Behind the screen

Behind the screen

Decked-up words,

Colorful, beautiful,

Catapulted with smiles,

Hand-to-hand touch;

Selling the world, to the world!

Buyers are tired with the sellers,

Pretense glows the figure,

Killing the words by kissing them good,

Thoughts, the grandma of red riding hood!
Blaming the innocuous wolf!

Balance complains against the fulcrum

The world of disputes shows on the humdrum.

Silence cries in the crowd

Of buyers and sellers,

Tired words go back into the greenroom

To rest, for a while…

Write some lines in open space

To meet the feelings,

Their mothers, in age-old homes

With and without a shake and a smile!

Ready again for the go

Onto the plastic stage for the tiptop show,

With thoughts untrained,
But words all decked.

With multiple organisations engaged in World Peace, why doesn't it happen I wonder! Where is the gap. Farmers are born in debt, live in debt and die in debt is true for most third-world countries! But what is true for the all the first, second, third and fourth (is there one?!) worlds is that we are all born listening about Peace, live and die in it!

Well, but this poem is not only about that...it's much more, if you please because behind the screen there’s another screen...watching, listening, and ...screening!

03 January 2015

Hands in search of the perfume

Hands in search of the perfume

Blank hands are searching for the perfume

Wet with dryness

Moon is shying away

Sun incapable of giving a hand

There is no light in the brightness

A blue pot, with nail marks

Like stars that litter

In the stinking guilt, all around

In this nosy perfume

My legs are paining

As a sign of something!

For months I have suffered

With these dot-drops

For days letters have formed

Into words, as fillers

Hiding in the void

Hands search for the perfume, still.

03 January 2015

For you

For you

Eggs were hatching,

But rats were out.

The carpet looked like a curtain

The base, confused.

Before I was born,

Sickness came in thick air

To propose to the virus-prone stage,

To blow, the wind refused.

I was born still,

With sadness that cried,

You made faces to make me laugh,

My purpose was to live,

For you!

03 January 2015

Ever escaping

Ever escaping

I was beginning to fountain

When you came over me, like a stone

I slipped and escaped

You followed me and trampled

Under your elephant feet

Your molecules are strong in this world

Shine like the snow-clad mountain

I have no right to open my mouth

My hunger to speak is covered under jaw

But I escape every time

I lead you to the yellow-green spread

You are poor

Collect bit by bit from me and us

Your power smirks at your weakness

Looking for us to do your chores

For your feet cannot shoo us away

But the needy can also beg for help to escape

03 January 2015

Bed-stage

Bed-stage

O my bed, tell me what am I going to do?

For the sun is sure to wake up with the clock.

I have courage and energy this night for you,

Until the dawn will rise and mock;

I was somebody till this time

Until the day took away everything I had,

I will wake up to a new crime.

Continue in the living, good or bad,

How weak is my sense now it’s fallen like a tree,

A new search will start when it fakes to be free.

I heard an owl howling by, can hear the crickets roar

Times to this time o please if I could pay you more.

My stamps be snatched with it will go the right,

I’d recall how much I willed to spend, for this unwilling night.

In the morning the darkness will shout wouldn't know what to do,

The forgotten I will screech for help, without the slightest clue!

I know this night will stay so warm, in this ever youngster

The day so cold, will paint me like a bold impostor.

Every night I lie in stage that wakes me up anew,

The morning screen puts that in sleep and snatches all I knew!

03 January 2015

Simple

Simple

What is the glowing sun doing?

The moon, the river, the wind,

The flowers and fruits,

Caste-less, without layers,

No track of the sinner and the sinned,

Giving without correcting and guiding others!

Amidst all of this circus of giving,

There comes a dais of beings,

Power to forget, in human attire,

Acting to fit unfit misfit rules and laws,

Of revenge and vengeance for flaws without Error,

Hurting the mirror in the guise of others!

Words are pills that fill in the hole,

Names are roles to damage the Whole,

What we see on stage we do not see,

What we hear on the Page we do not hear,

How did it start I wonder I wonder!

