Space
I occupied
in the past
the present
is much about
the experience
of reminiscing-
what went before
could never be re-grasped
yet the images persist
and time it seeks
to overcome and outlast--

nothing would be gained
as is commonly explained
but how could a bird exist
if its wings were clipped?
I am the product cast
and forged in the past
could not otherwise be
that something which is  'me'-

the present is the bridge
spanning years gone
to what has become
an amalgam that goes on
to un unknowable outcome
and I couldn't but think that time
is a man-made phenomenon
that exists in my imagination
and I so often ask:
am I but an orchestration
of a nameless and cold continuum?

I am not dead
so I drift and live
doubting if
I were not a phantom
in a realm
beyond body and mind
reality is not easy
to grasp
even harder
to believe.

But I hear
a nameless song that others can't
do I have special ears?
what power unto me does this strange gift grant?

A tender voice spoke to me
in my dream last night:
your life is tuned in like a melody
your heart's compass has been set right.

Young man, don't you blame me
'twas the wind that lifted my skirt*
I know not what you saw
I wasn't out to flirt--

My dad is a Minister of the Imperial Court
to the Crown Prince I'm betrothed
your thousand love-poems I'll
not read
doubtless I'd be eternally loathed.

We refuse to be
a footnote of time only
but to wear life on our sleeve
not a single moment to miss-

we will never be
but the remnant of history
its tide we'll rise over
to become our saviour and master-

we will not die
in regret or sigh
nor lose out in default
we make our unequivocal call

when the last hours should fall
the best of ourselves we'll recall
  no beauty nor love have we left behind
  and all that lives within us is noble and sublime

.....but we were so young then
       and blood was wildly rushing
       through our every vein-
       our heart was in unstoppable flame
       there was no asking why
       with no rules to comply-
       we wrote our poems
       in rapturous abandon
       in the watching sky-
      
      braver than Ulysses
       stronger than Prometheus:
      ' Our name is Youth
        to us the entire world belongs
        we will never die!'

       It was always bright
       for us-- the watching sky
       so tempting, so inviting
       so friendly, so supporting
      if we had wings then
      towards it we'd readily fly

      and all that while
      time was watching
      not as a sentinel benign
      but like a malicious spy
      to handcuff us
     it seemed to try

     but it badly failed
     our will triumphed
     and set it aside-

    mistakes we did make
    but there's no reason
   for the smallest regret :
   we'd sailed the roughest seas
   the nighest peaks
   who had climbed
   with courage and faith
   on our side-
  
  
   even now
   in our winter-years
   in retrospect
  the same anthem
  we still fervently sing:
' We were young then
   but it remains
   our greatest pride!'.

It's yours---the shame
just keep it
don't drag in
my name!

You needn't speak:
just give a genuine smile
when a total stranger
you accidentally  meet

I'll make a list today
of what items to throw away
I'll even count what words not to say
lesser is a better way to stay

Where's the anchor
of safe haven to be found?
you should be life's author
you set your own holy ground.

When human voices decay
and fade into the wilderness of time
and hopes seem so faraway
I will hold to music my soul to calm-

my forlorn heart will not weep
sorrows will not hurt or numb
I'll put the darkest hours to sleep
and rest in music's welcoming arm.

No, an irretrievable and solemn no
to the young I wouldn't wish to preach
even in these my fast eye-failing years
I know too little and nothing could I teach

for no living-life-well formula
does  I deem ever exist
knowledge is quagmire and sand
thinking belongs to the region of mist-

how I struggled and fell
the tears that brought no relief
the heart is numb and words it couldn't tell
in the limbo of  angst there was nothing to believe-

the little good if any I could do
is to allow the young to reach
out to life in every facade and tryst
in my silence their fondest dreams I wouldn't breach.

..and soon enough
comes the last draw
time has swallowed
all the past-
slowly
the hours crawl
into the vague
and uncertain
the sight stops short
at the forbidding wall-

is it life
or destiny
that makes
the call?

or is
our will
that would
not give up
at all?

and soon enough
the game would
have played
and everything
would have ended
by then
day would have sunk
into nightfall

if we have held
our own
till the last
where would
there be the downfall?

.....and the last
shall not be forgotten
(the first has been laid behind)
the touch, the kiss, the embrace
this moment clings
closest to heart and mind--

farewells have been many
this, this is the hardest by far
our love is not meant to be
we know this is the deepest scar-

the last is that which will last
its poignancy time shall not mar
all that I could say is in these few lines
before restless time rushes in such to bar.

...and the night sets in
   in vengeful silence
   every human deed over time
   it has recorded in its bruised*  heart
   and felt pain in its every fibre-

   it refuses to be tender
  
  for lies and deceits
  too long it has tolerated
  another century will only
  be a repeat
  of that gone before
  it would rather perish in agony
  than being a helpless survivor-

   yet, yet, yet....
   how many crimes
  are committed
  in these unnoticed dark hours
  by those held
  to be wise, trustworthy
  and noble--

   secrets most abominable
   machination most cruel
    Machiavellian to the bone
    plots and murders
     in the plural-

    there is no peace
   nor respite whatsoever
   the culprits will walk away
   with the first light of day
   and once again
   venom and poison
   will in greater measure gather.

