Misled
by another?
No, more
by oneself

I love every Monday :

it draws me closer

to my monthly pay-

weekends are costly

my credit card blows away!

Of course
I didn't see
what you saw-
don't ask me

I wasn't there
I've nothing to tell

don't drag me
into the dialogue
or dispute
that would be callous

you should relate
the story
as into the thick you were there
add, subtract, speculate
for all I care,   fabricate!

Anytime
write I may
but should contemplate not
I would be famous someday.

A PAINTING NAMED ‘AN OLD BICYCLE’
                              
                                 She cycled with me and we chatted so merrily
                                I was eighteen and she was sixteen
                                Down the hill and across the meadow so freely
                               The flowers waved to us--life was beautiful and pristine.

                                'I'll love you forever ' she did say
                                The words echoed through the air
                                But too soon after to a foreign land she sailed away
                                I wrote sadly in my diary--' Love is so cruel and unfair'.

                                Time opens up a misty past
                                Like a river life silently glided along
                                How many first-loves did ever last
                                Despite love’s first ecstatic song?

                                This painting touches my heart so deeply
                                But no tears fill my weary eyes
                                Old age is but compassion and sympathy
                                When the heart is sure and youthful passion dies.

   prompted by a painting posted in Linkedin

There were only two persons left in the world
after its mysterious end and they owned everything thereof.

They challenged each other to a duel and would fight to the death as they felt that only one of them should own the world.

But destiny had the final say:
when they drew their swords, a sudden lightning descended and struck them and they both died on the spot,  watched by a few birds perching on a nearby tree---all around was silence

Abundance at some stage tends
   to lead to excess, and joy
   diminishes-- only two hands
   we have.  The child tires with too many a toy--

  paucity and poverty* does enrich
  if our lives are by love liberally endowed
  for such the wealthy might eagerly itch
  only to regret and sigh for being left out.

Whatever I am

is what I cause

I belong to no one's realm

my life sets its laws

I would not beseech for more
surfeit is too heavy for me to handle
abundance stultifies me and makes me tremble-
this little is my core and equilibrium
my raison d'etre in my frailty--
my cup runs full in my poverty
words take leave and elude me
what's there to count or measure
as I have more than plenty?
now I am ready to tell my story:

Love, ah so wondrous
so exquisite
so warm and tender
so glorious
so divine
I have no right to demand
beyond more than that meted
I would rather give
in greater measure
than seek
the pleasure
of ownership
for love should always
be larger
than self
and I can't say ever:
' Oh, that's mine'.

This part of me
tested by time
this heart of mine
by your love sanctified
these tears you came by
to wipe, this pain
you visited
by the dead of night
to heal while I was lost
confused, afraid and alone
you hugged me like a child
and with me you wept
though not a single word
we said.

Now
age has taken over
the past has its story related
joys and sorrows of ours we shared
are documented
deep within us
known to none else
secrets that are sacred
that make us what we are
we have reason
our love to re-celebrate

we have become
parts assembled
into the finished work
that faith, patience and endurance
first built amidst the ruins of time
against all the odds
of mindless fate
marooned, forgotten, lost
but we never gave up hope
our parts we brought together
we struggled, we merged
adversities we so courageously fought
and strength from some unknown
in mystery overtook us
the light forsook us not
from the blinding darkness
we woke into the bright new day
what had gone before we forgot
a miracle has been brought
we no longer in isolation live
all my parts belong to you
and yours are mine--
this becomes our unalienable lot.

A PASTORAL ROMANCE

Come, my love, come, join me
in the strawberry field, don't tarry
the fruits are ripe for plucking--ready
just waiting for you and me

the sun is shining
the birds are singing
the roses are dancing
and my heart is pleading

I'm no pearl
only a pebble
hidden under
the sand of time
unknown
to be discovered
by none-
yet I don't complain
or moan-
what I am
happily I accept
being just alone
a tiny stone-

the rose
has my pity
it blows
and loses
its beauty
when the sun
loses its glow
and admirers
are gone

a pebble I am
free to the bone
my life
as in
a perfect cone
abiding
consistent
unchanging
with nothing
to atone.

Kin-dom
irksome

If you know
a perfect job- kindly
recommend to me

What is false?

what is true?

what law, what clause?

is someone misleading me and you?

