Free as freedom of those swimming

Free as   freedom of those swimming;

Who will not like birds? from poets

to potters and hunters to painters?

In my home garden crows and sparrows

Parrots occasional, swing on branches

Of tree tops; what more consolation

Than the melody of the observant,

 Conversant tapping you from your

concerns, cap less moods

tormenting you now and then;

the birds not only are décor on

my cloth line swinging   having 

a wholesome birds’ eye view,

also even in chirping you learn

 a language of unknown Vedas .

Light winged swim on the blue

God’s  favored design, else

How man would have invented

Aircraft  and concord  to come

Around the world. I wonder often

Why the wingless is in mad pursuit?

When the winged in salient zone

Carefree and higher and  higher.

he was the guardian -angel ( after Guardian) our old lady of the Rain

She was the guardian -angel ( after Guardian) our old lady of the Rain

         She was older than all the

         Structured pillars of the ancient houses,

         well known for her oral chanting of

          some cure for scorpion bite with pepper

          in her palm; a nonagenarian with shrunken

          flesh yet strong will prevailing upon, she

           is the divine spirit for the dead;

            certainly not the other way round;

           in the afternoons, when the decrepit cement

           and limed mortar fall, she would with

           childlike simplicity replaster, speaking to

            her affectionate walls; walls that listened

             to her, shared her inner voice, stood by

             her.  Pained to see how pollution and gas

             have tarnished the image  and dwelling

            order of the day. She would sit in  corner

             asking for re image. She is the  Guardian

             Angel of the ancient house.   

 

your intuition your guide ( after Twice a river) guardian

Your intuition your guide (  after twice a river) Guardian)

 Sitting by the perennial river

In my hamlet, my abundant gratitude

For the unfailing River, when the adjoining

Village struggles of intermittent drought,

Cannot imagine how could life be without

Water, observing my son playing kites,

 Wonder how will he when he grows up

In this   world of Trying and crusades;

How can I unravel the story of our exodus?

From a remote war-torn place, when religion

and economy pushed us to extremes.    Love

and Language always shape us human beings,

hate none is the dictum, but love self is the

immediate order, for depression is the deadliest

of the canker as far as I know; he must learn the

  to assess   and observe surroundings and be

guarded by intuition. Dictates of intuition --

the    expertise tutelage. Majestic roars and mighty

  ocean are always ever since creation by us.

 Can you run to the ocean at the time of thirst?

 The Earth that bears dead and living also

Bears sinners  and seditious, My son! You need to be

 Cautious and patient ever folding your hands to HIM.

A  mark of respect for the departed,  and  silent by

Silent offerings will be  feasible. River always our

Best solace  and boon

My asylum myself

1)     

           My asylum myself

 Time past is past. Time gone,

  My friends were killed,

 warfront was more a place

of comfort and commitment

for them, They are now martyrs.

Age has its gnawing toll and dash,

I keep writing at least, scribble

In a momentary pad of flow;

 For thews and sinews

Slow down due to impact of age;

At times, my wife writes for me.

My friends are all gone now.

My home, my corner of my choice

and myself are my forte and my

New Life The beginning of a

New  span  - a  New Life.

All twined into one

1     That bright Chimeric beast  ( after  Guardian)

All twined into one:

That sweet cute bird of   Melody

and inspirational voice of Muse

 that polyvocal  deity residing

in the breast of poet, tapping

rthyms   of solitude, serenity,

 flowing through his quill

a great Boon and   Beatitude.

That white unicorn possibly

Befriended by you, might not

take to flights of mundane fancy.                  

There is another phoenix

From whose burnt embers

Another be reborn, who knows

You might review that bird

Tonight: like phoenix that

           will not be stirred by falcon

           or  eagle, you too shall stand

            or move in search of asylum.  

You are  the  great  fish, centering

Round the fable of imagination,

The colorful fins always emitting

Streams of delightful forte and move.           

 Let all merge into poet’s dream

Where death and dead shall

Undergo  a change   to be reborn,

Beam and wood  and  gurgling

Stand by a  pledge of solidarity

Not to forsake you all.

 

              She lingers still in memory  ( guardian)

                 Tall in silk green sari,

                 her gait is  elegant,

                 merges with green lawn,

                 reading poetry in the leaves,    

                 upfronting grass, looking

                for a talisman in stem

                brooding for   safe   entourage,

                her flawless body sings a

                soulful melody like Lucy.

               Cool rain showers from above

               reaching pattern less void

                envisaged ere long -  months ago

                a dream, new fulfilling life,

                what  a pleasant  gift in offing.

           She moves along, her recital of poem

           touching there and here. Her   nimble

           feet bracketing in turns and twists.

                                   

                       

A view inside park

A view inside park     

             

This two-legged searching

For a select corner in the park of

three decades of solid front:

with its congregations and

happenings a passing through

your mind, retreat into serenity.

