Let us burn a lamp of knowledge
for those who are egoist and small,
Small neither in age nor in wage,
But potted & brittle clays those,
who are miles away from the God.

The God who is omnipresent & omniscient,
but, innocent like a nascent child,
In the divinely stretched and limitless sky,
Like an aloof but flying & singing kite.
We are most often fools,
But he is always wise,
He lives close to us
But, unseen and unrealized.

Away from the God, I mean those
who are confined to self & supercilious in this zoo.
The zoo not only of birds and animals
But which comprises all i.e.he, she, me & you.

Let us,
Share our cognizance with them also,
if not the whole then, just a little mole,
As it may facilitate them in achieving MOKSHA( salvation from physical existence)
a long cherised life- goal.

Methinks, then,
It would be the beginning of a new era,
All around people blissful & stout,
The whole world whirling in mirth,
and nothing to be worried about.

Mukesh Kataria

Meticulously dressed
in an
expensive, modish suit,
Swaggering opulence & lacerated talk,
Small-hearted, sagacious,
evil-minded and
having sinister design,
I am
pretty sure
He is
a zippy,
Zombie,
Educated and
Diplomatic URBANITE.

BETTER
to be a rustic, uneducated fool,
in whose heart always
Simplicity, naivety and magnanimity rule.

Mukesh Kataria

I don't visit
any Temple or Church
or any other
place of worship,
My mother is alive
and
She stays at home.
Under her sacred feet
Floats heaven and reside my God.

Why to be an idiot?
Leaving palatial mansion in search for a far away shanty,
When seeds of eternal love & bliss
sprout here in plenty.

You can
Never
Win over
Me,
I'm
Never
In fight.

Mukesh Kataria

A destitute, half-clad barefoot, sickly, bony & starving child,
distended visible chest-ribs, sunken eyes and drenched belly.
With folded hands in deep faith,
Sitting on threshold of a temple,
in freezing December winter dark night.

For last 5 days he has eaten nothing,
He is badly waiting for miracle to happen,
His mother is in hospital,
suffering from last stage cancer.
Doc says she has only 6 days life.

Today is the last night.
I doubt any miracle to happen.
I know these seldom happen,
Science rules and besides, Doc doesn't tell a lie.
But novice child does not know science,
He has indomitable faith in some miracle to happen
which will ****** his mother's life from clutches of death.

Fateful 6th day arrives,
Doctor is sure,
elderly mother is no more.

To convince his little brain is an arduous task,
Badly shaken I have no word to say,
If miracles do happen, I know,
India needs millions of them everyday.

Thy ways are inscrutable.
Should the innocent child be smug with your name and cling on?
Or
Discard all faith, take the life as it is and just move on?

Mukesh Kataria

Wafting in the air the resonant sound and words
Of hatred, cuss, jealousy & taunt.
Language of deep silence is esoteric, I love
Gibberish, arid & acerbic talks, everywhere haunt.

Loquacity is shallow, I loathe
Silence is deep and pure gold,
Words touch only eardrums & mind,
Silence bestow character a spiritual mould.

Silence has echoing & loud sound
I practise daily as life-goal,
Travelling through the heart it creeps slowly,
Deep and straight into the soul.

The words are hollow promises
and misaligned perception,
Silence is cosmic and real,
Physical world is just a hallucination.

Our words, images, screams & eulogies
All are superflous, futile & bovine,
Deep silence- a path to God
It nurtures nature and is purely divine.

I feel it everywhere in the air,
In swift winds and deadly storms,
In engulfing volcanos & devastating floods,
Feel it in my breath & blood flowing through the veins,
In wide highways and in narrow lanes.
It sinks in deep drenches and vast sea,
Hugs high plateaus & mammoth imposing mountains,
Mingles with rays of bright sun and coolness of flirting moon.

Words can be abrasive,
If misinterpreted, can be source of strife & division,
Deep silence abounds in love and peace,
Being holy & celestial, it leads to unison.

Forced to act on the stage of life
so humble, feeble & half-clad.
Daily swapping of dreams for a few coins,
He is shunned, lonely, starving and sad.

No rhymes, no stories
No pen or pencils,
No book, no papers
No colours or stencils.
No playground, no park
No friends to talk,
No love, no kisses
Only a lonely walk.

Compelled to sell both body & soul,
Toiling hard, he does his best,
Story of hard work, wounds and pain,
No joy, no fun and no time to rest.
The present is all gloomy & dull,
lacking colours,  excitement and vim,
Shattered hopes with no dreams,
The future is touching, dreary & dim.

With deep anguish, I weep and yell
cuss myself for his ill-fate,
Losing all hope, I wish to revolt,
I need to speed up before it is too late.

Mukesh Kataria