unwarranted   desires.

No sullenness but  sweetness  of  his  soothing

Words , our strength  and  serenity.  

A Take on ''If I have to, then let me be''.

IIf   I have to, then  let me be,

  If   I have to, then let me, as  I am ordained to be,

  Obsessive observer and  recreater,

 let me be the poet, or  the sincere  scribbler  be,

The writer, recorder, the poet

Of  the  Soul, at the dictum of which

So much   to share, speak, pour

like   the  tossing  waves  on the pebbles,

looks  as   if  by the  scheme  of God,

they measure  the length  and breadth of Time,

infusing  in us  the philosophy of His  Dancing.            

let me be the hurrying  husssif  

peeling  the onion  and   potatoes,

humming   the   poetic lines

that  would  go   into my line

 of  personal  computer.

Let me  flap my poetic  wings,

Read   into  the warbling  notes of

Chickadees   and    shorebirds

Echoing  the  rhythms of  shores’

Beat   on the shingles  and   sands,                         

Carry my wandering   poetic  thirst.

Let  me   be   what   I  am.

A Take on Guardian’s Present Tense ‘’ A sweet time, to be Alive and unalone,’’

A Take  on  Guardian’s    Present  Tense  ‘’ A sweet  time, to be Alive  and  unalone,’’

It is   a perfect  sweet  time ,to be alive,

Unalone, surrounded  by the Tappings  of Muse,

Not  cloyed   by the  fervour of   knowledge or

Mystic  revelations   abound  in  day to day

Stunning    events; To  be alive, is  to taste

The  Manna  of   Heaven’s nurture, to  profoundly

Read  the meaning  of His  Design, delving

Into  the  unresolved  Nature  of  our

  Karma, also     Karma  of  cosmic  creation.

Karma  of  Consciousness  too.

Understanding  our  Grace  immaterial ,

Knowing  His   Grace is essential.

Now  the  time  is  verdant,

Feel  the touch of  jasmine,

Smell  the  succulent  grapes

On  the  diaphanous  vials.

To be alive in the religious ,

Unseen presence, pervasive

Mythical Maker, is double boon.

                                                                                                                

                                                                                                                                                    

A Take on Guardian's Anniversary by John Donne.

    A  Take on  Guardian’s Anniversary by  John  Donne.

   ‘’  Running it never runs from us away,’’

 Faith  and  patience running  in  others,

Likewise,like   two eyes, faith  and patience,

Running  slow  and getting  diluted,

But never run   away  from  us.

Faith  and patience  run  the test of  time,

 In  some  others   also ,  but   run  after  money   and matter,

They  get  twisted, twist in other’s   lives,

Only   to face    defeat  and  distorted   vision.

But  they  never  run   away  from  us,

For   we   have  the  ways   of  God.

When three 'U's are there..

When    three   ‘U’ s  are   there...

Interview, curfew, and  ICU ,

Mostly we appear  to be   Morons

Not  knowing  His   Will.

 Where  our   suffering  and  

 God’s    Subterfuge   or  success

  if   ordained, divinely bound  

That  way, make  us  sit  on that                 

Cordoned  or  cornered

 Passage, with  a   helpless   look,             

Seething   fear  and  shiver,

Running in    us   cap- a- pie.

Sometimes, life  surpasses

Takes    Its  own  course,

Bypassing  these

Seemingly  surgical  tests.

These  days, three  ‘U’s

are  intertwined  most.  

A Take on '' I bear all water of thy soil ''from Guardian

A  take on    ‘’ I bear all water of thy soil’’ from  Guardian

Good  neighborhood,  good  relatives in friends,

Healthy air, mangoes  and  guavas in

My ancestral home garden.

My centenary  building  is  located

In good soil, good well ,good earth.

I have oft seen my grandfather

Sinking well in  times of drought,

Water springing  glossy, forcible,            

Even water which   I use for

Washing  hands –pure and white.

Not  the   ‘’ little water  of  Macbeth’’

Looks  as if   Mother   Earth  answers

I bear all the waters of thy soil.

At  times my neighbors share

My well   free  and frank,

In these days when we

Buy water ,water in cans.

I owe   my ritualistic  gratitude

To the soil which  says

‘’I bear all   water of thy soil.’’

Good  soil, good neighbourhood.

North why?

                     North   why?

        

       The   River   flows   in the North,

       The salutary Wind blows  from 

       the  North, also  the  cobwebs of

       earthly  angularities, a  savior  in time.

       Elders  say  North   has a mythical  grandeur

       a  supernatural  noble  mystic aura,

       driving  you with a   full  fledged  vigor, 

        It  is  the  seamless  North   that   drags,

        Sustains   a  civilization of  ageless  ethos.

        It is a  suave   of  cloying, melting  sweetness 

        That  moves  along   with the  ripples 

       That  allow  the cranes  and fish to fly/ply.   

         Young  urchins    swath  around

          Spot  a  cluster of   Boobies.

         What  more  spectrum   of delight for

          you  to  watch  and weave  a  song of

          Come April  ! April  shines in summer cap.

          You walk towards the direction, the

          North  and  wind go in history          

          as you unwind the history of

         Your hamlet,your  stay  and catch.        

         Your direction is clear now.                    

              

A Take on ''it Never entered my Mind '' from Guardian.

