'Who am I', if you ask!
With a grin I say, 'A Man in a Mask'

A poem weaves lyrics to thoughts,
the fortune that destiny brought,
the wind that the words caught,
... just enough, never a lot !

It is when, the flowers shout out,
... the birds sing aloud,
bees buzz together in a clout,
hooray to the dancing village lout.

Or, if it is the charm of a maiden's eyes,
hold my hand and tell me a lie,
as truth will only make me cry,
give me a promise, till I die.

Or, if it is for a social reason,
an anarchist on revolt season,
a dab of red, a call of treason,
a poets verse can take to prison.

Or, if words seeks the minds-speak,
psyche is for the daring, not the meek,
... a work at hand, not a walk past the creek,
can you read my thoughts at a poet's streak?

Or, if it is for war protest,
in Guy Fawke mask and a black vest,
for the plight of those in peace who rest,
catchy solgans and a chorus to test.

... then there is the drunk babble,
verses on a high, writing for a fable,
realm of the bar's loony rebel,
few moments just too incredible.

Few who talk of life ...
... and the universe, past time's swipe
thoughts never too naive,
a philosopher's table to wipe!

A poem will always try,
to make verses not too dry,
a worth of truth laced with a pinch of lie,
a flutter for the heart to fly.

If the end is nigh,
light up your hearts,
for we all die!

Dark clouds,
Lonely road,
Friendly trees,
. . . I walk to reach my home.

I come to a crossroad,
To hear a croaking toad,
Which way to go?
. . . the left or the right, be it so?

A puddle or two, a gentle breeze,
Walking past a drone in the trees,
Singing birds, what do they speak?
. . . then the sun comes out, shining past a peak.

Will the leaves sway,
To tell me the way?
. . . the sweet smelling wild flowers may,
Streak their scent, and steal the day.

A tree stump,
A squirrel in the grassy clump,
Pigeons fly here,
… am I any near?

… this tree makes me smile,
Is it the stone to mark the mile?
My journey is soon to end,
Memories to cherish and thoughts to lend.

There I see,
The wooden gate,
. . . here is my garden,
Here is my home

I can burn you down,
or scare you with a howl,
I am the wonder of the ages,
say the witches, the wizards and the mages,
Many warrior have had to fight my might,
a valiant attempt to set the scores right,
.
.
.
I love gold, and lust for treasures,
I am invincible, and there is nothing left for a measure,
How dare you compare me to a pterodactyl?
a feeble, birdbrained projectile,
My birth was kindled in a volcano fire,
and once I dance, you will soon be on a burning pyre
.
.
.
Alas! That is all a fad,
My reality is not really too glad,
I am confined to the tales which grandfather told on a rainy day,
and the farmer sang as he cut the fresh dewy hay,
You can also find me in books, movies and computer games,
as an emptiome of 'hard to tame'
.
.
.
I wish there was more to myself,
than just stories of gnomes, goblins, and elves,
I will never spit fire and smoke,
nor will I scare the townsfolk,
Enjoy reading about my feat
be it with popcorn, or from under the bed-sheet
.
.
.
As I wag my tail
only to find my place in another telltale.

(with an apology to Pink Panther)

Ice melts,
Hurricanes rage,
Permafrost thaws,
Methane burps,
Temperature shoots,
Sea level rises,
Agriculture fails,
Drinking water shortages,
Tsunamis show their might,
Landslide kills,
Pandemic thrives,
Fishes stop breeding,
Insects go out of sight,
and, human beings exit, stage left!

On a blue planet, beneath a glowing sun,
We are bound to life, no place to run,
A soul to be, what can be done?
If there is more to us then forgive the pun.

Bergamo is a ghost town,
Wuhan the reason to frown,
A little virus painted us gray, maybe brown,
And it hits the lungs, and also wears a crown

So much for the markets and the stocks,
Many people go home with the box,
Most of the stores are locked,
Deserted streets, airports and the docks

Never known an enemy as this,
It kills silently, not even a snake's hiss,
A cough, a cold and soon life is amiss,
It will not spare you, even if you are a prince

New York is next in line,
A pandemic, worse than fever of the swine,
Wash your hands, and try not to whine,
Put on a mask, the air is not too fine

Is it the time for twilight?
The end of our might?
The world hangs by a thread too tight,
Save our souls, quite

Isn't it easy to be a Nobody,
than try like Everybody,
to become Somebody,
... and, fall into life's trap as a mere Anybody?