Do not in any way test me
I had been forged--painfully
in the burning crucible of time
and suffered so deeply

alone, to no-one known
and my wound is still in slow-healing
like Prometheus I held on
defiant, indignant and unyielding

for life is lived singly
with every pain being borne silently
those who have themselves overcome
are among the the strongest and the most free

hence, do not try ever to test me
your own cross you might have to bear heavily
some day- we're common travellers in life's journey
how we rise above calamity will mark our very humanity

There's no appointed time
nothing is predesigned
the will to act rests with the self sublime
the resolution of the prepared mind-

in the oasis of infinite imagination
constant beauty, love  and joy I find
in the immediacy of inspiration
all that's life ugly dross I leave behind.

I choose resilience
over strength:
it holds me up better
and I'm made always consistent

They said to me
  reach out--that's the game
  I replied: I'll look within
  I need no one to know my name-

  what I am and what my future
  will be, that only myself I could frame
  the world shall not judge me
  if I fall,  only myself would I blame

I would rather fail alone
than with others to succeed
if they are out me to own
in their nefarious deed.

Make life
the possible
the defensible
accept not the inevitable.

Appetite
but for what?
to what allied?
why such?

Perhaps too much
I've experienced and seen
of human nature
in each setting or scene

and no longer wish
to know any further-
there's little to recommend
that would make things better

for man now as before
is a savage and voracious creature
too ready to pounce on the weak
only his own interests does he treasure-

things would not change
even in several centuries to follow
wars, conflicts and hatred would still persist
life worldwide would remain bleak and hollow

That which
is easily understood
often besmirches
the very nature of truth

Too keen to convince
    is too often symptomatic
    of obsessive self-doubt
    the person could be really sick!

First principle- follow
  so says the philosopher
  what if it were false
  wouldn't I then be the sucker?

If you've chosen
independently
not to believe
or to see
that which is
doesn't exist

though that is
the raw reality

obvious isn't this?

I, then, am but a piece
of others, not my own
I'm a million voices
a creature programmed
from childhood to all later years
I'm to wit not myself--genuine
a misplaced expression
of a collective unknown
for to others I belong-
who, who then
is that individual
who dares to declare?
'I AM my pure-self!'

From the past
  I came
  no one knew
  my name

  since in some corner
  of space and time, all alone
  my silent life-story
  I ceaselessly write-- just for my own

of me a wandering poet
a voice heard by no one
yet I have no doubt
there's a place for me under the sun

for to myself I sacredly belong
as long as life does still run
no regret or remorse will I suffer
when all my life-work has been done

A PLACE WORSE THAN HELL

So many do believe in UFOs
and life in outer space--so they relate--
but I've enough problem taking care
of my decrepit self--I don't speculate

but if a Martian I happen to meet
this to that something I'll tell
' you stupid ******--why did you choose
earth?  A place that's worse than hell'

Let me be a tiny pebble
for your gentle feet to step upon
happily my heart would settle
long after that blissful moment is gone

An allegory --man is the worst animal …
he begins to know what it is to be human only at his last moment but,  sadly, it's late, too late
               APOCALYPSE

It's too late
the volcano is swallowing up
what's in its way
the storms are raging maniacally through the night
tearing down the mightiest trees and bringing ubiquitous destruction
to homes and buildings
the sea rises to destructive heights
eager to grasp the clouds on high
even the rulers of the jungle
the lions, tigers, leopards and elephants
are in fear, trembling
it's the end of the world
it's the apocalypse
the signs are unmistakable
you can't run
there's no place to hide
even fear has come too late

kings and princes are calling out
to their subjects
shut the gate
protect us
but all have fled from the palaces
to save their families
and loyalty crumbles

and the powerful
are rushing to their hidden vaults underground
to salvage their treasures
before the meltdown

but the red-hot lava is flowing
towards them-closer and closer
all that they are holding in their hands
they throw away
such wealth that had once been amassed
in greed and without compunction
is worth less than sand or mud
item by item the articles drop on the ground

and for once
the human race
starts to wake up
and now it utters--
what's the worth
of diamonds or gold
power, influence and position
here is hell
there is no food nor shelter
we have not eaten for days
soon we shall all be swallowed up
by nature in her relentless revenge

