No bar

It seemed everyone knew it was not going to work,

Except us

Yes nevertheless.

Now threads are tearing in order

We see us so like others,

More or less

How has the divide been stronger than dividing the pain?

The profit power and all the ruling brain,

Meaningless – nevertheless.

We failed to remain with our other

Beside, failed as countries as neighbors

Pushed aside, yet in the blue firmament

Couples like us

Still talk of their feat, their achievement!

No ground to stretch our hand,

Up in arms to shoot the breathing air,

Waves of friendship ash in the sand,

Enemies come out in dancing despair.

Different we are on a raging ridge

Neighbors are we on a hanging bridge.

Land and sand, on which we grew,

Are leaving past we hold so true.

If only for us we act and think,

Perhaps to feel the missing link!

sacred words are not scared

if the word means surrender
i don't know
if the word means peace so tender
i am at ease it is to show
if the word means self perfection to render
i have no gumption high or low

words that are crying day and night
are shelved had lost the missing sight
words that could build the world tired and bored
are in the woods between the knife and the sword

who is to surrender who is to yield
if there is no one around none in the field
what we see out there is not true not true
words will show the way to me them and you

landing on the mind

I was walking in my mind

When the outside was clear with facts,

Didn’t even know was walking fast or slow

If sessions going on were short or long;

I had to be right to be so correctly wrong,

Feelings played on words hurt and cracked,

The past and more of past a glass of island.

I was outside but wasn’t much there

A little shake or two, took me unaware,

The laughter and the cry was the same as any guy

Living long ago with nowhere to fly;

The walks became long with no one along,

Breathing in and out yet refusing the time,

Bygones flashed like a lasting childhood crime!

With no structured line hollowed and malign,

It went on and on and on,

Facts so bored forlorn.

I heard the sound of dew

In early morning lake

The walks so silly flew

And washed inside so fake.

Sure it didn’t stay for long

Calendar back again, the walk ran in even strong,

Not willing to leave grounded on the floor

I tried to mop it clean from the bottom to the core;

It’s such a daunting task have no one for to ask,

Everyone’s in the game with a splendid pretty mask,

Huh there we are the same, are we not the same!

The name inside is not erring any shame,

Being in this game of cleaning time inside,

Outside’s mystery free and without any pride.

Return

I am into you,

I say things not experienced,

About someone or something not witnessed;

With eyes of someone just unknown,

The snowy brain in the meadows blown,

The language I never speak,

The beliefs I never seek.

                               

Sailing on the sea or driving down the lane

The turn makes a sense yet so much insane.

I am with you,

I write things you did,

The spine of self, broken splendid;

No parents, no foods, no language of me,

Dancing are others’ songs of agony ecstasy,

I write about flowers and trees,

I haven’t smelt or felt their breeze.

The scratch in the frame appears and creates

Song, right or wrong, fascinates and forgets.

King

Duncan killed, could not make him the king;

The murdered sleep unable to sing,

Dhritarastra blind, urged the brothers to fight;

The drudgery within lost the lasting pretty sight.

Of what use are these players, acting out the death;

Agonies of hatred with thoughtless length and breadth,

Hunger for anger, where in fact there is none;

Ground oozing lives that poem into fun.

Writers write to them, and talkers go on and on;

Action hides in us, when the king’s suddenly born,

Killing the wars in us, all we need to do;

Losing it on stage, winning it anew.

Entitled

A name is just a name,

A style anybody’s style;

Call a namesake,

Mirror falls on the ground,faking a cracking sound;

A set of broken beliefs pretending the wooden shelf,

Of what it is known when all a part of self.

Words are here to fail, lie and confuse,

Falter every time, of little or no use;

The patient page is yearning to sleep,

With all names and styles,been guarding the sheep;

In sameness, difference steals a place,

Desperate show in the blank resides a space.

Shameless rootless root that did not break the gene,

Names, actions of a kind can a style imagine.

Incognito

Don’t go back                    go back;

Don’t play the old tune                 play back;

Don’t rewind the game                 rewind the game.

The gap says it all, between the rise and the fall;

Where to go, what to sing, and what to play;

Dissent that cracks the failing wall;

The middle is stable its hinges will stay.

There is a door                  open and wide;

Window’s hidden                            at no one’s side;

The floor has a ground                   an old new name.

opening cul-de-sac

opening cul-de-sac

What I have is what I am,

What I don't, is what I am, not,

Borrowed eyes are there to slam

Without a sound that covers the plot.

I am living the life lived thousands of years ago,

Tooth and claw, finding flaw lying on the bed,

Imprisoned ease none to release any show,

Black’s still so much ill in the burning red.

Questions have one response,

Answers there all so much within,

Lived through them all at once,

And watched the tired scene.

Driving home a message

When I was almost convinced that air horn was invented by a wasted talent who didn't know what to do with it, I thought of understanding its purpose with a reasonable objective mindset. 

This was what I found from Wikipedia.

“The air horn is a pneumatic device designed to create an extremely loud noise for signalling purposes. It usually consists of a source which produces compressed air, which passes into a horn through a reed or diaphragm. The stream of air causes the reed or diaphragm to vibrate, creating sound waves, and the horn amplifies the sound so it is louder. Air horns are widely employed as vehicle horns, installed on large semi-trailer trucks, fire trucks, trains, and some ambulances as a warning device, and on ships as a signalling device.”

However, in India and other APAC regions, these are installed on regular buses as well!

In my opinion, air horns should not be installed on city buses because of one single reason: sound pollution. To put it simply, it kills your ear drums. More so, because these are employed by thoughtless drivers who blow it out of proportions due of lack of understanding. Even if we see them misusing it, can they really be blamed? Their orientation is not towards safeguarding the environment, it is more towards driving, overtaking, and more mindless driving, and quite justifiably so because our roads have no defined space for light and heavy vehicles making traffic a mess most everywhere in the mentioned region. But that is not the point.

What surprises me most is the fact that even organizations which are doing a great deal of good work in terms of protecting the environment and society have their own office buses plying in the city with air horns. The question we need to ask ourselves is that whether we are able to prevent accidents by employing this meaningless instrument. I may not be able to understand its importance with my limited intelligence, but as a daily recipient of this horrendous sound, I feel that air horns are pretty much redundant and should be banned on regular buses. If all buses in the APAC region were to stop using them, who knows it could make a little difference in terms of protecting our environment from sound pollution.

If it rings a bell, I would appeal to all MNCs and other corporate houses to take the initiative of banning this environment un-friendly instrument, at least on their own buses.

Alternately, our acceptance should wonder at the ripple effect of hearing more of air horns as ring tones.

If not in Medias res

It takes courage to walk away

From conflict, thinking good of those who

Did it, without knowledge of the other way;

On the green meadow, under the sky so blue.

Tough enough to keep off words when

Looks narrow down from islands oozing water,

Arrows flowing up and down from speakers so sane;

Groups, crowds, teams gift swords of words to the defaulter.

Power, is to bless being right in the mess unaware,

Not to colour alone, with hatred and flair;

Strength is where the self, nests in a state of no offence,

To see what is deep inside all alike in nothing, in silence.

It takes love to loosen the strings, shred off the wings,

Take the squeezing poem out when it sings,

Out of being in Medias res walking down the aisle;

Limping, crawling yet waking up to the smile.