We should embrace the limerick--everyone-
A fine thing under the sun
Life should not be taken too seriously
That would knock us silly
And limericks are such great fun!

I would have liked to meet
Edward Lear
his limericks are very sweet
and marvellously dear.

He would have gladly welcomed me as a friend
as my surname is Lim---close to lim-erick
we would have had fun to no end
and I would have  acquired his every unique poetical trick

Lily in the early frost
trembling in lonely cold and fear
who will come to me
and wipe away my every tear?

I can't last
before winter's close
it's sad to be born a fragile flower
my pain no human knows

My shadow
has vowed
to follow
me wherever I go

it asserts:
I won't be side-tracked
nor
set aside--I want you to know

I've the same rights
as you--so
we are equal partners in life-
I'm behind you in the show

I reply
in the best way I know
well-said, my alter ego
let's put on our show

Wasteland of my heart
where no flowers grow
past glory has faded
splendour has ceased to glow.


In my youth
my heart was a lush green field
where birds came to rest and sing
love I planted and to its beckoning happily I did yield.

In my manhood years that came too soon
weeds insidiously crept in--smudge gathered
on the once fertile ground-
all the flowers withered

And all that's left
is this wasteland--parched and desolate-
that my weary heart
seeks to forget.

Poetry is in essence
right words in the right order
but
it shouldn't  stop there

there's more
infinitely more

distillation
of the heart's deepest joys
and sorrows

constellation
of all that springs from
and happens to the self
in all its myriad manifestations
and facets--
mysterious - multifold

for life is an endless roll
of the self
in motion
and action-

self-searching
self-evaluation
self-conversation
self-evolution
self-determination
(existentiali­stic recognition
that life would inexorably end
in extinction
more despair and ennui
than hope?
that's the question
to be addressed individually--
  each life is sacred and its own
and asserts its will to be
before it sinks into oblivion)

poetry is also
the articulation
of the beyond-self
the juxtaposition
alongside others
the intricate and delicate interplay
of relationships
the joys and angsts
that follow

while time watches on
and carries a whip
'hurry, hurry--I wait for none-
presto!'

and
destiny stares one
in the face
testing one's mettle
and endurance
at any time
in any place

the poet writes:
I am saved by words
by words alone
they are my salvation
my one and only vessel
which gives my life
a ring-tone
however faint
and makes me aware
I am still living

'de nihil, nihil fit'
from nothing
comes nothing
either I am something
or nothing-
with myself I've to wrestle
to deny that
I am nothing

even if a pale shadow
I'm still something
I'd not forego
my right to being
someone in the making
for life is living
and experimenting
over time
a process of becoming

and at the end of things
I'd know with every single feeling
I've not failed myself in the task of living
through the words of my poetry
that have given me every meaning

Since school-days
I'd counted you as a dear friend
and now you said:  'You've stepped on my toes
our friendship should end'

' But over all these years',  I replied
'I'd stretched out to you my sincere hand'
ah,  'friendship' -what a word!
what it is I just don't understand.