Station to station ( after guardian)

Station to station  ( after guardian)

Train passes through carrying

the dusk and dust laden in my heart

of forgotten old days yet, inerasable:

dust of insults and injury so sad;

pigeons are covey shot as if at one

sling and taking of in a broad spectrum

of day, me delightfully passing through;

smoke out of tea cups, as if each

segment with a memory stirring

with a tale .Journey to London,

train passing through pastures,

cows grazing, and hills, trains

halting with automated doors

opening  when people enter hang

on  to leather straps; Shakespeare

and  Words worth, Arnold and Eliot

spring from my memory, my college

days, learning passion unabated till now.

Learn so much from nostalgia

Soothing,  to relive our life past.

spiraling Love not merely sensuous;

Spiraling Love  not merely sensuous;

I am the  tempting juice

Of love springing from gardens,

Wine yard  and Roses  and Lily

In water pond, where  cranes

Meditate looking upwards

With a  zeal a  texture -

Veneration and  awaiting

Rain bearing clouds  

Pouring and endless pouring,

Winter is gone,  aged

Do not shudder shivering cold

Rains stopped, blooming

Spring in buds and chirping

Of parrots – beckoning love,

Song of love, sweet voice

All over  gardens and gates!

Echo from caverns  blowing

All corners, conch and shell,

 mountains and woods,

Castles  and caverns, Love

Knot ties -governing principle

Of all journeying through ;

Dawn breaks with a  bright

Star, slowly coming out of

Its orb with  healing touch

of love and   hope  and warmth.

No taxes,  no surcharge, no

Penalty,   horseman  with

hoofs hurried with a   bridle of

unchecked freedom.

wild flower

wild flower

 A  passage into wildflower meadow,

 where  Daisy and Celandine,grow

to please us although with a  name

of wild, growing and spreading fast

a kind of dominion free  and fast

unchecked with colorful flowers

until wind shakes while pink and bluebells

shower   their kindness  in spiraling mood;

they have their own roots  and  lifestyle ;

they have their own systematic  journey;

yet winds  will shed their thorns and thistles

a stage when  no more growth and spread.

They  too have their own  last stage and

A state  when they are not wanted;

A day in kitchen

A day in kitchen

 His  culinary experience on  a

 Day of festive gathering, in

 Battling, rattling utensils ,

 Cutlery of shine and pine,

 Straight on cucumber

And greens, leafy edible

Vegetables supple and sticky

His clock ticking every minute,

For he is conscious of lofty

Gathering and ensemble,

Party and repartee

 Cheering in cue and care.

Oil in frying pan bubble

And smoke wavy up ;

Deep fry of papads

Salads and soups in cups,

Dish ornamental and porcelain,

Spicy spinach and pickles

Tempting and demanding

For the day’s pride  and pleasure.

I reach home with a heart

Full of my duty done in utmost

 Satisfaction  and  stay in good looks

Of master’s  books and love endure.

Passing on to another

Passing on to another…

The red pomegranate on the bowl

be dissected into four segments,

both beauty and taste nullified

In minutes like chopping of tree’s

Blossoming and full blown vagrant

By crude farmer’s tillage when commerce

And e-commerce join hands to proceed

In their respective way. Same merciful

Hands of farmer  till now, watering and

Manuring aslant a  sword to fetch a

Bounteous yield in a different way.

Child picks up seeds amidst  juice

Like blood oozing, in dainty fingers;

Its pain smeared all over .Land being

Passed on to other unknown hands

When  loss  and benefit-- the  future

Mantras of  business  class.

    

CORSAGE

CORSAGE

   Not  a  flower of amaranthine  nature,

 but  a  buddy Rose of fragrance,

lasting on my buttonhole,

 with a smile of endurance

and grandeur, sits steady and firm

as  woman of   firm household

 minding and binding in the hearth.