Tread softly, as I wait for time,
Twilight of life, well past my prime,
I have had many jobs, some true, rest mime,
... living it when life was a melody to a rhyme,
Good, Bad or Evil! a few crimes,
Some apples, a few limes,
... and courage when life covered me in slime,

I look up to the moon,
... time may be just too soon,
Is death a myth, a truth or a boon?
Past life’s desert, across the dune,
... midnight, after a sunny noon,
No one here, but me and the silence of a croon,
Last meal? I smile and put down my spoon

Past the narrow sea, where lands the king,
Squabbles for an ugly throne, havoc it brings,
The blizzard, the chill, not the warmth of the summery spring,
Here comes the walkers, with skulls on a string,
Will the dragons spit fire? or the night’s watch sing?
… Martin will get to **** more, Castamere a sting?

I watch with eagerness, this fantasy has me glued,
… times, I have smile back at the dwarf, and said, “DUUUUDDEEE” !!!
The mother of dragons had me on one knee, but alas! nothing ensued,
Bankers and black magic at Braavos, both were rude,
Quarth, Mereen and Astapour, far from the royal feud,
The sand snakes and the mountain, not much to conclude

As it goes, “All men must die”!
Martin plays his flute, not much to my cry,
The TV remote, pepsi and potato fries,
Predictions are hopeless, did you say Asshai?
Seven kingdoms, give peace a try,
Give me hope, even if its a lie!

I read his books, to cry at night,
If God is dead then show me the light,
Where is the man on the cross,  where is the shining knight ?
... that veiled specter and the streak of light ?
Is nihilism a noose too tight ?
Are we living though our final rites ?
Is this the truth or a noise just too white.

Help me God, but alas he is dead,
We killed him and bathed him blood red,
New century, and many still go unfed,
We still wage wars, are we lacking in staid ?
Amor fati ! but I remain afraid,
Has our senses met with a touch of fade ?
A distant thunder... a storm, a hale, a glade !

Gold, Oil and Drugs - GOD to spell,
... rich to richer, poor to poorer - does it ring a bell ?
Widows cry and mums wail,
Father dies and sons follow in a war to fail,
Cruise and thomahawk don't even tell half the tale,
Our inner selves are shriveled and pale,
Where is our aura ? conscience smells stale.

Markets tumble and the poor man whines,
Leaders make speech, claim things are ''just fine'',
Elephants or donkeys, red or blue - jaded bottle, old wine,
Job dwindle, banks swindle - be it wall street or the south of Tyne,
Or cities on the banks of Rhein,
Long queues, angry mob and a shout of "you swine"
... are we cowards lacking in spine ?

If recurrence is the universes' game,
Are we zombies, or just too lame,
So much we do, in an effort to maim,
What we seek is money, power and fame,
Stare into the mirror, isn't our soul the same ?
... and we all have is an ego to tame,
Love and compassion, that is all to our name.

Good and bad, with evil on right hand,
... overflowing adrenal glands,
Our moral landscape seems bland,
Driven by media which is slave to the rich brand,
It is time we take a stand,
Be the Zarathustra, not make castles in the sand,
... else our children will not find a planet too grande!

Is it the last leg for our kind,
... and smart machines are our next find,
Cometh the superman with wires fitted to his mind,
Man was an error, he is not just deaf, but also blind,
As he lacks in sight be it the fore or the hind,
There is not much to remind,
... his death is dated and signed.

The world will be connected as a fisherman’s net,
... and none to be alone, that you can bet,
Oh, what a world and a fate we have met,
The wealthy rule, rest are their pet.

I flew in the sky, and my mind seemed to leaf through a picture book.

Then the frog croaked, and the bird sang, and I found that the real world is not bad either.

Then the branches took a stride,
and shamed the spider’s pride,
the snake was scared, wiggled away to hide,
this tree was oddly shaped and way too wide

Nature’s quirk,
makes for a smirk,
did I see a rat in the lurk?
birds make nests, that is hard work

Termites drill and gnaw,
cats on their hind paw,
leeches claw,
do we need a saw ?

The branches made a sight at night,
a scare as a ghostly flight,
sudden horror in moon’s light,
come on ! … forgive its plight.

… and one day, the children made a swing,
tying happiness to ropes and strings,
they sang together in welcome spring,
and the twisted tree had a bling.

Then one day, the old man had enough,
... and, it wasn't the mushroom,
... neither the naplam,
... nor any other WMD,
.
.
.
... two degrees more, and that was all it took

morning
we woke up
in the mortal world

What fun is life, if it doesn't end,
A virus with no ways for a mend,
Time for sorrows to blend,
A moment for the universe, less for man to lend!

May sweet slumber come
with you in my embrace,
and at dawn the sun feels
shy to rise.

Laffing is the best medicine,
Alas, not always life saving!