It means little to me
neuro-science and neuro-plasticity
my heart will tell me readily
whether I'm sad or happy.

The bird that is free
sings the sweetest tune
every note in its gaiety
the year round, not just in June.

Is a poem
also a short story
but in a language
of a different complexion
about life
in every unique facet
and phase
its mystery, poignancy
its joys and tears
its sorrows and tragedy?

Every poem then
is a plot
the poet charts
his territory
where man looks
at himself, at others
at the world and universe
in awe and wonder
in fear and terror
in clarity or ambiguity-
the human heart
he explores
nothing escapes
his unflinching scrutiny-

verily
a poem
is a short story.

Where, oh where, should l
next place my heart?
I've run short of space
I've lost the art.

One chamber is for sorrow
another for joy
others speak of days of old
when I was a carefree little boy.

There are secret cupboards
where tears aplenty once I did hide
age has taken its ravaging toll
time I took regrets to set aside

But there's that sanctum
which ever does abide
carved to belong but to me and you
in no other place should our love reside.

That grey shade
which shuts away
the light of the heart
even on a bright day-

once happy was the glade
such tender words wanton lovers did once say
why has love fallen apart?
why must joy and beauty fade and decay?

Most are shifters
  few are stayers

Too many lives

are led in vying

leaving no room

for living

I am but a splinter
from the flame that you are
I am but your silent lover
watching you from afar.

I am but a dreamer
the moth seeking the star*
I am but the foolish writer
burning with the wildest fire.

Be naked but don't take off your clothes
I don't mean literarily
only that you should open up
to be your real self and not be an ambiguity

Simple truth ?
an oxymoron*
it has a thousand faces
could be a flower or a thorn

FIVE HAIKU ( 4th COLLECTION )
1

In the dry marshland
the pelican flicks its wings
it looks at the sky

2   Where are you David?
I am in the garden mum
I caught a spider

3

No smiles in the train
mobile is the companion
long and sad faces

4

The telephone rings
the child rushes to answer
dad says he's not home

5

Rain, rain, rain, rain, rain
water rushes to the drain
the kids clap and clap

LIEBESLEID

I can't find another
and in the wasteland of love
I'll linger
watched by the last star above

I can’t love another
you are my first and last
I would rather
not to have loved you in the past

I failed-   BADLY
      as I took life too SERIOUSLY

If you will wait and stay silent

  a moment will visit you and speak:

  your life is a miracle, not an accident-

  live, create, rejoice, celebrate, aim for the peak!

A DRY SPELL

It's a dry spell
the land is barren
all the crops fail
flowers perish in the garden

my heart now knows
the driest spell
since you walked away
my pain words can scarcely tell

I remember then
the field was bursting
with the sweetest roses
when we met in that spring

my heart is now
only a wasteland
you caused all the flowers
to die-I hope you understand

5  HAIKU ( 3rd COLLECTION)

1

The last train arrives
  a man in dark suit alights
  the neighbour’s dog barks

2

    A broken cycle
    leaning against an old fence  
    who was the owner?

3

    The evening bell rings
     children rush home from the field
     it is dinner time

4

  It’s a holiday
  all the city’s shops are closed
  no beggar is seen

5
   In the wet marshland
   the pelican spreads its wings
   ready for take-off

LYRICS THE BEATLES SHOULD HAVE WRITTEN

I can't linger on
here I don't belong
to stay a minute longer
would do you more wrong

the sight of me
hurts you like a sharp knife
I see the anger in your eyes
and we don't want such a wretched life

Chorus
And who says love is sweetness
do they really know?
give credit to those who say
love is bitterness--yes, it's so

I must walk away
here I would cause you more sorrow
I would rather suffer than you
now I'll say goodbye and go

No grudge do I bear, verily
you say you love another--that's fine by me
if that makes you happy
go for it---just don't say you are sorry.