A precious GIFT from her good self,

The  gentle serenading of Rose,

A move  0f lullaby  and sleep,

 Tapping around  white  garment

 Travelling all over as a  faithful

  Servant  clinging on ; a breeze afar

  Welcomes you with a  bliss

  Of boon passing on to the  Giver.

 A  morrow for all of us with a

Waking Dawn and buttonhole

 Smiling steady and stay ever.

fter (Residence at Cambridg (Book Three, The Prelude)ks

After  (Residence at Cambridg
(Book Three, The Prelude)ks

I always loved  and looked into books

From cover page into every page of

Significance;  university halls  and every

Corner of library had its glory and catch

For my reading bent unabated; by sprinklers

Cool shady nooks  and walks, a thrill

of  partaking  Bliss of Nature.

Knowledge  in pursuit of sacred input,

While  memory  glows  tapping record

Rooms of ancient buildings once dominant

Adjoing the  library. The philosophy of

Simple gait  and upright thinking  ever

In the blood – predominant factor .

The  HOUSE OF GOD should ever be

By my side  with HIS PROTECTION.

Marriage ( after Guardian)

MARRIAGE( After  guardian)

What  is marriage ? simply

A union of two physical entities,

Or soul searching, phenomenon,

Dipped  in consoling music of

Heavenly  aura encompassing our

 Whole  bodies and beings;

What is marriage, a play of

Dolls  and  cutting cakes

Enrobed in silks  and feasts

Gala spent in  acoustics

 Far reaching beyond

auditorium of colorful  show!

Parks  and  railway station platforms

Inside compartments, love blossoms

A fruition of feelings ,touching

And untouching, simply touch and go ;

In some nullification and rebirths

In rebirths of marriages set and go;

Candles   and candelabras  ever  glow

In halls of seasons and weddings.

  

Certainly a  mirage, if you perceive

In limited perspectives.

Our Breath of moment- notes of Muses.

Our  Breath of  moment- notes  of Muses.

We are  the notes, we are  the sacred

 Notations of  ever  vibrant in our voices,

 Our ebullient strings, our thrill  and rhapsody;

Truth  is  the order  of  the Day,plain is

Our  medium ,consolation is our dictum;

We  sing in the morn, by the evergreen  horn,

Of hanging boughs, sirened  by  chirps,

Of parrots  and  mynas; we  can see many

Sights with profound  clairvoyance ;

Repeat the   sounds of distant messages

Still ringing ; our present in front

Taking  its dynamic form, full

Fledged reflection  in its melodic

Norms. Sheep or swain, man or matter

It is all the same, it is our moment

Of sacred  bliss, irrespective of snowy

Mounds we carry our mission

With zeal unchecked, it is our

Moment of  the day.

After Story's end Guardian

• 
  
• Story's End by Kathleen Raine

  As clouds slowly disappear,
  our uncertainties vanish in their
  own way. Still we cling on to our
  likes, special likes, our lucky stars.
  SHE walks searching her beloved
  all through; thinking of those who
  search in dark the unidentifiable,
  she also treads the path of search
  something unique and longstanding.
  How much of craggy and rugged
  Lines in her path, still she moves
  Ahead braving all the obstacles,
  One questions who is that she

  She is the lone star ever shining
  and illumining all around us.

  
  
• 
  

Woe to the day when I was handcuffed

Woe to the day when I was handcuffed

Sudden knock one fine  morning,

No no, it was not a fine morning,

But ill fated for me to be surrounded

By two  cops , me bewildered, taken

To the prison, not knowing, what for

 a mystery. My repeated pleas

 Went in vain. Suddenly I was given

An explanation that I was seen  in the

Midst of gangsters; Law taking its own law

What can I do.  I know pretty well that

Particular day I was away .

What a princely life, what  a  royal treatment

At home, surrounded by my thick blood relatives,

Now their voices and support could not reach them,

How  I went about writing poems and chatting with

My friends and seminars -a venue often in my diary.

