Never mind what is

I am in heaven
no matter what
never mind what is
I am inside my
golden garden
with you
talking, playing, wandering
situations
good, not so good
are only ways that dissuade.

Never mind what is
I am at ease
in my blue sky
walking with the stars
in the golden garden
under the shady trees
writing on the leaves
talking with the birds.

Your love

There are sleepers
inside me
your love made them
dreamers once
your hands comforted
theirs
the ones that wanted to
write, work, play, and think
now deep inside
meddled in the murk
they have gone into
silence
in deep sleep…
your presence
made them
sing, dance, dress
in the green room
come up on stage
in their performance
to show their lulling eyes
that borrowed the
spark from the stars
now, no more
looking at the gray thoughts
of the world
hypnotizing hypocrisy
repeating defeating frozen actions
these bubbling visionaries
inside me
have become
those up-and-corners
they rest inside
as though they never existed,
they never were!

Wait
the dreamers
the star-gazers
will wake up
to wander on the same roads
that they abandoned
sleepers inside me
thanks to your love
will soon restart their
conscious journey.

A push and a pull

You are growing,

receiving punishments from life - 

disproportionate ones

your character is questioned,

your competence destroyed,

you fail in all your roles:

parent. child, spouse, friend. colleague,

you become an embodiment

of nonperformance.

You are condemned to be inward

withdrawn into a prison

from then on
your journey starts;
you thank every fiasco,

you bless those hurling

abuses, calling names.

Faux pas becomes

a push and a pull,

you think of punishments

as blessings.

Thank you

My dear Trevor Maynard
what a wonderful person you are
you have created
such a sublime space
for bards to chirp here
with happiness and grace.

Some like us maybe amateurs
learning to write
while some like you are
seasoned, experts
helping us hone our skills with delight;
but we have the same feathers
with which we glide and sing
writing the lines is a pleasure
here, we take a bow Trevor Maynard
for gifting us such a winsome wing.

Poetry Review and Discuss

what a garden of a place

you created for us

we are together here

from wherever we are

to express our thoughts

beyond caste and race;

as friends we can never lose here

we can only win

thanks to you Trevor Maynard 

thanks to you LinkedIn.

Less traveled

My heart
walking through a
less traveled road
singing like an old
stone, playing
like mridangam*
to beat the humdrum
of life, talking like brooks.

I am in a bush;
in a strange little nook
shrubs everywhere
unruly, unknown buds
innocuous fruits, flowers
chirping mates there
playing willingly
sounds of inner organs
without any paging art
falling on this field,
with the stars, being a part.

I never knew
I could even meet
the sky that has fallen
here to embrace me.

*mridangam - a barrel-shaped double-headed drum with one head larger than the other, used in southern Indian music.

You are not alone

You are not alone

If you thought
you’d get a call
from your dream job,
or you’d crack that
cat exam with flying colors
to see you seated in
your secure coveted throne,
you’re not alone.

If you thought
you could date and espouse
that girl next door
a carefree sophomore,
or your spouse might dump
you anytime, throw you
from your dreamy home
you thought as your own,
you’re not alone.

If you thought
your hurdles will end
your struggle to pay the bills
to make ends meet,
you could count on your salaries
they won’t fly away, but would multiply
even after those monthly
payments of superfluous loans,
you’re not alone.

If you thought
one day, your children,
your parents will understand
and recognize your relentless
work, in and out of home,
from dawn to dawn
so they could go to schools,
watch TV, play in the lawn,
if you thought they’d talk sweetly,
not in a condescending tone,
you’re not alone.

If you’d always expect
good things to come your way
in spite of being in a blind lane,
or, even if you were drowned inside a well
you thought all will be well;
for as long as you lived
if you stood for what you believed,
your skills with willful resilience
you’d constantly hone,
you’re not alone.

contrast

Lover

I was looking
at the white flower
swinging in your hair
like the silver star
floating in the night sky

ex

I was looking
at the white flower
hanging in your hair
like a fish
out of water

your hand

thanks for giving
me your hand
nothing can touch
me now

Life is too short

Like rainbows, life is too short
for conflicts, disagreements
disharmony; hurdles
heinous huddles, false judgments, 
that do not help us grow.

Like snowfall, life is too warm
for cold war, feuds, battles
bloodshed, hatred,
utter meaninglessness 
anger that makes us low.

Like dewdrops, life is light
the halo that shines behind
is too full with healing glow
to sulk in the disease of darkness,
that disallows us to let the germs go.

Like raindrops, life falls in love;
when hearts do not concur
let them be, when smiles do not confer,
not to worry, know that differences 
at times don’t mellow.

Like falling leaves, life is too giving
to be snatching from others
power, pelf, position, possession
that we seek, like beggars;
nature, the benefactor, we fail to follow.

Everything outside is way too transient
like those footprints of a camel
in a desert, life is walking away
in every moving moment
yet it pumps constantly inside.
like a voice that alerts, draws us into the present; 
redundant emotions, unkind words, like worms
that weaken the wise and lively organs
are not of any worth.



I should have named it 'Unconditional apologies'

And yet I am not a somnambulist

When I go for my walks,

long ones,
it feels I am going
to the mountains
to meet the magician
who marries all.

