Importance of having spare keys

Importance of having spare  keys

Don’t ask me what is a poem

Without meter or rhyme;

What is a poem  bereft of metaphor

Similarly what is a house

Bereft of keys?  stretching further,

What is a house without spare keys?

As eyes  are to face, so are keys to doors

opening and locking the efficient bunch

or singlehanded conducting, rotating,

getting stuck up, if rusted or  number lost:

what ever be the tensed owner or inmate

ends  up with sweating and in search of

a way out passing burden to his watchful wife.

Don’t ask me what was my predicament

when the door was locked from outside,

 the keys were lost or misplaced all  the same;

panic or puzzle weltering you inside:

to be locked inside the room,

whatever be reason, imbecile or mad,

handicapped or challenged, under

strict surveillance of nurse, situation

is grueling and  testing beyond words.

Main key or bunch  the master who is held

By the persona, is the real master trying;

Question arises, who is lord  door or key

Me standing outside.  Spare giggling on.

Power !where go into hiding?

Power !where  go into hiding?

Power, power, power,

  Looking around every where

Power dominates, power overrules

like the inundated water destroying;

power   against law, upper hand ruling

have-nots, hunger eating belly,

farmers denied of their rights,

best part of situation, power shutdown

total where machines overrule, now

rendered helpless and dark prevails;

dark prevailing as power, psychological

warfare, as  night engulfs  till dawn;

power empowered by money, slavery;

does  blood know you are superior?

Does flesh yield only to lords?

Do holidays come to terms with

Powerful ruling lords;

Only when the needle strikes

We know what we are.

Remnants of Rice

Remnants of Rice

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At the end of the day

Your  bitter ordeal of dish washing

Consumes much of  your time

scrapping  the corners

of your vessels  here comes

 the collecting of remnants

just as the covey of crows

caw and peck each particle;

particles thrown as excess

or  sticky corners as bunch

gathering thirst for hungry

stomachs craving for every time;

gone are  those days when

inmates of the ancient house

well tutored in household duties

knew the economy of saving edibles;

like minded and myself opine

remnants  of rice or grain or coin

 have greater  value yield the need

and necessity of your  testing  time.

Easter A miracle ( guardian)

Easter   A miracle  ( guardian)

Life is a miracle from the first

Day of our Birth, in front a bunch

of flowers of fragrance; yonder

a young girl  donned in pink and yellow;

a box  of chocolates, full of dreams

a book of poems, would I gift you;

my world of garden, love  and moonlight,

away from dismal room, dark ness;

enrobed in  silk sari, sandal and  bangles

jingling, rose water spilled all around,

a jar of lemon and honey,  iced melon

to quench our thirst your day begins;

all we  want -soft words of soothing comfort;

to accompany through our hazardous journey,

words, words of wisdom and wonder, miracle,

words of  lullaby, singing eternal in our books of marvels.

Our words , blades of grass.

Our words , blades of grass.

Our words are  blades of grass,

Sharp and piercing ,shape or shake

Our course of lives, prospects;

Language, unique set of words,

Words  and  sentences, vowels

and consonants, grammar  voiced,

and voiceless syllables- all hide

in a moment of  fury , hiding shame

and decency, engulfing humans

running rat race;  our words and lives

should coordinate our moods, attitudes,

our being ,our vocal cords  taking upper hand.

Be wary! Tongue  and teeth, on which

Words sit and free play coiling of emotions.

IS it a fear or reconciliation?

IS it a fear or reconciliation?

The moment he is born, one day

Or other, death is imminent.
we all go by this time honoured dictum;

I grow in this  vast world of  beauty,

Nurture and grace, along side poverty

Paucity and growth  and ailing and disease;

fear amidst chaos  and death, life

has its own charm, duty and dullness.

Stars  and sun shine  show their trajectory

to carve  a path of illustrious glow,

we  follow to sing and  suit  our moods,

 stars being realm of my  imagination,

image  and image fixing; our forte;

from this dark pale world of self exile,

you  enter into a  darker zone, come

out of it, rebuilding your fear ridden image;

what do skeletons do, what can our bones,

dry  bones, or bones into burnt ashes do;

 sleep and dream and think in my cottage

until I fly with my wings to a different zone.

fish and flinch after guardian

HE  wrote  the recordation

Using pencil and pen and type writer,

Adjusting ribbons often, now

Advanced systems and mobile

To trace  and retrace of his moorings;

Monkeys  appear  and disappear

Causing troubles, semblance of

Ancient  man and  his habits;

Now sailing  in modernism and art

Trade  and traffic all governed by

 Latest tech.  Finch and  fish flying images

In his poetry all pervasive;

Long live fish, newspaper  and magazine

Long live poetry and art.

The idler ( after Guardian)

The  idler  ( after  Guardian)

As light as his body, his approach

 wanderings into his own chosen,

 accorded by habit and leisure,

he walks carefree  unburdened

 by any  concern or binding  nature;

 his body be a load or his load to be

unloaded soon in trash, imbibing

a lesson, life is ash or trash ;,

if one among fast reeling humanity,

if slowed down by his slowness,

merging with  busy or hiding in corner,

he is desirous of  a keen eye

 to spot his favorite ,pleasing to his eyes;

his only mission to find solace

in silence and silence in his dream;

With the resplendent sun, on his face

With multitasking beams, he is moving

Into a  better world, a world of  of his choice,

Better and  for a   better deal ; this world

You abrogate, you are heading on for new.

Cooking gas

Cooking  gas

Gone are  those days of firewood

and coal when women had their hard times

battling and blowing through

to run the domestic chore;

heavy tons of rice  and vegetables,

porridge and  pots of boiling milk

and pans of papads  - all  in daily

routine  all in three rounds unlimited;

these  are times, when no patience

and pragmatics prevail as far as

these ancient outdated  modules figure

in  most women’s heart and thinking;

heavy cylinders with cooking gas

connecting tubes  with gas lighters

 modern kitchen with modernized

 appliances where  modernity creeps in

minute by minute; little do we realize

how hard it is for  delivery man  to lift

on his shoulders and  load and re load

in his van rolling from street to street;

modernity has its own limits

modernity has its own  rubrics

'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.