The bothers that block from the one to another!

Simple, simple, simple, so simple is the world!

The mind cannot grasp this silly little Word!

Relentless are those stars that pour into the pot!

Lightly overlooked by the clever, Intelligent lot!

Yet cry so alive for Peace, Wealth and Power!

With thoughts that kill but are meant to flower

24 December 2014

Restoration

Restoration

From the mountain of papers,

An old map peaked.

Unbelievable that the countries looked

Like a bundle, a ball of love so inviting!

No time to look at these playthings now!

I have come here for a purpose,

I have to go.

But why was the map disfigured?

Heaps of thoughts,

Scratched, unstructured, unattended

Now need to be scrapped, trashed.

The sun outside

Shining just as it did, years ago

What if we had to restore the sun!

These papers in which I stand surrounded,

Look like a scattered map,

Or so thinks my playful mind!

23 December 2014

The shameless

The shameless 

Perhaps poems would never be ever sung,
Exams would never be ever written,
When power is on fire, and humanity hung,
With children butchered by the nerves not shaken!
They were shot with all those inert guns
The sounds didn't move those hooligans!
What a shame, a display of weak cowardice,
Let us walk all uncovered right on the streets,
Our fingers on earth let write defeats,
How horrid is the purpose of living here!
Where poems are crushed with lethal care,
Clumsy, clumsy, clumsy are those adult minds
Who want to ruin and jeopardize,
They cleared those pupils from the earth
To prove their point of shameless worth!

December 16 will be remembered as the black day for humanity. On this day, 135 children were killed at gun point while writing their examinations. The credit goes to the some, perhaps a record in their CV to be proud of. However, the world is ashamed.

I heard a distinct voice telling me last night (20 December) that I need to change a word in this poem, that if I have to bring in peace, I cannot be unkind to an entire race because of some, the voice went on saying that my poems are written to re-establish the true nature of humankind; peace and love and friendliness to all. Therefore, I changed that word, and for the period it got a place in the poem I seek my readers’ pardon.

16 December 2014

Ode to being

Ode to being

Amidst all the wars and divides,

All the worries and unrest,

All the bitterness and strides,

All the masks that manifest,

Love is the only force,

Light the only source.

Amidst all the powers and plights,

All the snatching and fights,

All the words untrue, unkind,

All the thoughts without mind,

Love is the only force,

Light the only source.

Amidst all the blunders and borders,

All the bloodshed and orders,

All the hatred and hungers,

All the poverty of mongers,

Love is the only force,

Light the only source.

Amidst all the blinding differences,

All the known unknown fences,

All offences and defenses,

All brackets of nonsense,

Love and light exist as the only living,

The force and the source of the lovely being

15 December 2014

A Christmas orange

A Christmas orange

An orange is on a December table

The Sun from the French window

Has come with a birthday card,

From my daughter, on my 102^nd birthday;

I was born on a Sunday at 10 a.m. on the 25^th,

My parents were happy to call me Lady Christ I recall

The Sun now is comforting a big balcony

Where I sit looking focused at the fresh glowing orange.

…

Dear Mom, Me, Marta, Stephane, Kurt, Dave, John

We miss you. My second granddaughter, Lucille says

A big hello, thank you, and same to you on your birthday

When she’ll also be two, like you! Love you.

…

The halo around the orange is a little less than soft,

But the warmth has become more charming.

Much like Dorothy, Smith, and other inmates of this stable, moving graveyard;

I hear faintly the morning news of war and other familiar developments,

It’s strange they want to die at an age they should live.

The TV howls a ‘we shall overcome’ song

Not sung, but played around, and known as background music.

As I start peeling the orange; the smell of the juice

Pours into my fragile and outlived hands all its freshness!

When apples have become hard for me,

This belladonna warms up my overestimated life.

Something tells me I will surely get another card very soon,

Another orange in the midst of the morning sun on my veranda

May be tomorrow!

My maids tell me that every day is Christmas for me!

10 December 2014