                        A  Take on  '  It Never  entered  my  Mind ' from Guardian 

                            It   never  entered my  Mind,

                           Until  after  much of cogitations,

                           I scratched  the cerebellum,

                           Cells   be  proactive,

                           Tap  the  vital  source  of

                          Introspection, it  is  an  agile

                         Fermentation  Magnet,

                         You  taste the filtered  decoction,

                         The Essence of  Memory,

                         Light  the  candle of   incandescence

                                 And  smile of  serenity .

                       

Lovelorn

      Love lorn

How  oft   I have  seen  the  wrinkled, marooned

Crammed  in    old  age   homes, their  beds ,

Bedspreads   more  caring   than  their eyesore 

The  warmth  of  share ,entwines

 More  than  the    uncomly, the kith  and kin.

These  ‘homes’  are  their  real    ‘homes’.

In their  own  homes,  they were  sunken  flesh, 

Bundle  to be  packed  and cordoned off.

Eyes   almost  closed ,deprived  of  sight,

Dried  all   tears. These  eyes  care  them  less,

 For  they  are   spent   force . The candelabra

Above   restrict  not   their  days,

Instead  increase   their longing   to live

On   this  beautiful   Earth. This  Earth  

Suffices, somewhere,   what is lost.

How   It holds    the lovelorn,

Earthbound, they   are unable

To   fly. They  cannot  be away

For   IT  holds  them good.

Janet The Gull

              1)     JANET   THE GULL.              

It  is  heavily built,

As heavy as a sea rock

Befriends    eagerly,   regular   on  the same,

Me   too, a loner, wondering  the  surf :

A mystical ,ceaseless  gyration.

 How  often  we   view  this  watery giant

With  its unending mouths,in  spectacular  awe.

I construed  it  as  something ,

Voicing,  not  dashing   and  receding,    

  The   aeons   of ageless ,unending process,

Augmenting    the impeccable  SHRISHTI   of   Creation,          

The    web   footed ,Spiralling  its  heavy wings,

 Shades , the, shimmering  pebble

Tossed   and  settled  on the  sand dunes.

Perhaps  the  whips,  might have brought

The pebble  to this  end. In  the  darkening

Scenario,   this pebble  is a  mover, Carter

Of   the    Charter of  realization.

Still ,how many , business like

On the edge  of  the  boundary,

I know  not. Now  the  roar

 Continues   To   silence  us .

Micro poems (set one)

Micro  poems. Set one

Rain

I stand  in the centre of my  garden,

Down pour of  Rain,

Splashes  on the  ground,

Some storage, much wastage,

Unless  there is   rainwater  scheme.

Mercy, I feel  on  Me.

------------------------------------------

 Micro poem  2

   The  Blind

All your sufferings

Setbacks  pale into

Insigficance, when

You  see  the Blind

Taps in front of you.

---------------------------------------------------

        Life and  Death.3

Death   taught  them

The    Meaning  of  life.

But  Life  failed  to  teach 

Them  the  pitfalls  

Of   existence  and  mystery.

-----------------------------------

 Parrot  and   its  Maker.  4

The   Bird  is  His  dutiful   Right

His  care    its   Bounteous  Gift,

It  chirps, pecks  and pours,

A hall  mark of   Gratitude

To   Shaper  of  Destiny.

----------------------

The  purple  hour.  5

   

  In the purple  hour,

 That  evening,  ambered 

 Sun  beckoned me

A  bright  dawn soon.

  Window.  6

  Window! Keep it open,

Wind   and whisper

Come and go, free ,unchecked,

What   stays    is

 Dust  and  Truth.

Dark  7.

      Dark   

Ever  since  Creation, Dark

Is  always  there, to vie  with. 

My  dark  is dovetailed   Innocence,

Darker is   Ignorance,

Bright  is   the  Boon

Fighting   The  Bane.

Black (theme)    8

Black is my pal crow ,
visits my balcony
regular and my console,
grains are my duty, charity.
its absence even a day,
tears my mood and am
lifeless clay

A Take on ''Things for which God knows I'm a soft Touch''

         A   Take  on   ‘’Things  for  which God  knows  I’m  a  soft   touch .’’

  God  knows   I’m  a soft  touch,

 Though   I am  inundated  in  things 

 Of   rigor   and rigmarole,

Stifling me   with   a  rope of 

Crudity ,imposed  servile   morbidity ,

These  are  things   which will not 

Touch  me; ruffle me.

God  knows  I ‘m a  soft   touch.

Questionings   and cross   questioning

Turgid  readings    into  Golden  sayings,

I can  see  hardships  far  beyond 

My  will to  endure,

Yet, God  knows  I’m a  soft  touch.

This  fabulous  gentle ,sudden

Miraculous   Advent  of  An Ambassador,

This is   what  I call not merely

Visionary , but an envisioned

Scenario  by  Him   The  Seer,

Maker  and   Baker. His  is  Gentle  Touch.             

A Bird from The East.

      A  Bird  from   The East.

It is  a  lovely chanting, chirping

From  east, parrot  green and red,

Twittering, from  roost  to roost,

Rules   top  and  twists, twigs,

Swings  back ,pecks and  pours,

In   rhythm   sacred  ,sweet,

Not  phony  but  in balsam soothing,

 gathering  Clans too.

Loves its Maker, mentor,

Lives   in  abode of

Peaceful   surroundings.

Its  beak  I  draw,

Wonder  how He   that

 hath made it ,thawed it

with   melody  and repetitive awe.

In  bright  dawn, it

Yearns   freedom  not,

But only  a secluded corner

To  rue the  rude  and  ride.