'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.

In destitution I went
        to the pet-shop to buy dog-food
        the salesgirl sternly asserted
        ' it would do you no good!'

          I persisted: what dogs consume
         that surely I could
         she gave me a wicked look
         which spoilt completely my day's mood.

A stupid question
of course I don't know-
that prompted you to ask
so that a poor figure I would show.

Do I ever need to touch
the magical moon and farthest star?
I have much more than much
our hands reach out to each other's and hold no bar.

It's not the world I've done with
(I don't go out seeking any enemy)
but one person--the singular-
the most unaccommodating---ME!

Do not believe in me
for your dear life's sake
rather place trust in yourself
thereby avoiding a grievous mistake

Do not love me
too much--I can't repay
I'm less than worthy
the right words I can't say-

in my silent heart only
I whisper: love must survive the darkest day
for my wrongs, I beg you to forgive me
if some day you should cease to love me, I'll go gently away.

Do not measure me
unreal is my outside
a camouflage built tightly
a deception there does reside.

Do not remember me
I'd rather you forget
lest I were duty-bound
to reciprocate-

the day is darkening
soon it would be too late
these are my last few words
I've nothing more to relate.

Do not say to me:
'I am not ready'
it begs another question
'when would that be?'

Just answer with heart and soul
in unequivocal honesty
we would then know
how to move on-- sans uncertainty.

Are you brave enough
to be like him--just for a day?
a 21st century Don Quixote?

If you are
too busy
or in great hurry
don't write poetry!

Don't tell them

they wouldn't believe

lest you end up

in utter grief

Don't!  Please don't give me
as for that I never did ask
it would destroy my individuality
and saying 'no' would save me from being put to task!

Life does not inspire
     it only makes you perspire.

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'

I'm not referring
to my credit-card
(don't own one)
but verily to my heart!

Don't pick me-
I am a pygmy.

because
it's BLANK!

The cat--meow, meow
the dog-- wow, wow
the lover--now, now
the saint---bow, bow.

The philosopher---how, how
the cattle-farmer-- cow, cow
the pig-rearer     --sow, sow
the Zen-practitioner--Tao, Tao.

This couldn't  be true--you'll agree
I wrote a nonsense 'poem' called THE DAY
A few readers replied in a jiffy
And remarked: It's OK!

Henceforth no serious verse (in any tense)
Should I write---nonsense is much easier
Wouldn't it be nice if life were non--sense
Then wouldn't everyone of us be much happier?

DON’T TRUST MY WORDS

Don’t trust my words as even I, myself
of all people, have begun,
quite often,
to doubt my own utterance,
the urgency, this (self-professed ) poignancy
behind these skilful,  self-deluding words,

For,
how could I speak against myself,
be my own accuser,
and become the laughing stock
of all those around me?

You see,
I have become a prisoner
of my own words, the seeds
sown since my childhood
have taken hold
surreptitiously
of my whole being:
I have become what my words
want me to be.

So, my love, if you still love me
or think you still love me or know
still what love is
you should not ask,
but be quiet… look into my eyes,
feel my pain, share my sorrow-
we would both find truth
beyond words
in this borderless silence.

'Let's not complicate
a simple issue'
don't we, don't we always
me and you?

Don't worry
more to come
yes, mark my word
plenty!

Don't you believe
my nonsense verse
you'd have indigestion
or malaise much, much worse

the product of a senile mind
which to childhood does reverse
surely poetry is grandeur and beauty
mine is vexatious and serves no purpose!

Don't you say
a lady is a beautiful 'thing'
it's demeaning ---she's not a chattel
change your thinking!

Don't you shake me!
I'm not a tree with hanging fruits
you'll be wasting your effort--verily-
and end up kicking with your boots!

Don't you trick life
it's infinitely smarter
many challenge it to combat
they end in the gutter--

don't you dare pull life
by its sensitive ear--better
cultivate its friendship when you can
it will reciprocate and to you endear.

To fall into doubt
is better than into despair
it seeks to clarify
the latter leads nowhere

Because of doubt
I put every experience
to the test---
against the beliefs
I hold most dear.  Nothing
is absolute and thinking
is subjective and normative

I question the day
and its happenings
with the night I dispute
its secrets I seek to unlock
even if something were not
fully explained I've somehow
scored a point
even the tiniest
as I would have put
my foot a step forward--

life is but a bundle of lacunae
sadly so many accept
as truth what's but
inane hearsay
and empty speculation--

because of doubt
myself I humble
knowing I'm just
an ordinary man
seeking himself
to understand

the portal of truth
would be too far
for me to reach

its light but shimmers
as I look from afar
I doubt if it would ever
look my way.

