LEARN FROM THE OWL!
Many of us think of the owl
As a foolish, ugly fowl:
It can neither strut like a peacock,
Flaunting colourful plumes,
Nor, like the shy nightingale,
Sweetly sing, every spring:
But the sages of ancient Greece,
Seeing  the night bird's virtues rare,
Said nothing foul about the owl,
Admired its bright round eyes,
Sharp and keen, able to see its way
And fly in the darkness of night:
Eyes, quite strange, looking not sideways,
But always straight and always right
And quickly turn its agile neck
And see all things happening
Behind its back as  well as front!
In all directions ,the owl can see
But, from different angles do we ever see?
Boastful humans, full of pride,
Who speak ill of the humble owl
Can scarcely match the skilful owl,
And a poet who loved this little bird, wrote -
"A wise old owl sat on an oak,
The more he saw, the less he spoke,
  The less he spoke the more he heard,
   Why can't we be, like the wise old bird!?"
                  *** M.G.Narasimha Murthy,
Hyderabad, India.

THREE MONKS
Morning sunbeams danced on the ripples
Sparkling on the majestic flow of Mother Ganga.
Noisy crowds of pious pilgrims from all corners,
Pestered by ash-smeared, bargaining priests,
Rushed towards the sacred waters for a holy bath ,
In a hurry to wash off their numerous sins
And save themselves from Yamadharma's* wrath.
Three solemn-looking monks in saffron robes,
Moved briskly past the motley crowds,
Looking for a less noisy, cleaner spot.
At a distance, they saw a colourful launch,
Carrying pilgrims across the vast expanse,
When, all of a sudden, the launch tumbled
And scrambling pilgrims, in panic jumped  
Into the river flowing fast over hidden rocks.
Seeing their desperate struggle, the surprised monks
Took a hasty plunge and swam towards the sinking launch
And pulled some of them towards the sandy shore,
While one of the sturdy monks carried on his back,
A woman clinging to the side, breathing hard
And left her after she recovered composure.
Resuming their walk along the river bank,
Two of the monks appeared rather grim and cold.
Breaking their solemn silence, the frowning monks
Called their companion a big sinner
For he had carried a young woman on his back.
Unperturbed, the robust monk said with a smile,
Although he had carried a drowning woman on his back,
He had left  her safely on the river bank
While the scolding monks carried her still in their minds
And they hardly knew what detachment meant !
Startled and rudely awakened, the two monks
Prostrated before Vivekananda, the awe-inspiring saint!
                **     M.G.Narasimha Murthy
  Name of the God of Death in Indian mythology.

Happiness within a pill.
That’s the only kind I can feel.
Fully inside me it fills,
And I feel like an electric eel

Tzzt. Ooh.  
The rhythm
of my nervous system
unearthed.

Is this happiness for real?
Is this pleasure an illusion?
Or temporarily revealed
under the layers of contusions

Left by life
on my heart?

FACE THE THREATS *
          
Jostling through the crowds of Varanasi -
Ancient, vibrant and ever noisy,
Vivekananda found at the end
A lonely path that seemed to blend.
With his solemn, pensive mood.
Longing for silence and solitude.
As he walked along the narrow path
Winding amidst lush green plants
Towards a sprawling, lovely lake,
A horde of monkeys, all red faced,
Sprang on him from a nearby branch.
Taken aback by their sudden attack,
He ran very fast, never turning back,
But the menacing beasts were at his heels
And one of them pulled his saffron gown
While the others growled and shrieked.
Shocked to see this frightful scene,
A holy man coming from the lake,
Shouted "Do not run; they will overtake.
Stand there, face the surly brutes."
Regaining his composure and lost balance,
Vivekananda stopped at once,
Held his ground and raised his hand.
Stupified and bewildered, the monkeys fled .
        Thus awakened, he soon realised -
         "When you are threatened by opponents,
           Face them with courage and confidence,
            Yet, without malice or vengeance.
             To win life's battles, have grit and strength,
              For, strength is life and fear, worse than death."
                              **.  M.G.Narasimha Murthy
Hyderabad, India

you touch my world so delicately
and i love it that you do
all we have is gentle
and i love that about you too

you listen so attentively
care for my heart so blue
talk to me so kindly
in everything you do

friends that found such passion
a tiny seed that grew
you make everything so easy
easy to love you

i hug you tight throughout the night
especially when i'm blue
while you bring comfort to my life
i love you through and through

with the kindest heart i know
you take me away with you
for us this feels so beautiful
i hope you feel it too

SHAKESPEARE'S MIND AND ART

In the memorable words of Ben Jonson,
Shakespeare, the great Bard of Avon,
"Is not of an age,
But for all time."
Endowed with a brilliant mind,
Worldwide knowledge and intuition,
He comprehends the changing trends
And creates enthralling situations.
With his amazing knowledge of man's nature,
Creates admirable, everlasting characters
Like Hamlet, Macbeth, Caesar and King Lear,
Rosalind, Miranda, Shylock and Portia.
Skilful blend of wit, irony and humour,
Youthful merriment, song and dance
As well as poignant scenes of sorrow and remorse.
Dialogues lively, powerful and spontaneous
Enrich all his comic and tragic scenes.
In his inimitable way, he describes -
How "..the poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven
And as imagination bodiesforth
The forms of things unknown,
The poet's pen turns to shape
And gives to airy nothing,
A local habitation and a name."
The world cherishes his poems and plays -
A perennial source of delight and solace.
                  *   M. G.Narasimha Murthy
Hyderabad, India.
(Copyright: MGN)

The Disastrous Quake
Hiding behind a hazy cloud
That hung above the darkening earth,
The pale moon looked portentous,
Sensing perhaps the imminent doom!
           Nothing stirred, no noise was heard:
           The bustling towns sank into slumber
           Under the spreading shroud of gloom.
When all of a sudden,
A strange, sub-terranian thunder
The earth's bowels tore,
Pierced the ominous calm
And shook the silent towns
With a hideous roar.
            Stately towers and humble homes
            Convulsed and crumbled
            Behind clouds of dust and smoke.
            Wails and moans and screams and groans
            Rent the midnight air.
            Men and women, mangled and maimed,
            Orphaned children, battered and bruised
            Crawled from the gaping jaws of Death,
            Their erstwhile homes,
             Now their graves, streaked with blood.
Dreadful spectacle, heart-rending,
Of splendid towns, centuries old,
Smashed in a moment of nature's wrath,
Reduced to rubble at one ruthless stroke,
Victims injured, on the verge of Death -
A groaning heap of shattered hopes!
                ***  M.G.Narasimha Murthy,

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Every one wishes for a happy new year,
Not without a feeling of lurking fear:
The reason is simple and clear:
The voice of reason very few hear
In the prevailing intolerant atmosphere -
Selfishness, greed, misery,starvation
And heinous crimes in the name of religion!
May the new year end this monstrous trend
And herald a new era of love and compassion
Through the right kind of liberal education.
                           M.G.Narasimha Murthy,
Hyderabad, India.
* April 8, 2016 (Ugaadi) and April 15,2016 (1st Baisakh, in
Bengal) mark the beginning of a new year according to the Hindu calendar.