Time-an enigma-
does it travel too slow or too fast?
an invisible intrusion-sometimes we love and at other times
we hate-when its presence does upon us uninvitingly ******.

How long should I wait, my love?
how long would my affection last?
I am shivering in the cold night air
would you come ? your love--can I trust?

THE RELUCTANCE OF WORDS

Sometimes, nay, often- words shy away
I have to be patient and wait
I set aside all thoughts--hoping later
to find the gems and celebrate.

With words I live all our life
I learnt just a few as a child--enough then-
just a few simple words  brought such joy and delight
words have outgrown me since--now I have to woo them as a friend.

I am
I was
what would I be
tomorrow?

how would I exactly know?
but if I set the compass
of my heart in the right direction
I won't be lost--I'll somehow endure

It'll be the same me in most measure
but the scenario will not be
if love, faith and charity are with me
it would be a day I'll count happy

then follows the dawn after tomorrow
and I'll again face another day
I'll still stand steadfast and do what I should
I won't be lost and will never turn away.

Words to the writer
how rare a gift
even the sudden dawning of a single word
sparks the imagination and helps to lift

the spirit--and the poetic muse
awakes from its slumber
and like a bright light shows the way
out of the murky tunnel of uncertain thought--then splendour

takes over the writing scene---words
mysteriously conjoin and start to dance on blank paper
the poet becomes the composer
as the sweetest music flows from his heart's ardour

Isn't a poem a miracle?
isn't the poet blessed as the receiver
of gems more precious and dearer
than anything else? Through words he  becomes a lasting joy-bestower.

' Hell is other people'
Sartre's famous dictum
Someone else could say that of him
He would himself by an object of public odium.

What if he won the Nobel?
Every statement we should with circumspection read
Who says the wise have the final say?
Too often they confuse and mislead.

There's too much to know
there are too many people who are wise
and so many different things they each say
I am never sure what to believe--I surmise

absolutes there are none
and knowledge and wisdom* is relative-
points of view of the thinker--is he wrong or right?
I am never sure--we are dealing with the subjective.

How could I be sure
when doubts spring to my mind
all the time?  Beyond the daily demands
and realities all else I've to leave behind

for I am an ordinary man
the limits of what I know I clearly set
as I am never sure of anything at all
on unknowns and probabilities I don't bet

Merry Christmas, what merry Christmas?
What about the left-out destitute?
While food and wine go to waste
Millions upon millions live in hunger and solitude.

Merry Christmas, what merry Christmas?
The world leaders shamelessly shout 'Progress!'
The richer get richer, the poor--only poorer
Resources are getting less and less.

Merry Christmas, what merry Christmas?
Will the goodwill last when the season is done ?
It's the same sad story retold
Everything is forgotten--even good deeds, one by one.

Merry Christmas, what merry Christmas?
Think not just of festivity
Have a thought of lasting kindness
That would make the world a happier place to be.