My dear poem,
stay put,
in the womb of my diary.
Coz, if I deliver you here,
people will judge you.
They shall judge you,
by the number of loves, likes and comments,
you fetch.
And I can't guarantee you all this praise.
Because for you to get these loves and likes,
I need to reciprocate for other’s poems.
I need to love poems,
that I don’t even like.
I have to comment graciously,
even when I am at loss of words.
I have to email appreciation,
even when I don’t mean it.
No wonder how beautiful you are,
I will have to do this “public relation” exercise for you,
and since I am just a poet,
and not adept at management,
I would fail terribly.
Today what is “visible”,
“seems” to sell.
Truth “may seem to lie rusting”
in some dark recesses.
But these sham conventions,
don't discourage me,
because history tells me,
that truth can be suppressed ,
bruised and traumatised for a while,
but it never dies.
Truth will have its day,
when it shall shine bright,
without the crutches of,
the whimsical, loves , likes and comments.

The social media,
these days,
is all pervasive.
Everyone,
from young to old,
are glued to their phones.
The virtual life is fast replacing,
the real life.
The peer pressure of “staying in news “,
or of “ being visible”,
is all encompassing.
I can understand,
that the information technology,
can be a great possibility,
but only if there is "content" in it.
And the paradox is,
that " content ",
in our words, thoughts and action,
comes only,
if we lead,
a "real" life.

I’ve seen pious faces,
in holy places.
People standing in rows,
with folded hands,
waiting for their turn,
to mumble their wishes,
to lie prostrate on the ground,
to touch their brow to the floor,
to smear 'tilak' on their forehead,
to throw a few coins,
in front of the ‘Almighty’,
for sins to be pardoned
and wishes to be granted.
And I’ve seen those very faces,
coming out of holy places
and getting “worldly” again.

Spiritual or materialistic,
theist or an atheist,
conformist or an iconoclast,
faith or reason,
puritan or hedonist.
These are the choices,
for the few,
the rich and privileged.

For the poor,
the teeming millions,
its about the daily grind,
mouths to feed,
bodies to clothe,
roof on the heads
and then if possible,
send children to school.

You can build no dams over oceans.
Gushing volcanoes were never plugged.
Roaring hurricanes have always had their way.
Avalanches bury one and all.
So what does one do,
when love barges in,
without notice ?

Intermittent drizzle on one day,
Incessant rains on another,
Some days its just the clouds,
Playing peek a boo with the sun.

The breeze is constant, growing stronger in the evening.
The sea is rough, rather angry.
The high waves throwing out some of the garbage,
We threw in it.

The coconut trees are in abundance,
Constantly waving, sometimes to the sea,
And then to the moon in the night.
The thick green grass, carpets most of the ground.

Reflecting upon the outdoors here,
One often looses the sense of the ticking clock,
Time here  is better defined, by the sunrises,
The morning drizzle, the evening breeze and the sunsets.

In times and places as such,
We can often remove all our veils, one by one,
And maybe find our interiority, our souls,
Whatever you may like to call it.

And there we find peace, solace and bliss,
In unison with this theatre of nature.
If only in our daily mundane routines,
We could remove all our veils.