I've hardly started
even at my wintry years
still at the early pages
of life's book -- some tears
there are but fewer fears-

I've never walked away
but looked squarely
at life in the face--

no story of worth
do I have yet
what I've written and done
I'm glad to forget--

no claim can I make
brittle and fragile
are the words I say
I still miss by many a mile

and so I walk my way
to history I couldn't belong
better to leave things to rest
than to sing an empty song.

An elephant on my working-table
do you say impossible?
Use your imagination:
I'm referring to plastic toy-model!

Along a mountain-path
we met--after fifty long years-
it began to rain and we took shelter
in a derelict shed. Then the downpour
came almost drowning our voices.
It was early evening-how could I forget?

I said to him: '  It's fate
that brought us together.
I come here when the weight
of living oppresses. I need
to make sense of the why of things.
Where are you going?
(He had with him just an old tiny suitcase).

He looked at me
and held me spellbound
even before he spoke-
such penetrating eyes
and the mark of pain
I sensed in his pale face
(he paused and then said
in a quiet almost inaudible way):

'   Look, you can see
   the monastery over there
   that's to be my home. I've made
   a vow to become a monk-
   I've found at last the way
  to live for my remaining days'.

  But why? I did ask.

  '  Suffering of the world
    I couldn't bear--
    hunger, starvation, illness
    war-stricken men, women
    and children--man-created
   destruction is everywhere
   mankind is but a face of despair
   and I've run short of tears
   in a lost wilderness of my own
   for so many long years-
   if there were hope at all left
   that to me would be love
   and prayer'

   Before I could speak
    on my shoulder he touched me
   and these were his parting words:
  '  I'll be in the monastery
     and you'll be outside
     but both you and me
     will be one in heart
     by love, compassion and selflessness
    we'll  be set free'.

    The rain had stopped
    my friend continued his journey
   as the mist gave way.

I stopped to look
the evening sky
above the emerald sea
was welling red
as though
it was still burning
with desire
portending:
' it's too early
for me to retire'

it was speaking
to me
in mystery
I could hear its voice
in the solemn moaning
of the passing wind:

'beauty and its glory
must not die--its hour
is not yet. I am still light
and won't surrender
in haste to the night

feel me, touch me
hold me, be with me
if you will, write me
a poem, compose me
a song, take me along
in your heart
paint me in colours
of passion and love
I am your muse
your inspiration
your heart's delight
embrace me
as a lover
and remember
I'll return
I fade but never die'

was I dreaming?

but there was I
and there was the sky

You conquer
not by intelligence
but by good manners
and character

Every evening
this frail old man I saw
with a clutch walking
alone to the park
and then sitting
on the same wooden bench
mumbling something
to himself
oblivious to all that
which went by
and hours he would
there abide--

he would then
take out from his pocket
a faded photo
and stare at it
obsessed
for a long while
as he uttered
a deep sigh--
walking by
I could see
a silent tear
in his eye-

'twas not
my intention to spy
it was my daily walk
as I lived nearby-

next
he would write
something
on a little sheet
he brought along
as he looked away
at the evening sky-

he did give me
a nod once a while
( I was many years younger)
perhaps an avuncular look
and on some odd occasions
a suppressed smile-

was he trying
to say:
'young man
sorry I do feel
for you--youth
is but the gate-way
to pain and despair
which time could not heal.....?'

that silence
between us
at a point of time
shook my entire being
suspended my thinking
I stopped walking
looked at him
from a short distance
it was an experience
I could not describe
and my very feeling
was mysteriously drawn
to that lonely fellow-being
as though we were bonded
in a strange kinship
and somehow bore
the common mark
of sorrow and suffering--
or
what was I
just imagining?

dusk began
its tender descent
the last light
was fading

I saw him rising
from where he was sitting
then walking past the field
he disappeared
from my sight--

hungry and tired
I was at that trembling hour
but didn't want to rush home
but stood motionless instead
as though held in place
by some unknown power.

A new person
every moment is born
awakened by a lethal virus
a vicious line it has drawn

on the canvas of living
peace and joy it has torn
all over is the painful cry:
when would this scourge be gone?

before this insidious advent
how the sun  so brightly shone
none could now soundly sleep
day- hours are like sitting on thorn

the heart trembles and falters
waiting for the promise of a new dawn
love gathers to heal and strengthen
while the faithful pray: Come, peace, come anon!

