rajinder-pal-chaddah
74/M/India
1940-2014 / Taught at D.A.V. College Chandigarh for thirty years. To date published: / Indian Collage(1985) / Vista Verse(1988) / Mood Metaphors(1993) / Autumnal Images(2004) / Alternative Destination(2010) / Butts in my Ashtray(2014) / Tempest on Waves(2014)
Our life consists of
little more
than round figures of
days, years, and decades.
Utter unawareness
of early days
is followed by
helplessness
of latter days.
We become conscious of
the briefness of life
and a desperate
need to survive,
when we love.
The chill of the cemetery
stalks every bed of love,
between breaths of passion
it pants coldly.
it is love's paramour
and partner.
It is everywhere ---
in the waters of spring
in the wayside flowers
in the crowns of trees
in every sensual encounter
in the darkness beyond
in the trails left behind
and in everything
we dream to achieve.
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 7:31 PM UTC
As l lay on my bed
fighting fever
contracted the previous night,
I spotted
two lizards
on the wall.
They lay in
to devour
moths and insects,
which come in hundreds
round the lighted lamp,
but after rains.
And both have
gulped down
a large number.
Perhaps
in the hope of
saving something
for the Rainy Day.
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 7:24 AM UTC
It's spring !
Day after day
sparrows come with
straw and hay
to my rest
to make a nest.
They announce the day
wake me up
make me feel
I'm living.
With full strength
I get up every day
to un-make their half-made nest
as if to prove
"A nest can't be made within The Nest."
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 12:49 PM UTC
Pink , yellow , white
square-shaped ,
rectangular
rejection -slips
I receive for my
cerebral aberrations.
Every slip conveys
in its own trite manner
" With Regards " ;
Nevertheless
I continue
To create and compose.
.
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 6:50 AM UTC
My body is
A bag of broken promises
A sachet of secrets.
My complicated past
Is still a joyful pain.
Memories flutter the heart
And readily become brain ***
The fag-ash dewdrops
On the sands of time
To arise phoenix -like.
I ask myself :
When will you get peace
Seek truce with past time
To start anew ?
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC
Four score young poets meet
in a metropolitan city.
So many living
in one century
no one country has !
Times have changed !
So has
their number and
their tete- a - tete !
Years ago:
What were they writing ?
What was being written ?
A comment, a lament , a complaint !
Some excitement !
But now :
A mere meaningless conversation !
Jobs and jubilations !
Grants and gratifications !
Influences and references !
Honours and honorarium !
But
no talk of poetry !
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 8:32 AM UTC
For the uninitiated ones
( unlike columnists and politicians )
to find their by -line
huddled in a local mag
or in an obscure daily --
it's very heaven.
And once their name appears
they preserve the page
underline their name
mark the date
procure many copies of the mag
for adulation and felicitation
of their friends and relations.
Even those who can't pen
a piece worth printing,
would rather plagiarise.
Vanity! O Vanity !
Of being in print !
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 5:09 AM UTC
I sat by an ailing parent
amid the mingled echoes
of agonising angst
watching the goings-on.
A withered man lay wailing
of a gangrenous leg
demanding doctor's attention
praying for the Lord's mercy.
Next to him
a lean, grim, gaunt man
too tall for the ward-bed---
liver cirrhosis
was his diagnosis.
In the corner far off
sat a mother in vigil
over her son in teens---
his neurosis
the aftermath of a car mishap.
A charred young lady
on a stretcher brought
specialists and sisters rushing
machines and medicaments.
Some seconds of struggle
liberate the lady
from human *******
The sisters shout
" Remove the body "!
Specialists turn to depart.
Everyone in the Ward
goes about lackadaisical
sans a sigh of emotion
sans a streak of affection.
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC
Those wonder-waiting eyes
bigger than his belly ---
that mouth
set grim in sadness .
Poets and public-men
watch, write and talk
of his travails .
All over the globe ---
how often he dies !
how well he dies !
One day
he will be recognised
and rewarded.
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 5:47 AM UTC
Students of a school
to help support
their teachers,
sold apples on the streets.
The state short of funds
urged institutions
to sell services
to improve
living standards
of underpaid teachers
and
make a success
of their
Work-Study Programme.
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 3:46 AM UTC