Life – the real concept of life -where I know not!

Seclusion, away from society and gathering,

Inward thaw, nocturnal  round of beats,

No dice  nor gambling of lesser cadre,

No drinks not even movies- within four

Walls – a cell of self imprisonment.

No preacher nor any  holy priest

Rings  around   the talisman on

My hand;  these chains -are they my

Deadlock:  in my sleep when I am

Half awake, in my wakeful state,

My chanting of  The Bhagvat Gita

My mantra, my redemption and Solace.

After Guardian  --The Horse and the Monkey by Mary Jean Chan

What does it matter?

Let them call me a  donkey

Let them brand you a  jumping

Monkey,or  vice versa , as long as

You and I are knit together in a

 Bond of incessantly tied up

togetherness and  long relationship;

you respect my sentiments, equally

I go by your dictum of leadership

In the sacred  well being  of  our threshold;

Under  the sun and stars, we are all ,

Ought to be governed by the common

Wholesome principle of love ,

Give and take  and mutual  respect.

Our mothers should always continue

To love and teach us tolerance.

What if we move like monkeys to move

And horses  to run from place to place

Tree to tree as long as there is one

Common point of togetherness,

Reach and  rivet in our cozy hearth

Of love  and affection and loyalty.

I am not professional singer

I am not a professional singer,

Nor a proclaimed composer,

Nor can my unmeditated art

As one may term it at his will,

Soothe your ills, or cool your

Disturbed thoughts .My Muse

Inspired by her  dictum like the

Ancient saying  or  scriptural truths

Governed by laws of Nature,

Tapping my voices  to sing or

Compose, at intervals, those

Profuse outcomes are final

 Juicy fruits filling  our thirst.

I seen in records, in my physical eyes

Those that live by rote  and write,

The  dead and eternal ,living and  

Wandering  all--   day and nights

Keep write for some reason or rhyme.,

Sad or sanguine, pine  or peace,

As SUN  and STARS shine and hide,

Again back in the orb, as seasons flow

In turns   the Art of Writing will flourish,

As Music like ripples go in veins of

Musicians and strings unbounded.

Our accustomed   turmoil,

Our pathless struggles and pains,

Hidden stories in our rocky hearts,

Coveted desires stay , some to be

Slain, some to be prolonged until

Filtered like sediments in the bottom;

All reflected in the mirror of letters.

There is  no Death to  these forms

Long live, literature, long life Music.

A Spirit breathes in

A  Spirit breathes in

It is not a  black granite

or  carved  idols  of some

Indian  deities we worship

by offerings of sandal paste,

fragrant flowers and holy waters,

It is not a blotched plant,

bunch of sacred leaves,

décor adorning the  urn,

sprinkles holy all around

the venerable spot of Belief,

Not the Mantra chanting

aloud  or  Vedic recitals

of scloars and erudite pundits,

propitiating   Gods and  angels

throughout the day from Dawn,

neither the offerings of

puddings and   rice cakes

of jaggery and pure ghee

flowing in plantain leaves

or holding in sacred vessels,

mind wandering elsewhere,

application rescinded or duplication

entertained with currency embalmed

in  conscience of convenience,

but a Firm Dedicated Spirit

of Absolute Surrender to  HIS WILL

that prevails His Domain and care.

 

Smart phones

SMART PHONES

  Bus horns and  bikes
  jarring around our busy  schedules
  like cattle  bells hanging round
  our  crossing lanes and lines across;
   But something  in   our   palms  or bags,
   our fingers can  access  and scroll,
   a ringtone, vibrations  or loud message
   vital signals as important as our breaths!
   calls continuous  or hoax  our ears are tuned
   for our lives in  post modern age, as fast as
   our fast food and   burger  a  bonanza, you
   may call it.   Uploads  and updates  cropping up
  like  magic tricks and  glowworms. At one   click
  mobile transactions, with guards  checking;
  they are  OTPS  with send  and resend commands.
   I tunes, google  and twitter all in one small box, 
   Facebook and email yahoo - all in compressed
  smart phone, globally knit; camera  with zoom
  and shrink  smarter than real shows.  A  sketch
  thumbnail , mode of ruminations at your will.