Chorus
And who says love is sweetness
do they really know?
give credit to those who say
love is bitterness--yes, it's so

Life is fickle
has a thousand
and one role
challenging
everyone to climb
its  wet and slippery pole
how would you do that?
you couldn't even hold

but life says:
I was born to test
whether you are
cowardly or bold
and I welcome only those
who are on my side
willing to play and roll
as I set myself in motion
in weather hot or cold
my wiles and secrets
could never be understood
or ever told

don't bribe me
I don't sell
or hand out
any gold

now
here's the waiting pole
if you have the guts
let them unfold!

Twitter, twitter, twitter, twitter!
Is the world getting worse or better?

On slender branches

yellow sprouts stretch out to sky

a perfect morning

Run for cover?   
 mutant is at your heel   
 it has no colour   
 your peace it will steal


      this is the  Doom -Era   
    to fate we must yield     
    hope the jab knows no error 
   courage is not a reliable shield

Illusion
choosing not to see
turning away
in stubborn folly--

illusion
the ruin of so many
rose-tainted eyes
that embrace blindly--

illusion
the perpetual love-story
Cinderella and the midnight chime
who would forget Sleeping Beauty?

illusion
dreams caress so sweetly
the wild heart can't let go
it denies reality--

illusion
this never would perish---beauty
the crown of living
it would last for many a century--

illusion
now I'm old and weary
the screen of the past
unrolls-- even now I'm not set free.

Poetry
is not just about words or rhyme
its dwells in the soul's sanctum
a mystery that outlasts time
the poet is the lone prophet
though he speaks from the wilderness
those who have ready ears will hear
poetry's sweet and soothing voice--even in the night's deepest stillness

None could I blame
for my being lost
in the wilderness of time
youth was too proud
and boasted: my way I know
leave me alone--whatever the outcome
I'll accept---realisation came
too late and I was trapped
in quagmire and couldn't escape--

those wasted years
the blackout
the horrors
the fears and tears
the tormenting doubts

then to myself I said:
I must get out
too young am I
not ready to succumb
and die

it was not prayer
(I scarcely knew how)
that saved my life
but those few words
that suddenly dawned
upon me like a voice
from the sky:

live, live you must
the flower of love
is just beginning to bud
luring, awaiting your embracing
you would have a new start
look, look inside the beauty
in your virginal heart--

a strong force from nowhere
held my hand in a second
and led me to a dry land
how mysterious, even now
I couldn't understand--

the trees all at once in a train
glittered with blinding light
the path was the softest terrain
gone were the shadows of night

and lo!----along the way
an endless stream of flowers
was dancing and singing
and luscious grass was waving from the bowers-

home, o home I was heading
the music of love was ringing
life henceforth would be heaven
as I had been released from my past burden.

TEN  HAIKU

1

Far away
long ago
only memories and feelings now.

2  
Worn-out books
on neglected bookshelf
I remember my school-days.

3  
Winter night in Melbourne
hastening feet
muffled coughs.

4  
Depth of night
she stands under the street-lamp
for whom is she waiting?

5
Last tram from the city
a manuscript
of sad and tired faces.

6  
Moonlit night
lovers look at the moon and stars
  fishermen watch their nets.



      7

      The old man looks at the sky
       heaving a deep sigh
       the kids call ‘Grandpa, full moon tonight!’


8    
        Violin strains drifting
        in the night  commingling  
        with the sighing of the winds.

9      
       I was writing a poem
       a tiny bird was pecking on my window
       I forgot my words.

10    

        The last winter leaves
        scatter on the wet ground
        the crows step on them and fly away

FIVE HAIKU (5th COLLECTION)
1

Two old men converse
in low monotonous tones
their eyes seldom meet

2

Evening deepens
casting shadows on the field
the birds fly away

3  The bird in the cage
    it struggles to fly away
    as it thinks of home

4

I bought a painting
(from the antiquarian shop)
marked: ' painter not known'.

5

One of the kids cried
(they were ******* gelato)
' ****, I have dropped mine!'