Entering into senior citizen’s mind

A rehearsal of emotional stress

and calculations of life’s entourage

with permutations and combinations of

household ding dong in your memory;              

you view yet another perspective too,

a middle class, salaried, rent and loan

fees and hikes, school uniforms

with content your forte.                            

Kits and kites thronging every corner.

The nebula Of life visibly moving;

Not love for Life in any corner

of park. Park, still, silent receptive,

middle class gossip and concern.

                                                                 

The Housewife ( after ( guardian)

1)       The  Housewife   ( AFTER GUARDIAN)

This  is my house, my   dutiful pride : yet,

Dueling with   duties and responsibilities

 Unbounded like steams of smoke  and kettle        

Not  doused in a   busy kitchen.

My   routine  like the  cawing of crows

Starts by five in the   cheerful  Dawn,

Cheering me too, with the chanting of

Birds in the garden around; breakfast :

Tea or coffee always there, but the hurry

To the work spot  by  sire  and  children

 Commutations in the jostling crowd,

 At times the lunch boxes left behind.

A   view cannot be digested by  mother

And housewife like me. After  cleaning

And    dish washing, ironing with sweat

Running on your forehead .

Mushrooming all the sordid aspects

and realities of life, expecting the

unexpected  and solving the

irreconcilable are order of the day.

By the time  you sit  and swallow

The  little  crumbs of breakfast;

 The knock on the door  by courier

You cannot  chide him for he is on

His mission to earn his liveslihood.

At  the  end of  the  day, after all

You are  a housewife, housewife only.

Each corner of the house, each utensil

Preparing you for the next day.

      

The light changed by ( after Guardian)

 The light changed by ( after Guardian)

 We no longer walk the same path,

 No longer interact the same way

 by the light, though our eyes are

 the same; stars and sun and

 moon come and go their

 ordained path. Some poets

 call it as their wooing perhaps.

  

  Dark too unravels much to

  our selves of shell and coiled move.

  No longer same hands,

 as in the past, our channelized roots  

 take us through new and strange.  

 By the same river, woods,

 Yonder rivulet, crows and

 Sparrows ruled their roost by

 Agelong trees with each individual

 tradition and green foliage

 the pride and stay of our village.

  Oh ! God, now the ripe time

  For us to depart to different zone

  Formatted by our karma ;

  Allow our souls to merge with

  The Alone or with stars 

  and journey into a realm

  Of His Will. We comprehend

  His motive and mysterious

  Purport of Life’s entourage.

How are the children Robin?( Guardian)

How are the children Robin?( Guardian

Since months children have left homes

For the silly reason of scolding and comparison

Over results in exams. Parental impatience or

A matter of right unrightfully employed?

I cannot imagine years of their absence,

Oh! I will get delirium the very thought

Would drive me so. What if failure in exam?

Life is only one. The road is empty now,

At least I expect that road should always be

empty for the children stay in my mind forever.

They are children reared in the same roof

Under the common tutelage of aunts and uncles

A joint family system, yet parents hold and weild

Rights when studies and medals come into play;

The sweet voice and the T-shirts worn by them

Always linger in mind and the books and drawing

Pencils-  a sad reminder of their stay.  A heavy rain

Is frightening, for cannot imagine where children

Hide and protect themselves?  When are they returning?

A parrot cry in garden is a   clairvoyance and good augury

They will return soon.  What for we live, parents live

If not only for children? our life our breath only for them.

after Carnival( Guardian)

After Carnival( Guardian)

 Being pretty be stable

Ye,merry pairs of pretty eyes,

Pretty lips and slim structures,

Be cautious while going in ferry wheel,

If you reel or whirl on the house of mirrors

Hold on tight, hold on right with the

fear and principle, anything might happen

in a fraction of second.

All fine, if you are  a lovely pair,

Can be giddy in the zipper wheel

Can have a loosening feel,

Double or half, look through

The mirrors, be steady and stable.

h

rotten orange

tasty in his

mouth

haiku

rice balls on the bank

grandma’s soul

lingering

 river side

 sieves and clothes in

 endless queue

A take after “Moving on” Guardian)

A take after “Moving on” Guardian)

You call it abattoir, I call it slaughter house.

But the deed is the same in all quarters.

How often I crossed that horrendous sight

On my way to market, from my location

away from the busy throngs of crowds, coins.

Blood oozing, woe to the hands that raised the

Cruel weapon in the name of trade and taste.  

One cut into two halves, chop the head and legs

Deed is done. Some are hung upside down;

My village made blood and tannery;

Coal. Charcoal, and logs of wood,

Firewood embers the  other side.

Things are drastically changed now

As change is inevitable everywhere.

Now it is transformed into colorful

Garment store for all  ages;

I see the colorful garments hanging

In the wardrobe on hangers;

Those days were the animal’s skin

In the same spot; What a difference

Time has  affected! Autos and mobiles

Frequency of trade not for tongue

But for skin and celluloid show.