His benign look is rich enough

 His benign look is rich enough.

Dont call me filthy rich
for I own some landed
property, all of  my own
sweat  and   blood, ground
still wet with smell of toil
grounded in sickle and bent;     
 self   earned income;

No pride of rental income
 nor any booming flow of
harvest and copious corns,
for aridity and parchment
strikes here, parchement
in man's tongue and heart
like whirlpool rolling on;

 somewhere  far off, cascade
of water flow as if catchment areas,
could be  cheering dawn in my heart
of hope and  undulated Faith
consoling like a Mantra from Heaven.
I move on, there is no time for specuation.
Time's serendipity in and out pouring .

In praise of thee, oh! my tree

In praise of thee, oh my tree

My parrot pecked  and chirped

many a  call of melody  to this

world of  malady sinking in plotting

parasites veering around us;

cool zephyr  fanned by  aurora

steady  blowing, tree’s bliss and pride,

now touching upon branch after

branch, withering away yellow leaves;

beneath thy shady nook and corner

many a  devout,schlorlay  sage

have done penance for the sake

of worldly redemption,

when one morning  for timber’s sake

an axe had befallen the brown layers

panicking all   caves and inmates;

the thud  had spread on the floor.

Muse had silently spread all her

Wings of poesy and creativity,

Now in books and  broad shelters

Some even  bitten by insects ;

I always think of that Fruit

wrought so much  here, yet

to thee ,thy shade, hanging boughs

my rhyme ever sings a rhapsody.

No sunrise nor sunset for this click

  No sunrise nor sunset for this click

Gone are those days

of manuscripts dominating

hard,  hand written, erased

and torn, sheer vexation,

paper and bundles in bins

covering baskets, like ghosts

 visiting windows, panes .

A click of mouse, orders,

Bills and transfers, going

global, quick pays, mostly

governed by OTPs. A security

guard  for  all media, doing

undoing many a tasks, in its

own way multitasking; digital

wizard, could be technology’s

wonder working machine.

 A click or double click

 Turn down if the bulb glows;

 Guardian  Angel or ruling motto,

health care and hospital

registers, food markets,

airports and supermarkets

click, clicks and computer

print outs, save and unsaved .

Oh! Lord of Lords,

Can we say our prayers

In a  click or breathe in

And out in a click, know not.

newt after guardian

Newt  ( after   guardian)

What  is  that slips from land

to  water  like a  quiz show

with  unanswered puns

and quips; its pretentious hide

and seek mode does not thrill me

anymore, for life till now is a

similar game .

Don’t be proud newt, for you

are holding multiple ways ;

life and seeming  death is a  game

when you easily turn off,

your layered body from underneath

the stone, it is just  a second

 a while, before you close

open your eyes.

Children out of curiosity touch and twirl,

Me too in my younger days, when I was

a Tortoise in  shell till a tornado swept

past all my dreams ;

I see again the same newt

crawling into water , perhaps

a feel watery sail safer than  a stone.

New order of things after "Guardian"

New  order of things

After  six months of ordeal

Of  pain in the stomach

and patience making me

still with the doing of Messiah,

until colonoscopy brought

something new, something

going to be testing in my

life span, with  keyboard

tapping  with  the monitor

and drips above me  searching

for   vein – vain attempt perhaps.

How did all start, it is still

A mystery and a new  move

leading into  new arena

What does my note pad say?

Trio of keyboard and mouse

and monitor watchful of

the report and move of my Muse.             

There  amidst the “alien corn”child

weeps for  its lost mother and  identity

in   dried grass and paled moon,

my clock ticks  don’t know what for.