Not for me
the laurel
I don't qualify
at all-
simple poetry
I write only
as my muses call

masters
of the past
each at
their sublimest
that I recall

they are
the light
I'm just
the shadow
far, far away
from their poetic hall

yet, driven
by steps
large or small

up the writing wall
I must climb
my heart's desire
to fulfil
ere
my life's nightfall

Not now
but the future
shall reveal
my hidden story:
I'm just
the beginner
I'm not yet
myself-
still in formation-
that's the reality

half a voice only
at this moment
so tiny and faint
as from the wilderness
lost in the wind
an unknown identity

yet I care not
if none
would read
my story

after all
it's not meant
for posterity

I was
I am
and I know
what I should be.

I've chosen myself
not because I've talent
only that my life
can't depend
on anyone else
lest I were
to end
in my self-constructed
lifelong prison

to live
demands freedom
without which
I'd but be
an inane
and doomed person

Grant me resilience
not intelligence
the latter is not
life's quintessence -

the former
is my unfailing strength
and never has cause
for any absence

If I lose myself, death would be a better option-- I live because I've not abandoned myself, despite my weaknesses and failures, and also because I've dignity and honour, like everyone else in the universe.  

No one nor any single identity can ever take away my freedom and my right to be.

Don't polish
your mirror
it sees you clearly-
without error

don't go out
to buy another
it's the same you
you can't court its favour

I've not abandoned
myself--oh no!
I'm not lost at all
of this I surely know

This too well
do I know:
the world
doesn't need me
not at all

but
I'm within it
away I can't go-

with my weaknesses
my failings
my foibles
even such so
my path
therein I'll set
my will
I'll follow

my right
my intrinsic self
the world
can never overthrow!

My ally
is always nigh
whether it's day
or night

walking faithfully
by my side
in every stride
I'm set right-

its image
is in my mirror
whenever
I look inside

Poetry
life's sublimest vibrancy:
every human sentiment captured
all beauty, enraptured

It can wait---the universe-
  understand yourself first

The best cure
is found--verily
in not being ill-
this is the surest therapy!

Life -
to have meaning
has to be lived
with some tension
even with defiance
lest it begins
to fade and sag
in its tameness
comfort, staleness
and acquiescence

it never does escape
the ****** and force
of the vagaries
of circumstance
which stare
in our faces
and challenge
and test us-
we are losers
if we bow out
in any instance

here
in a lonely corner
I stand
buffeted by storms
and turmoil
but remain
unfazed
and unshaken-
my every inner resource
I'll freely draw upon
every ounce
of courage
I'll summon
undaunted
as to the contour
of the future
I valiantly glance!

There's a point beyond which pain can no longer hurt the sufferer
as the person has overcome the greatest sorrow that has come his way.

Indeed, the spirit of man is infinitely stronger than the harshest sling of fate.  In this epiphany, he becomes larger than life and death, and emerges, as an uncrowned hero, though known to none else.

So much have I suffered in my illness and loneliness, with love never in sight,  but I've come to accept this suffering as it gives me meaning and the will to live my life every moment to the fullest.

My poetry is my prayer and my religion which give me the courage and strength to endure my daily pain. Of late, my cough has worsened and the weight on my lungs has been unbearable and I pray it will subside the next day.

Suffering doesn't diminish beauty which I've found in my writing, my love of life, of nature, of those I love and the truth in my heart.
I'm certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections, and the truth of imagination.

If I were to die upon the morrow, I'll have no cause for regret as my life has been lived to the fullest and as I've been touched by beauty which is too sublime for words to describe.

( * Keats died a week aged 25 after this from consumption which had no cure at that time)

Do not love me
too much
I might be unable
to reciprocate such

thus, I'd rather
that you love
only if I deserve-
that would be enough

Art is long
life is short
l'll not wait-
I'll go for both

how intensely they burn
their fires I'll stoke
I'm the blacksmith
I'll not miss a single stroke!

* poem mentally written when I was awake at 7.30 a.m. just now

First type:

They revel in their past glories and successes.
They practically insist on being heard and hope they will be admired.
They are loud, very loud and insensitive.
They repulse others.

Second Type:

They say only a few words-- and in neutral terms-
moving away from themselves as they don't wish
to attract any attention to themselves.
Such people are self-sufficient unlike the first type.
They are likely to be amiable and pleasant people.

Between the two, the first seem to predominate--
such is the weakness of human nature

There can't be true freedom
when some fear in your life still does loom

Strength  I don't seek
  resilience is what I prefer
  the latter has greater
staying power than the former

The mind decides
on a move
but the heart
might not approve

What you've lifted
down you can easily put

'If yourself
you've conquered
what's left
to be feared?

..but silence
is both defence
and attack
subtle
surreptitious
lethal
its colour
is black-
even
the strongest wall
of the opponent
it can crack!

Ah, how
so very weak
is words
in comparison
even the lightest punch
does it lack!

