Keep doing it

O, my talkative mind!
I know you cannot shut up,
be silent; so keep saying,
I love, I love, I love, I love,
I love, I love, I love, I love;
that's all you need to do
to see the magic, to experience
the miracle; you'll stop feeling
the void of worthlessness,
no longer will you be
unconscious, or ashamed of
the gap between who you
are, and who you aren't, yet
pretend to be proud, like a hypocrite,
carrying a sense of guilt;
you are insane materially,
be insane immaterially;
kindness, complete fulfillment,
purity will be the air you'll
breathe. Just say, I love, I love,
I love, I love, I love, I love,
it works. Keep doing it.

This may not be the only way,
but keep your thoughts pure
from the inside, in whichever form
you please, pray or talk to
yourself with words full of peace,
pure power, infinite bliss.
Instead of saying, I hate, 
say, I love, I love, I love, I love,
it works. Keep doing it.

You needn't chant any mantra,
nonbelievers may not worship
anyone, or anything, just check
your thoughts that rot inside
you on a daily basis, clean 
the garbage from your mind,
convert it into a garden, by
planting seeds that are replete
with your and the world's
well-being, keep on talking,
I love, I love, I love, I love, I love,
Change the world you're living in,
it works. Keep doing it.  

The supreme species

farmers, who feed the human
civilization, are starving to death,
women, 'used' to breed the supreme
species are getting violated;

rich becoming richer,
poor poorer, as an aftermath
of the vulgar growth and
development, global warming,
in the heat of hatred and wrath; 

wars have advanced,
they have become viral, 
digital, cyber, nuclear;

on the other hand, volumes
are written with chosen words,
selective histories, measured 
Ps and Qs to highlight generosity,
magnanimity, and benevolence,
to fill the lifeless shelves, grease
pockets of lofty ideas with the milk
of human kindness that never comes
to play on the needy fields;

we are taught by design, to be positive,
with heaps of hopes on transformation,
on the resurrection, to be proud as the
supreme species born with consciousness, 
the sole differentiator from the rest
of the nature-abiding creatures;

in this day and age, basking in self-glory,
blinded by towers of achievement, 
screeching accolades, appreciations
nothing goes inside, no guilt, 
no shame, no remorse, no atonement. 

No one

I was traveling, in the
middle of this global pandemic,
without a mask, without washing
my hands. Audacity? Defiance?
S’enfoutisme? Maybe, but I wasn’t
afraid of the virus anymore.

I saw a beautiful world,
men, women, children with
their conditions; everyone suffered,
some with wealth and health,
some without, but I could clearly figure
a sense of pain in them; it was as if they
were carrying an imperceptible germ
within them; to be able to do that they
were expecting someone to come and
deliver them, but who? A leader,
a guru, a god, a lover, a friend, who?
Rest assured, no one came.

When I closed the book, I thought
I could be all those the characters were
looking for, I could also be any one of
the players! The story made me wonder
if no one was also someone.

I took out my mask and went out to buy
some groceries, I carried a sanitizer with me,
very soon, as it were, I will be out on a
different journey with heaps of hopes
that I could change my world that can
do without a purifier and a mask on the
stage.

Paradise

Clouds in the sky,
thoughts,
waves on the sea,
repeated froths,
I behold the liquid 
nothings as huge
insurmountable rocks,
listen to their hollow
sounds and find me in the
blues, blue horrors
overpower me;
I look for my paradise
above, the seas lose on 
the ground, they’re beyond
my sense, lying hidden
inside my golden garden
waiting to surface, but
overcast with foams of lies.

Our priceless abode

   

snows are melting,

the temperature of our 

solitary nest increasing

beyond limit,

join hands and act 

to reduce carbon emissions 

in the balconies, windows, 

doorways, porticos

attics, terrace of our 

unique home;

for some time, scrap the 

borders that you have 

scratched over it,

the indigenous people 

are suffering the most 

for our expensive habit,

look beyond the codes

of selfish boundaries,

unite in action, 

not in mere words 

to save the earth, 

our priceless abode

Rose is not a word

 

The word rose doesn’t

emulate any colour, no matter
how perfectly read,
it doesn’t carry any sense 
of smell either, however
flawlessly the speaker accents.

Poetry cannot die

I will prove to the world,
with my indomitable words,
poems can kill all wars,
all anger, jealousies, hatred;
here’s to my lines, read 
or unread, but they lie in 
black and white.
I will keep playing my tune,
until all wars end, to you
I’ll sing, with a heart 
in my head, ‘poetry 
cannot die, it is 
never ever dead.’

In the circus of things

I had tied all of you in a rope,
until you ate, dressed and spoke,
wrote, and even thought like me, beyond 
any scope; with your entity, civilization,
language, attire, and food, lost in our hands
of power, prowess, intolerance, to ape me, 
became your condemned destiny.

Now, with all of you locked up in my cage,
I speak of justice, liberty, disarmament,
I score you down for distorting my language,
I mark you high for your neutralized accent.

The odd one

In the garden of tulips
a lotus was born; the gardener
smiled, but those in power,
surprised; they ordered to pluck 
the intruder, it was thus thrown
outside the border; the earth, like
the garden of flowers nourished 
the outcast with light, water, and air.

At work

Write, till your eyes turn in,
read, till you look within; you
will soon construct a different world,
where the azure paradise will fall
in love with your golden garden.