Monday, August 11, 2014

Blinding blues


Blinding blues

Fruits of memories,
On the branches, in the trees
Morning moon, a reminder
Of an unwanted tool, visible afar,
Handicapped love has gone to search
For a better retrouvailles;
It is soon to be blessed with a boon
Of euphemism;
On the other side, the setting free cliché
Is a struggling fish, crawling towards a pond nearby,
The sky is breaking apart,
The noise is out of place.

11 August 2014

Sunday, August 10, 2014

In the interest of everything


In the interest of everything

If as a child, I could see me now,
I’d eat properly,
Study what’d please me dear,
Play to keep fit, not fight.
If as a teenager, I could see me now,
I’d not backchat with my parents,
My teachers, my elders, my neighbors,
If as a youth I could see me now,
I’d focus more on my work.
If now I could catch the time of my death
I’d do more of service,
On love, on a lot of things,
Instead of fighting with words, for words
With my unconscious breaths,
I’d also choose the place of my birth,
If I could do that with any of my worth!

Hey Science!
There’s a lot of work to do,
Instead of inventing arms of weapons
With pounds of dollars,
Conquer, connive, concoct and con.

If I could invent a machine for good,
That’d make people laugh,
Create oxygen in the thick air that pollutes and pains,
Track people who are starving for food,
I’d there with the machine create a rain of drinking water and grain,
Connect with children deprived, women violated,
Provide what’s needed instead of a technological bluff,
That which is in the interest of everything without a price inflated.

Hey Science!
There’s a lot of work to do,
Instead of inventing arms of weapons
With pounds of dollars,
Conquer, connive, concoct and con.

Think Science think!
On something that’s worth the link!
I know you know the poem of art!
Your smart brain’s not without a heart!

10 August 2014

Monday, August 4, 2014

In search of the huddle


In search of the huddle

Worlds that are born of the non-dual world,
Dwell in the minds that are blind and blurred.
Since the One is merged in too many ones,
The meaning is lost in the huddle undone!

In the faith that the world can never be destroyed,
Hats are hatching and heating in void.
Intelligence for sure can win us a way,
If that’s not butchered in pieces of clay!


04 August 2014

Sense on leave


Life grounded. Sounds of vehicles
Merge with cries of various classes and
Sameness shamelessly defeats the newness
of all kinds
Imprisoned in poisoned melancholy of frozen
thoughts
Icebergs are upside down smirking at the
mountains,
Silence measured, calculated.

On the other hand, leaves are drying up
Ponds, lakes covered with brown fatigue.
Sky laughs with innumerable teeth
Of basic hanging colors, white, black, gray,
Nothing rises above the focus. Faiths of
bullets, guns
And incredibly visible sharpness of arms
Are awed with respect from all corners;
Horizons have merged into a ball
Replete with the hunger of hired anger;
Known result of stagnation, starvation
Horror, terror has scrapped all other
Impotent words from the dictionaries.

Green leaves that dare to peek, rainbows
that connect
Troubled floors are royally ignored;
Dumped in the confines of writers
Never to be read or heard,
Creativity lies in the destruction of life.
The world that was born years ago
With a lot of care is all set to be
destroyed with intelligence,
On sabbatical smokes hibernates
the sense.


04 August 2014

Sunday, August 3, 2014

Every moment writes its own stories

Every moment writes its own stories

Some moments on their journey,
Utterly drowned
In the stories floating inside;
Since they had passed,
Like suns and moons of yesterdays,
They seemed distant, unreal.
During the crises of failures and successes,
Could not recognize
Them as evanescent seconds
As nights and days that would fade…
Distant wings overpowered the grounded feet.
Now on the crossroad,
The stretch lies to be seen in between
Stories that fly and those that walk,
But can this be prevented now;
Every moment writes its own stories.

03 August 2014

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Discoveries


Discoveries [twins]

Light and sound

Light and sound,
That’s all to be seen and heard.
With eyes closed, ears shut,
Treasures to be found,
Lessons to be learned,
All inside the wee little hut.

Unaffected concern

How is it that amidst
Torture of this kind,
Mind is concerned, not guilty.
No storm in a cup of tea.
Head that was drowned in the mist,
Bouncing like a ball behind,
Did I set the clouds to be free?
Or is it just a tryst in its spree!

30 July 2014

Thursday, July 24, 2014

Agonies

Agonies [twins]

Manuscript

I don’t write anymore.
Pen stands away.
Keyboards sing butterflies.
Struggling caterpillars are off the way.

War

We are ready.
With arms rolling,
Words attack, react,
Weapons answer revenge,
Weaken all richness,
Wisdom appears redundant.

24 July 2014

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Nothing is lost

Nothing is lost

Nothing is lost in space.

The traveller is dark with agony,
A polluted pond stinks of neglect,
A fresh fence is born,
Mother’s unkempt hair covers the milky child.

Clouds in the city
Do not scratch, screech; they travel,
Gloomy wherever they go,
Clear whenever they go.

The traveller cannot see the milk,
The oil, the wood,
Laughing right in front,
They are waiting to prepare the food.

The child vibrates,
Milk pours in,
Whitewashes the pond and the city
The visitor looks, walls are broken.

In space, nothing is lost.

23 July 2014

Monday, July 21, 2014

Life as I read it

Life as I read it

Life is like a railway track,
Or a file kept in the forgotten rack,
We move and go in the proven field,
Lest flaws belittle and make us yield.

That I am this and never that,
Chains that cripple our dogma diktat,
Before I look and before I know,
The roles and rules throw up in a row.

A life before I have to live,
It’s locked in frames with clever belief.
Who will wake up from the bed so dead!
A life to read before it’s read!

21 July 2014

My seven pigeons

My seven pigeons

Clap! Clap! Clap!
My seven pigeons flying over my head,
On the terrace I just had them fed,
They are flying free, so high and low,
I whistle to alert away the trap,
They glide, they sail and glow.

When I sing my own anthem,
I call them in notes,
When I paint my open page,
They become those seven colour tones,
They fly with my wings in them,
My worries do not have them stone,
They are off their grounded cage.

I know they’ll come back soon,
To me they’ll coo their simple boon,
Tomorrow they’ll fly again and spread,
Their warmth in every song be read,
They’d learn to be in the gleeful gap,
As handful thoughts would whistle and clap.

21 July 2014