At the forest edge

all foliage is mist-covered

strange silence pervades

Winter is not yet

autumn hasn't gone to sleep

she has memories to keep

THE BOUNTY OF MY HARVEST

The harvest is over this year
I wait for next year's summer
Nature never fails in its promise
One season faithfully follows another.

Yet the bounty of my harvest
Is richer than any that nature can provide
In your loving heart shines the eternal green pasture
I need nothing more---all else I set aside.

Our love is the ripening
Of all that grows in this fertile land
Far away from the fever and fret of life
Upon luxuriant and faithful soil we stand.

Every seed of love we plant together
Will flower and grow to be ours alone
This is our pasture of endless beauty and joy
This is the most splendid bounty of what we have sown.

Tell me the colour
of your past and I
will construct your story
and explain to you the how and why

Tell me the colour
of your life in the present
I'll compose for you
music that speaks of your heart's hidden content

Tell me the colour
of your dream--your fondest
its semblance I shall interpret
and relate how you will be blest

Tell me the colour
of the future in which you want to be
I'll look through my prophetic prism
which will reveal whether you would be sad or happy

FIVE HAIKU

1

Beneath the blue sky
a dinghy sails in the sea
sky and sea embrace

2  

Last rays of the sun
children hear the mother’s call
‘dinner is ready’

3  

Picture on the wall
I was playing in the field
Tears began to fall

4  

Rain falls on the roof
sa, sa, sa, sa, sa, sa, sa
all sounds are drowned  

5

Letter has arrived
I rush to read its contents
It reads: Love, goodbye

My mind
how do
I make it
TOTALLY mine?

The 'me' is not what a person is
but a pigment of what's outside
I struggle all my life to be free
from society's insidious bite-

the battle has been won at last
there's peace and contentment on my side
the authentic and intrinsic shall never be compromised
only then in truth and grace shall the self abide.

THE SAGA OF THE HUMAN HEART

The human heart breaks
but mends itself somehow
though dim is the horizon
and tears hold for now

from the ruins of pain
and lonely sorrow
hope will resurrect and faith will abide
upon the awaiting morrow

love will lead through
the darkest of night
and the bereft heart it will console
the hidden sun will appear and shine in brightest light

the human heart might break
a million times but it would not die
nothing could compare with its nobility
and endurance---that's the reason why

'DO EVERYTHING ONCE’ ?

‘ Do everything once’—how common the exhortation
  Why just once, why not twice or even thrice?
  How many lives have been ruined
  By this inane advice!

  ‘Do everything right’  
   That should be the way to go
    Life has too many pitfalls
    Those who have fallen will tell you so.

No swallows twitter in the sky. Here is the symbol of a blue bird with poised wings but can't fly.
The same bird that meets your eyes whenever you visit this site.
It can't sing. It's static. It's the epitome of sophistication and progress. New to this adventure?
You are behind, regrettably behind!

Luckily Keats and Shelley don't belong to our era or they would have bitterly wept.

Everyone loves this lifeless bird but it can twitter. A miracle. In
this playing-ground there's infinite space for the bored, idle and disillusioned to meet in order to twitter. No restriction. Everything is allowed.

Twitter in the morning, twitter in the afternoon, twitter at night. It's free. You will be noticed. It'll make you happy.

The magic word. The Open Sesame to a Brave New World.

Even when you are dead and gone, the rest of the world won't miss you as everyone will continue happily to twitter. Life would still be good and could even be better.

Purple daisies
in the silent fields
to their beauty
my heart with passion yields
this season
the next then
always in sweet succession
a miracle without end

The search is the angst
it leads nowhere
despite the strongest will
it ends neither here nor there-

even these my final days
after a life of strife and care
the distance lengthens with each journey
understanding I still can't* declare.

A fledging writer
but a budding jester.

I HAVE NO NAME

Whether you know me or not
it matters not whether we have met or chatted
just think of me as that person
without a name--perhaps once you spotted

somewhere and had forgotten
the world has 7.3 billion names and it's fine
if I were not remembered
what's a name though it were mine?