I like a new day

it will not be the same

along the way

I'll ascribe it a new name

Beware---
a new decision
could be
your deadly poison

Dear M,
                                       Do we really need to live forever?
Yes, it's the now-ness that matters--the immediacy--the light, the colour, the smell, the sound, the love and adoration , the tenderness, the touch and embrace, the beauty and splendour, the inspiration,  the effusion of fullness,  the heart in worship,  the music, the poetry,  the unity, the connectedness, the silence and stillness, the unfolding, the awakening, the coming into being, the mystery, the forgetting and dying of self, the leap into the unknown,  the purity, the quintessence, the simplicity, the acceptance,  the resurrection and renaissance.
                  Then time is forgotten and loses its potency, it stays aside and wakes  in reverence to the religion of living that we have created from our heart-- It would say--I am learning from mankind-- its true self I'm yet to fathom and understand.  
                   To be is the eternity.

copyright 2017

The most wretched man, even in his darkest hour, would say:
I have dignity as a  human being,  I have the right of existence like everyone else,  I am not a parasite, an outcast or a pariah--
I might not find happiness but I don't wish to die, I want to continue living in my state,  to commit suicide is not an option--
I will not self-annihilate!  

My life is as precious as everyone else's.

Promise yourself today
( I mean 24 hours strictly)
you would put the word 'I' away
and then write back to me!

Anger in words unconstrained
the heart, a boiling cauldron
the poisonous arrow must be shot
aimed directly at the target-person --

stand aside, you watcher, be silent
this is none of your concern
you would not know the thickness
of my blood nor my hidden reason.

Most anger
is ill-justified
directed blindly
folly-allied

He who could his anger overcome
the wildest waves he would calm

Are you angry
with yourself
or the world?
The difference
can you tell?

Every anger
has a hangover

What purpose does anger serve?
The irate lady didn't realise she was to such a wretched serf

Not once, not twice
but out and out
couldn't count how many tries
this existential doubt

Suspended in time
thwarted ambitions
trapped and imprisoned
by myriad vexations-

dim and misty horizons
the test of uncertain circumstance
dreams that dissolve and disintegrate
life seems more like a death-sentence.

To hold on
   but to what?
   we are born
   to cope with the hard-

   rising every dawn
  one feels the rut
  and the nauseam drawn
  on our life that tear us all apart.

A scholar?  Never!
nothing much to score
poetry with passion I love
all I wish is to write more

I've no right nor reason
to claim what I'm not
nor should I ever consider
I'm worthy to be well-thought
of.   For the world passes by
for everyone and I'm not even seen
lining up in an anxious queue--
staying away from the crowd
is my mantra.  Crying aloud
is not part of my agenda--

knowing what I am
and what I am not
makes me sober
and that I never forgot-

I'm in the sun
I'm in the rain
I don't seek pity
though I live in pain-

I'm in summer
I'm in winter
I'm where destiny leads
come whatever the weather

and this I do know
and hold dear
life has its misery
but also splendour

dreams and hopes
love in resplendent wonder
the heart has its own reasons
the endless adventurer

I've sailed the seas
traversed the wildest plain
I've walked in the thickest snow
given another chance, shall dare again

none does and never shall know my name
the night at its appointed time shall descend
under the patient watching stars I'll lay down to rest
in a faraway make-shift tent.

I'm strong
only in a small part--
my weaknesses abound
but I don't ever lose heart

I'm my own
I seek no comparison
even as a tiny
and unseen ****
the rose I envy not-
the sun shines
equally at this spot-
I'm warmed
and nourished
never impoverished-

with patience
and diligence
I hope to learn
to turn
some weaknesses
into some stronger strait-
and I do clearly know
that wouldn't be too late

Just an idea
the world is lost
(what's thinking worth?
should we boast?)

I'd rather be
a flower or a pebble
without a human mind
never causing grief or trouble.

Love is desired
but does ensnare
freedom you will lose
those who love excessively must beware!

Don't coax or bribe me
many did try before
though little I have
I need nothing more-

a tiny farm far from the city I own
in a place to others unknown
my wife and kids shout for joy at harvest times
after last season's seeds we had diligently sown

When I'm too sure
I begin to doubt
it could be illusion
that sets this about

Most lives
move
in a circle
unfulfilled
purposeless
mundane
every turn
just routine
to return
to its initial inertia
the so-called best
is no more
than mediocre-

only
a small number
is creative
cast in its own mould
courageous
different
defiant
against
the common grain
forging
towards
a New Mental Land

I'm sure ,when I grow up, I will discover the true meaning of love-
what I feel now is but a flicker, but by then, it will be a flame

I'm no writer
nor singer
I'm nothing
just a dreamer

but dreaming
brings in no dough ever
no sane woman
would be my wife or lover.

Thus,  far and wide I wander
with no aim nor purpose
can't say I'm dismal
though friends say I'm useless.

A wise old man met me along the way
my drifting he did praise and encourage
he said he was like me in his youth
I remember him well now in my fading old age.

The saying of a renowned person doesn't necessarily mean
it's worthy of note as some of theirs are prone to being prosaic while that  from a lay person could contain wisdom or insight, but most people are not circumspect enough to spot this as they are mesmerised by 'big names'

First---find health
not wealth
if you've found
the former
life you'll celebrate
and forget
the latter

I'm an old bottle-
don't throw me away
water I can still hold
I might save someone some day-

durable I still am
in every way
with no crack nor leak
trust me, I should bravely say!

The smile of an old man
can't be the same
as that of a young person-
but the latter would not understand

From the Diary of an Old Man


Neither to regret , blame nor complain