Fed by a ceaseless downpour
The river was in eruptive spate
The dam they said can’t take anymore
It must be opened the lock gate.
Open the lock gate and save the dam
Before it crumbles by the mighty force
But what of them on the riverside *******
For them lies what recourse?
The dam can come down any moment
As the raging waters fast mount
What about the millions on it spent
The loss would be immense without count.
But then for saving it if the river is let free
The settlements on its sides would go
Unleashed waters would cause misery
Villages would be washed away with the flow.
What happens in the end you guessed it right
The lock gate was opened to save the dam
Surely more than the poor villagers’ plight
The dam had to be saved *******.

Does the poet live his own words
Measures up to what his verses promise
Strives for the heights his thoughts reach
Plays the part his writings reflect
Goes to any length to be good
Rids himself of all meanness
Is generous kind faithful trustworthy in his personal life
A lover a friend an aide a benefactor,
Or at the end of the day
Just a preacher
Who never is as tall as his sermons
But remains a run-o-mill guy
Who endowed with poetic skill
Spins in self-deceit webs of lies!

Does a poet ever endeavor
To become a poetry in motion?

Don't I miss you?
On my way home
On a dimly lit evening
Or an empty afternoon
Without you coming up to me
Rubbing and licking my hands
Your eyes overflowing with love!
Don't I miss you?
When the rain lashes
And you don't come up to me
Seeking a little warmth
With your bones chilled to the marrow
And I take you in under the shade
When your eyes are filled up with love
And mine with unexplained tears!
Don't I miss you?
In my moments of extreme happiness
When you no more jump up to me
To give me a long and joyous hug
Your eyes filled with unspoken love
And I know without your ever telling me
The agony of living without your love!

Little son
can you hear me?
Can you see the sun rising?
Rubbing the night right out of his eyes,
stretching and yawning
and crawling out of bed
to hold you in his arms;
shining through the clouds and cobwebs -
Splashing onto the horizon
Bursting into my veins
with rays of laughter
sprinkled like sugar on my soul

Little sun,
dancing in the twilight,
reflecting off of the ocean
and into my eyes;
Deliver me to the dew dropped lips of your smile,
shelter me in the warmth of your glare,
lift me to the mirror in your heart
so I may see myself again
In you
My son

Little son
can you hear me?
Can you see the sun setting?
Letting go of the dusk with a shrug and a sigh,
kissing the moon so the night doesn't cry,
reaching for a blanket to comfort the sky -
Stretching and yawning
Whispering and crawling
into bed,
to hold you in his arms.

On the mangrove bank of the tidal river
lie embedded the mollusks,
they appear mournfully motionless,
deceiving you to believe
they’re too passive to be alive,
are just displays of dead shells
in their muddy graveyard,
though the truth is
they are mystic monks
silently enduring their estuarine transience,
bidding in meditation the time
the return tides carry them to their marine abode.