suddenly the rich and arrogant
are trying to become friends of those whom
once they despised and trampled upon
all because this is the hour
of reckoning -side by side-
so humble, so suppliant , so gentle
they suddenly become
'let's help one another'
they speak--first time in their life-
they never knew any language in their heydays
but only that which served their selfish ends
never mind the body odour of the nearest person
what if he were only a labourer or janitor
body touching body
as there's safety in numbers-
like a horde of animals crouching
like children in helplessness crying
like beggars in obsequious beseeching
how easy now to embrace humility
to feel just for a moment the meaning of humanity
man thought once
(before the spectre of now)
he could overcome nature
and rule the earth--
forever

all is quiet now
darkness is descending
the winds are mocking
the clouds are in somber gathering
no human voice is heard--no one is speaking
amidst the debris all around
why is there not a single bird
among the trees or in the air?
in this hell-on-earth?
no bird shall sing
and man shall never walk
this way
again

We seem to live in apocalyptic fringes
  ***, SARS, EBOLA and now the virus called CORONA
  daily living is restless and nightmarish experiences
  a train of diseases explodes our very sanity to mar-

  our hopes are driven to disaster's deadly edges
  healing is helpless and looms from fields too far
  while laboratories rush all over to find remedial devices
  CORONA has smitten humanity's face with a hideous   scar.

There's a Centre
                         within each heart
                        hidden, latent
                        but could be
                       reached and touched

                       beyond thought
                        reasoning and logic
                       which when illuminated
                       will light the once
                       lost self into the Right Path

                      where the Stream
                      is clear, transparent, calm
                      not a single ripple
                      would stir nor perturb
                      and the mind is nestled
                      in the Endless Nowhere
                      beyond every earthly scheme
                      or the most ingenious human art

                     come, o come Silence
                     Source of all Goodness and Grace
                     come to quench the thirsty
                     and feed the hungry
                     come, o come to stay
                     nourish, nurture, bless
                     in abiding, never to part.

A poem
should not argue
its heart should be pure
though its words might be few-

truth and beauty
it should but seek to imbue
in worship and spontaneity
nothing else then need it pursue.

I should write not to repudiate
but life to celebrate

When I over-laboured
it led me to barren land
words and feelings I suffocated
what I wrote even I didn't understand-

poetry should spring*
from the heart's fountain
of spontaneity to bring
beauty that shall ever remain.

I will not be circumscribed
by life even in the slightest way
that which should be said, acted on or described
through my poetry shall not be shut from the light of day-

beauty, love, duty, honour should be ascribed
to and never should be kept at bay
such when nurtured and prescribed
ennobles the human spirit through every dark hour of day.

Oh no, far remote-
I am not a poet though
poetry I write
as I know
I am but a tiny bit of sand
somewhere on the poetic shore
not worthy to be noticed
to be washed away by the tide-  no more
than a fallen leaf
from the giant poetic oak
that has stood so majestically and serenely
with the loftiest and most sublime voice it spoke

A very thin piece of paper
can cut as deeply as a knife
this proves that what's potent
has nothing to do with size

I've to take leave
for your sake:
staying on an extra moment
will only cause you more heartache-

it's the dictate of fate:
we aren't made
for each other
we've to break

this had been steel-cast
long even before we met :
it'd be a true blessing
not to remember but to forget-

farewell, farewell now
my once dearest beloved
when you see the stars in your loneliness
a single tear you shouldn't shed

I prefer the unexamined life

            lesser I cogitate-- suffer little from strife

You don't need
to apologise to life
or people
if you had not
gone out
to deliberately
hurt any

if
in failing yourself
all that is necessary
would be not
to repeat such
in future

we are all fallible
we live far from the ideal:
in accepting ourselves
we move on
hoping to be
better individuals

We should be able to define
our life in just one line

With all others
you are engaged so busily
but have no time set aside
for an appointment with yourself--sadly

A good sleep
is a prayer
answered

First Verse of a Love-song (never completed)



Love is not one

but two

it's called

two-gather..........



(from John Lennon's hidden notebook--through my eyes)

Not knowing enough
I've learnt to shut up

To be recognised
is to be agonised

Standing out
I can't ever reach
poetry's exquisite portal
I'm never outstanding.

People like to gossip
when they GO with their friends
to places where tea or coffee they SIP.