No, I can't accept
your batch
of 'top contributor'
one swallow
doesn't make
a summer
I'm but a winnow
meandering over
a limited space
but exulting
as a free fellow

only a faint colour
in life's canvas
but I am
no painter

only a passerby
a traveller
a voice unheard
well aware
life's a brief play
and too soon
the show
will be over

Don't regard
me a poet
I'm not
perhaps never
to qualify
as one-
a solemn truth

still swimming
in the sea
of words
often struggling
to keep
my head
above water
to escape
drowning

so
don't call
me a poet
I'm only still
a weaver
of sentiments
a learner
from the Masters
a lone traveller
in the desert
in search
of self
to place
myself
right in
fitting words

yet
I despair not:
it's enough
to have
into such
ventured

I'm sky
earth
wind
cloud
water
tree
leaf
grass
meadow

I'm such
being drawn in
and inspired
by my poetry
and my love
of nature

in this oneness
is the endless splendour-

when my words
you treasure
and adore
you yourself
will become
as much as
this inseparable
miracle

No
I don't know
as you think
I do
I've hardly started:
there's the river
but its water
doesn't flow
and by its bank
I'm waiting
perhaps
it might tomorrow

no
life is my
not yet
it will take
many, many more
years before
I really
come to know

In retrospect:
all things
would have been
different-
everything
would have neatly
hung on
the right peg

Does feeling
incorporate
unconscious thinking?

The mind
is a thousand times
more dangerous
than the most lethal gun

Is there perfect love?
If there were
in what way
would it be served?

Most don't live
restless they are
from one place
to another
they skip-
what's before them
the beauty and wonder
they miss
their anxieties
only grow more deep

where's the smile
the comfort and peace
of just being oneself
instead of such
being lost
or stripped?

Time doesn't
patience keep
what we've forfeited
we can't retrieve
and our life
inexorably
ends in grief.

I've hardly
finished with myself
it's just a beginning
in self-swimming
in the sea of being
a mere pausing
and reflecting
as time is passing
in its myriad rhyming

I'm not ashamed
of my past failing
only propelled
inexorably
into more searching

hoping
ere the last evening
of time
I'd have been
in my desired homing.

The day is your place
and time of worship
no church or temple
is ever in need

every moment
or a single deed
is an enough prayer
as you stand on your feet

kind words
to someone you meet
lending a helping hand
somewhere in the street

in that lone silence
is your sincerest worship
chronicled in your own heart
forever to cherish and keep.

Poetry is the sublime distillation
of words and thought
coming together
in perfection

An unreasonable world this is
as people seldom look beyond themselves
all out they are for self-gratification
worthy perspectives they sadly miss

over time,  their hearts are calcified
beauty and wonder they dismiss
human connectedness is dismally lost
their loneliness sets in as thick as the darkest mist

Fear not the outcome
do what you must
despite all uncertainties
yourself you should trust

only action can set you free
as into the unknown you ******
the veil will then be lifted
the mist will disperse at last.

I never like
the word 'spent'
it seems to signify
there's nothing left
something has been wasted
can't be salvaged
in the extreme -
dead!

Everyone says:
'Such is life':
but when asked
about 'such'
they are silent

Your best contribution
of the day-
when you don't stand
in someone's way

Love transcends
and is its own land-
each in its uniqueness
alone on its own strand

beyond itself
none else can understand
the heart only is sure
of where it does stand

The spiritual eye
everything it does see
beyond words and thoughts
it's the deepest mystery

To love
is to risk
but not loving
is grief

To live
is less about
to believe
more, the doubt

the old person
like the child
is still in the dark
inadequate and uncertain

to live
is the conundrum-
the search for self
for light and freedom

despite this
living shouldn't be grief
even the heart in deepest pain
can still love and give.

When I die
some vestiges
( not of my choice)
I'll  leave behind

I don't disappear:
some here
might still
hold me dear

while others
will have me remembered
claiming they
by me, had been hurt

perhaps one or two
whom I've never met
might have my poetry read
and my words they'll not forget

when I die
a solemn message
will have been wrought-
life's brevity will dominate someone's thought

my departure will be
a symbol and a metaphor
of one who has gone before
reminding others they will some day follow.

If there were a day when I was not reading, writing,  thinking purposefully, or endeavour to do my best,  I'd have had a deep sense of loss as it would have meant that the day had been lived in vain.

I've valued time all my life and this has helped me to achieve my goals.  This has also taught me discipline.  
Talent is never enough- I need patience, consistency and perseverance.

Life has too many imponderables and I've always been aware
that events might not turn out as I've expected.
I've to be prepared for setbacks and even failures. Also, I know that I'll learn much from such downturns.

Having Plan B is wise but I've also to learn to be flexible, adaptable, innovative, resilient and pragmatic.

Optimism is an essential ingredient for success but it has to be realistic and kept within reasonable bounds--euphoria can be disastrous and is a common factor for failure.

In success, I should be humble and not boast, and in my failure,  I should learn not to be bitter but instead to work harder as I move into the future.

I should be able to say this at my last hours:  
I have done my best and have not let myself down -- my life has found meaning and I've not lived in vain.

I'd rather be nothing
than to behave or pretend
as a person of some standing

A small voice is mine
but I'll not bow out-
a democracy life is
I'll speak bold and loud

in protest or defiance
however  large the crowd-
a single heart I might touch
and be silently proud.

Writing to me
is quite often sacred
it's like a prayer
being faithfully said

It's better
to chat
than to
blame or hate