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

Doubt is my strength
my shield and the window
of my understanding:
the light that I follow

to live the creative life-
others in their certainty pour
their wisdom all oven
but I'll not enter their inviting door

lest I'd be cast in their mould
and be my intrinsic self no more

Don't say
' the future'
  better:
'  tomorrow'

Prayer has no set schedule
it's in every thought or deed
at any spot or time
exercised by you

Is this
the beginning
or
the ending?

Prayer has no set schedule
it's in every thought or deed
at any spot or time
exercised by you

For the day's sunshine
      I don't wait
      it's up to me
      to create

     life might be
     dull or drab
     I'll hammer it
     into the desired state

    my role I'll play
    meaningful living I'll not negate:
    time intervenes and watches
    my right I retain, life to celebrate

Do women love differently from men?

They certainly knew
more than I ever could
sadly their talent they neglected
and courted an outcome far from good

over so long them I'd watched
waiting for the glow of their thought
still in the shadows they were shrouded
the years had swept by and their whereabouts I forgot.

The day when

competition I sought

spelt my moral downfall

just like decaying leaves falling on the sod

Silence
will give you space
to hold back
and reflect
while words
will only
futility
and chaos create

that which
has been said
can't be routed back
and your peace
it will crack

such is
the wisdom
of the sage
but sadly
we don't have

ourselves
we drown
in senseless
utterances!

One day
you'll be tired
of yourself-
too much
you've done
but with
many wishes
thwarted

then sets in
--Weltschmerz-
the world-weariness
and you're caught
in its web-insidious
from which
you can't escape

the sigh follows
how futile has been
all the effort!

Does life
have real meaning
or is it
just plain absurd?

Life in one word-
aspiration

I'm my own permission-
in every season

In memoriam
is not for me:
well I've lived
and now I'm free

from life's every pang
angst and misery
the shadows have fled
all that's before me is joy and beauty

When the healing
lies in the forgetting..

Words can be
as soft as cotton
and in the worst scenario
as lethal as poison

of such is human nature
in its varied season
would that I use them well
as such every heart to gladden

Feel my words
among the flowers
the floating clouds
the moaning of ripples

I've no name
for the road I travel
myself I've forgotten
in not knowing, I revel

Why are we made
to suffer and cry
when so much beauty
surrounds us- to die

when we’re in
the spring of life
when all the flowers
are dancing by our side?

  Our love is still so nascent
  waiting to bloom- to deny?
  We are yet to share the best
   ere the dusk hours draw nigh-

    to music I turn
    for consolation - there I fly
    where tears don’t appear
   and pain and suffering never pass by.

...but your best
anticipated thing
  is not likely
   to be happening

Everything
is worth a try
with one exception-
die

I'm not good
at bluffing
so, I'll say
nothing

Sometimes you see
other times, you don't.

Sometimes you know
other times, you don't.

Sometimes you believe
other times, you doubt.

Sometimes you own
other times, you're owned.

Sometimes you control
other times, you're controlled.

Sometimes, you hold
other times, you're held.

Sometimes you're loved
other times, you're hated.

Sometimes you win
other times, you lose

but

as long as you live
you never cease to breathe.

I'm not flattered
by any winning
nor disheartened
by any losing

they are only incidentals
on the periphery of life's core-living:
what does matter to me
is that my life is lived in meaning

without which I'll but exist
in an existential vacuum--nothing
of worth would be found
and I'll be less than a human being-

time watches me ceaselessly
in all my endeavouring-
to every occasion I must rise
or end up in moral diminishing

Truth can't be split
or diced
even by
the sharpest knife

He's a baron
not a bare-person

The singer is fine
but a good song is hard to find

The song is fine
but a good singer
is hard to find

I can't run like you
I'll walk instead
even at my leisurely pace
I'll not be late

I've enough problem
advising myself
how could I stretch forward
to advising another?

My Zen spirit bids me
travel on the open road
myself I totally forget
an unknown world becomes my abode

Words are precious
I've a duty
to use them
only with sound purpose

Say goodbye
to tomorrow
if today is ill-lived:
there would be
nothing to show
but some morsel
of a sense of loss
in not having
made the mark
that was desired

and tomorrow
would but be
a closed door
a person's shadow
the cessation
of creative flow
no worthwhile
destination to follow:

all that's felt
is just the emptiness
the doomed failure
the parting of splendour
the bitter gnaw
and the moral sore.

In itself, reading
doesn't mean much:
what really counts
is the understanding

Amidst the din
and argument
in the room
the silence
of one person
suddenly creates
a strange calm

and those previously
who have spoken aloud
stop short
step back
all at once
even in doubt

why is it so
such conundrum?

It can be no great art
without the touch of the heart