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

Morning story

Morning story

A lady, old and wrinkled

Silently sips coffee from her cup,

She seems to be waiting for something…

What is it… her call?

Her lower lip touched the European dragon’s blurred head

Painted in gold, its serpentine tail still shining

Thanks to years of monitored washing.

The trembling hand places it on the table mat.

Eiffel tower!

Painstakingly cross-stitched to perfection that'd put Gustave to shame

With her needle eyes, at a time

She went on for the honeymoon with her mate,

Now hanging on the wall;

And the mat!

It lay on the gleaming table, expensively carved,

Connected with stories of trees, forests, fruits, birds and bees!

The newspaper comes with the calling bell,

Sailing from her servant’s folded hands to hers;

She smells, then smiles and opens it up!

Her morning story is complete with

The touch of a brewing coffee,
Adorned with sonorous sips!

09 December 2014

hands

hands

I wasn't prepared when you came,

You were with a handful of dreams.

Three or four small fish struggling to swim

Through the water in your hands!

I didn’t know they were from the ocean,

That those spec of salty waters

Could hold hand in hand the colourful creatures so real,

For hours and for days, without pain, remarks!

I vaguely remember asking you to throw

The fighters, from where they came,

Your remote eyes looked lost and strange,

You dried away with all of them.

Between a splash and a spec,

Lied eons of thoughts tongue-tied.

Dreamers in the guise of swimmers

Are marked in my hands once tried!

22 December 2014

Detachment as a leap

Detachment as a leap

I have never found it,

Open eyes and ears, filled

With blindness and deafness.

What a dead show in all earnest!

I shut all close.

Those doors and windows...

New lights blink, new sounds beep,

Never was I born so near the glows,

To found detachment as the only leap!

01 December 2014