But today,
as I was coming back
I heard a cracking sound,
in silence, I sensed
doors were opening
with my heartbeat
doors, doors, doors
for years shut, closed
now opening
like those flowers
that bloom in those gardens
in most unnoticed bushes.

How could I’ve imagined this
I’m not that much of an optimist
and yet I am not a somnambulist!

They were all doors
of places of worship.
But it was strange
to find people
to have swiped their spaces
known boundaries
the walls they thought
as their own,
they're out of their comfort zones.
But they’re not feeling
as strangers, as intruders
as mere visitors, as outsider
they felt not any different;
familiar welcoming warmth,
equally positive vibrations
from the walls.
I am willingly walking over me,
walking past, with my feet
above, enjoying the journey
winning on years of self-defeat.

 How could I’ve imagined this
I’m not that much of an optimist
and yet I am not a somnambulist!

Gurudwaras, Mosques, Churches
Synagoues and Temples;
now full with people,
who’d suddenly discovered
today, without guilt, fear or shame
the teachings were in essence, much the same.
They’re not seeking pardon
not even those Nazis seen in synagogues;
once and for all
seeking pardon seemed over and done;
they’re all engaged in seeking
retraining the teachers’ teachings.

How could I’ve imagined this
I’m not that much of an optimist
and yet I am not a somnambulist!

Majority of them
seemed tired of breaking
their own religions into pieces
fighting, and only fighting
with themselves,
but today, after years of hatred
bloodshed, mindless wrath,
with the cracking sound of opening doors
they heard the disapproval
of those saints they loved and adored.

How could I’ve imagined this
I’m not that much of an optimist
and yet I am not a somnambulist!

Followers decided to walk the talk,
the teachings of the Magician
which the teachers taught
with openness, experiencing the feeling
from deep within.

How could I’ve imagined this
I’m not that much of an optimist
and yet I am not a somnambulist!

Hitlerization

Buddha and Jesus
chained in words;
good, kind, pious
positive letters
emotive expressions
chosen Ps and Qs
conscious hints and clues
chanted, written
in unending volumes
revered, measured,
relived, treasured,
for years and years;
inside the holy premise
the outstanding guys
worshipped as the supreme teachers
remembered without fail
in every celebrations.

But their teachings?
For Heaven’s sake,
who applies them!

For that my dears,
please ‘lend me your ears’
we have the infamous delinquent dude
we may know him as unkind and rude
he may be the harbinger of terror and war
from the bottom of our hearts, we may hate Hitler!
BUT o please don’t get hurt
we follow and apply his tricks to the letter!

Wake up friends…open your eyes
he’s in us as Mr Hyde
who comes in every walks of life
 diligently, in disguise,
he directs, he instructs, he wins
all over the world, we hate our neighbors
love the sin, hate the sinner;
like herds of hypnotized sheep
we follow him and his teachings
weird it is o my ostrich brothers and sisters
that yet, we certainly worship Buddha and Jesus
as the most undisputed, respected teachers.



I may not be competent, I may not be compliant, but the voice that's floating inside may not coagulate.

The salient

Talking of noble things
writing to break open the door
winning arguments
are songs that sing aloud
clearing the cloud
beautifully, charming the firmament;
they could even provide food
for the mind and the heart
with all their craft and their art
noble, pious, just as they should.

Application is silent
but it shows in the way
one behaves and beholds
the world.

The indomitable

Hungry world.
Beggars all around.
The rich and the poor,
the young and the old,
the weak and the bold,
men, women, children
perpetually cursing, blaming each other
the one thing they have in common
is that they’re all in need for more.

Refugees and land-owners,
vagabonds, nomads, 
city-dwellers owning one 
or multiple
high-rises, skyscrapers;
all are busy begging from beggars
some taking, some snatching alms 
milks, meats, meals
dishes of deals.

Pages are dark with ink
leaves are turning brown
written stories draining the crown
drying with drought
like dying warriors; soldiers
beyond any doubt
never seem to be in sync.

In this drama of life
I am also starving
never to lose the appetite
to write; trying forms and norms
to shock-shift frozen thoughts
it seems I am set
words are failing, yet
there is this one energy,
that of love, pouring on the stage
guiding, guarding, greening my garden
raining from above, at every little stage.

Karma

When you hit the invisible ball

on the silent out-of-sight wall

know on you it will befall

until you take a conscious call.

It could come back to you

after many births, or the following day

or later than a decade,

on this you can hardly have a say

but this ballgame per se
is sure, certain, lucid and true

with it, you can never ever trade.

By showing your fear or guffaw

while receiving the ball's inevitable law

you create your next destiny

boon or bane as it might be!

!Heil Hitler!

It is easy to sing

with perfection

inside the sacred wings

'love thy neighbor',

'hate the sin, not the sinner'

or memorize the eight-fold path;

it is a challenge to live

upto these, for in application

do we follow Buddha and Christ?

They are completely shelved aside!

To walk the talk, we dread

reading the road that’s red

in Greece and Myanmar.

              .Sad.

Out there on the field, most anywhere

the air is surreptitiously hissing
          !'Heil Hitler'!