Disobedient stain

The most disobedient stain
In your costume is guilt,
You cannot delete
It's so stubborn a bane;
Unless you seek for the detergent
From your guide above
Who'd clean it in a moment
With the magical rays of love.

Delivered

I was taken hostage

on the stereotype stage.

There wasn't an exit

couldn't quit,
all doors, red
had entry marked in black
on its head,
face disengaged
from inside, deranged
uttered some same
seamless, shameless
onerous words,
actions marched blindfolded

had to play willy-nilly
trained thoughts, rigid, rhymed silly

everything seemed dull and done
to the core
from one to four
from four to one.

I was on the road,

walking…but tied to the floor

legs hurt walking the traveled way.
Jackass! I was still indoors
star-gauging, bored
rude at night, shrewd during the day.

I tried high and low
to break open from a window
what a kick-ass of performance
happy from top to toe I became a witness
in the audience,
watching life and death from the infinite stage
made perfect sense.

Out into the brooks drenching in the rains;
sun-bathing on the beaches,
singing to the mountains;
new stories fell in love, all around
brown leaves razed to the ground
wrote fresh tales on the patient page.

With marks on my legs I was delivered
from the captivating cage.

War is a crisis

War, spread all over the world

like a blue horror; it gallivants on the red carpet
respected, revered; it is a strait that’s troubling
existence, yet it is the weather without which
the tonsured world cannot breathe.

Weapons, arms are disastrous - stillborn children
of civilizations over the years; but their parents
are the blackjacks we carry within, explode them
in all walks of life on a war footing! We seem to be
in love with war, riding on a mindless monster.

We hide behind words replete with
superfluous ornaments; produce,
market weapons on one hand,
while on the other, we talk and write
volumes on disarmament.

War is a crisis, a red bed
on which we cremated peace.

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