Forget Socrates
Wittgenstein too
doubt is nothing new
it's just that which none has any clue!

It's from doubt
that creativity comes about

Wisdom begins with doubt
while ignorance only knows how to shout

Should there be
a cause in everything?
I doubt-- philosophy
is but speculating.

This is the IT era
download and upload
never mind whatever error
is down the electronic road

What-
down memory lane?
why should I
when all was pain?

This is the downside
of too much learning
if you already knew too much
what's left of yearning?

Down the labyrinth of time
memories could only imagine
some scenes are invented
pasted on places self had never been

for what was once before
seemed but a fractured dream
illusions we love and treasure
though life is not part of this scheme

we are our own unanswered question
drifting aimlessly in life's distant stream
in the horizon a mirage looms large
the day is dark without a single beam

down the labyrinth of time
a different person I did seem
of the future I had no thought then
now I wake as though from a broken dream

Down the night-road somewhere
you would hear a mysterious whisper
when the moon and stars have shut
their eyes in sleep--  not a cloud or vapour

distils the air-- it draws nearer
doesn't it sound familiar?

The trees bow their heads so very low
how they wail,  tremble and shiver
the streams nearby have ceased their usual warble
eerie is the night--how the shadows gather and hover!

Is yours the heart of a true lover
or one of stone that cares never?

Down the night-road somewhere
the voice re-echoes: 'Don't you remember
that road on that certain night
when your love made you falter?'

There you stand still and ponder
and say in pain all over: ' I was the wrongful lover!'

Downtown they raised
their voices to sing
autumn hours yawned
it was scarcely early morning:

'  The world is corrupt
   a new era we will bring
   the flower of truth will blossom
   in every summer and spring-

   our courage we will harness
   society's poison shall no longer sting
   poverty and hunger shall come to an end
   the cry of suffering shall cease to ring'.

   Those youngsters are now full-blown leaders
   to wealth, privilege and power they cling
   downtown they tear down the banners
   of the present generation and forbid them to sing!

Do you remember
do you remember
that autumn day
when we first met
faraway by the gentle lake?

still was the water
silent were the trees
to me was your whisper:
I'll not forget
today's tender splendour
stay, oh stay
it's not sunset yet...

Now all alone
the lake is a reminder
of the day you've chosen
not to remember

yet I look
at the silent water
and your face
still does appear---

I'll walk away
and learn
not to remember

There's nothing
to hang up
or anything
to lay down
words are paltry
they scatter as dust
in the wind of day
by night totally flushed
into oblivion

there's no reason
to explain nor
to attribute blame
life is just a nameless game
excuses and masks
are what people most trust
into such mould
we are carelessly ******

what's to be further said
of this perennial camouflage?
draw down the curtain
let's  shut up!

To have a dream detached from reality will not work

    the dreamer must frame his dream hitched to reality

This is no season
for me an old man
to be a dream-chaser
what has gone before
is dust and debris now
there's nothing beyond-

the fence that encloses me
within its bound
mocks me relentlessly
if I should ever wander
to the green pastures
of the long ago

it shows no sympathy
it judges harshly
it doesn't mince its words:
'  let your fancy go to sleep
  unforgiving is memory
  let it rest and nothing should you keep

  you had the chance then
for your every pick
the sunshine of time
has sunk into the abyss
of night.  Your steps
you won't be able to retrace
don't you feel
the heaviness of your heart
your fading voice
your faltering feet
and the fatigue of love
and the shying-away of beauty?'

This is the season
of remorse
of regret
of pain
the cessation
of passion
when what's left
is but dreams broken
and forgotten

the last melancholic notes
of a once proud and bold love-song.

Dreaming
is the other side
of the self
that needs fulfilling

All that is
is somewhat a dream
we should never miss
to embrace even life's tiniest beam

Is the mind then
a dream-land?
how does it create stories
music and poetry?
What does lend
wings to its fancy?
what clothes it
in mystery?

but itself
it need not understand
it stretches out in infinity
and fascinates and charms
at every bend.

Too many dreams do perish

the dreamers they over-stretch

only a few should they cherish

the best outcome they would fetch

I am the driftwood
   that all could see
   can't claim to be good-
   that's dishonesty-

   yet I'm not dead-wood
   feelings well* abundantly
   the heart still bears fruit
   in simplicity and humanity.

Nothing to hand out
left empty and dry
the drought of life has set in
the crops--how they die!

Whatever that's planted
has brought but despair and sigh
supplication shall not be answered
as the locusts in droves fly by.