I am a face as everyone else's
(somewhere in the wide universe
that's my home- an address is just a convenience)
unknown, often wondering what life's grand design and purpose

is, humbled by my own frailty
and insignificance of me being an ordinary man
if we should meet someday, somewhere, somehow
just know I have no name, so call me 'human'.

DON’T GET MOON-STRUCK

Don’t get moon-struck
It’s full moon tonight
You would lose all your senses
You can’t think right.

You hear the  seductive music playing
The **** buxom lady is singing
Your heart goes wild with beating
You can’t hold back your longing.

You go forward to the singer
With your fantasy and say-
Join me for a drink
Midnight is still far away.

Meantime, the band goes frantic
(The moon never seems more bright)
The rhythms sound like those of Bolero
Of reality you totally lose sight.

You have had too much wine
Courage is talking louder and louder-
O Lily, I truly love you
I could never love another.

How sweet would the honeymoon be
Under the beautiful Hawaiian night-
I am the world’s happiest man
All my woes have taken flight.

Twenty-five years hence
It’s full moon again
You walk alone in the sombre night-
'Ah, I never knew love is so much pain'

The steel-clad walls of the past
have been demolished once for all
pages of old books have been torn
and thrown into the fire---this is a new dawn and call-

the self shall no longer live
in chains nor fettered by blameful time
its garden is replanted with fresh flowers
weeds have been uprooted and the future outcome

shall reward the resurrected heart
ah, how wondrous, inspiring and precious
every living moment is -- bursting with unrestrained song
every breath drawn in is a feeling miraculous

if I were destined to die on the morrow it would be
a blessing still with your every embrace and kiss
love, the taste of love and all its glorious splendour
I would have inherited for eternity--nothing else would I ever miss.

It would be a new beginning
  when the vain-glorious self is set aside
  the ego evaporates into nothing
  with the demise of pride.

  A fresh life would be waiting
  beauty enters the heart to abide
  in the fusion of love enduring
  is there any wanting beside?

THE CALL OF GENIUS

Genius wakes trembling
From its deeply-troubled sleep
' I've a gift that I can't describe
Can I this something keep?'

The call of genius from an unknown realm
That which breaks the mould of the owner's past and mind
Its imagination encircles and encompasses the universe entire--
Ideas, images, figures, patterns and shapes of every kind.

'Am I real or am I in a dream?
I seem to have lost what I was in the past
Life and people are strange and the world seems to have changed
Whom and what can I trust?'

What is genius and where is its abode?
Who can its mystery decipher ?
A question even the owner can't answer--
He walks, often sadly, as a loner.

Be patiently silent
in your sorrow
be humbly silent
in your joy

The voice of poetry
lives beyond the grave
even more eloquent
sweetest of words they pave
for future poets to savour
the past lives in the present
do you not hear its voice
as upon the here and now it does descend?

THE PRETENDER

This art I excel
I use words to pretend
Even the smartest are deceived
I triumph always at the end

With my machination
How people trust me
Many think I am infallible
They love to be in my company

As I ramble on with lofty words
My reputation and followers grow
My picture appears everywhere
In more places than I know.

'You can't fool all the people
all the time' ---so they say
But I am a master of words
I fool everyone---indeed everyday!

Are we then all existentialists
hopeless travellers over life-time?
are we being absurd ,as life seems to be empty
bereft of content and all that's deemed sublime?

time is worse than an executor
who  kills but once--it clings to the flesh--nothing does it relish
it festers and speaks no kind words
only that humans are born to perish


transient is human joy
brittle is its hope
old age creeps in too soon
(it's hard for existentialists to cope)

the waiting
the sighing
the heaving
the suffocating

the questioning
the doubting
the monotonous and inane grinding
which all seems to know no ending

but we are all existentialists anyhow
bearing the cross of being in the here and now

LIEBESLEID

I can't find another
and in the wasteland of love
I'll linger
watched by the last star above

I can’t love another
you are my first and last
I would rather
not to have loved you in the past

This is the problem
with words---the essence
of things eludes them
true meaning is in absence.