Thoughts in a Garden
               *
Crimson glow of the morning sun                           
 Along the rosy horizon                                           
Set ablaze the floating clouds
With edges embroidered
In flaming gold,
Ushered in a brilliant dawn.
Sunbeams on the mountain slopes                     
Uncovered valleys verdant and
Gurgling streams:
Darting rays through gnarled
                                         trees
Adorned with foliage of emarald
                                         green,
Illumined the serene garden
                                        scene.
Genial warmth of the morning
                                            sun
Opened rows and rows of white      
                                        jasmine
And filled the air with fragrance
                                           sweet
While mother nature sprinkled
Smiles in a shower of roses
Of delicate hues.
Hummingbirds and honey-bees
Hovered over colourful flowers
Big and small.
Shy flowers,like blushing brides,
 Allured passersby to pause
A while and admire their beauty
And bewitching smile.
Basking in sunshine under
The azure sky and stretching
On grass in chequered shades,
My questioning mind
Probed in vain,
The enigma of nature's creation,
Its amazing harmony
And violent ire
And the aim of evolving human
                                               life:
Eager to grasp what the future
                                             holds,
Indulged in reveries undisturbed, oblivious of
Fortune's ebb and tide
Until twilight showed
The early stars
And the evening shadows
                   looming large,
Restrained my restless mind.
In darkness dissolved
                      the lovely scene.
Soon, the vision of rapture
Was a waking dream:
A foretaste of life merging
With the cosmic stream!
              **.  M.G.N.Murthy
Hyderabad, India.
                                   
                      ­                    

                                           ­ 
                                         







               ­                          


                                    ­          




                                        



                                            
                   ­                          
                                      ­        
          



.

Sue took my hand
on a saturday night
walked her home
when she told me with all her might

About her rock n roll boys
and her school shenanigans
how she found her voice
in the backroom with her toys

She seemed to be a bad girl
out of my league
so during the way home
i could only look at her rosy cheeks

Got to her doorstep
where she whispered goodbye
kissed me on my cheek and said
till monday, you magpie

I understand the restless feeling
within your soul. Impossible to ignore
especially in a still night where devils
you expect to turn up lose their
way.
Alone in a still night you scream
out for help but intentionally forget to
turn up the volume from zero to a
measly one, because you prefer the
agony of pain to the dreadful
pretentious care you suspect in
caring eyes.
I understand you when you, in your own
words, alleged that both right
and left turns connive with time to
bring you back to your starting point,
that you wish you could turn up, fly,
and leave everything behind without
having to explain why
or how you did it
And I completely understand the fury
beneath your smile in those still kind
of nights when unwanted attention is
turned towards you,
being civil thus gentle
and cordial, you are demanded, for
goodness sake, to indulge friends
and family. so you take a deep
cigarette-filled breath, summon
strength from deep within, laugh
and simply turn up

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.

Look at the news
How is it the news
When they provide all the clues
Got ya eyes glued to the tube
Knowing they lying to you
Gofund me account
Made over 3 . 8 million just
Just for some.stupid ****
Getting shot by a supposed terrorist
Dont ya see its all publicity
Our enemy is right in front of our eyes
It aint no surprise
But yet you the minorities getting thrown in jail before the sunrise
But theres no uprise
Muthaphukkas is puppets it makes me sick to my stomach
People pay attention to most un important ****
But them when you point out important **** they gotta problem with it
Make up ya minds hypocrites
Are yall going to be down are what?
Cuz america finna bust her gut
She pregnate through evil strain n pain
That mankind has done
Look atthe world take a good look
Its over the sinister forces are already here
Hell they been here
Look around you again
What do you see do younsee what i see
If not this convo cant go no more
Yall muthaphukkaz dont know war
Look at it its right here
Rights being taken hearts being shaken
Why cuz they tell you too
The problem reaction solution works wonders no wonder why poeple
Keep givin up their rights to fight
Political structures get stronger
And we the poor get weaker
The greatest trick they say the devil pulled
Was believing he doesnt exist well?
Look around you *******
The very men who send your children off to die in war
Are the same men that tell you they love you and your service
But then vanishes the compensatiin
When youspent years to reserve it
They dont deserve **** i say riot the white house and that lady liberty *****
Til she touches a laminated casket
Each bullet for each name ya know
This aint no drunk speak this is sober talk
Im already marked
Im like jesus fool im a revolutionary at heart
None could split me apart even if they had an axe im.still talkin ****
Til im dead call me sound hail mary
Ill be in the back sippin hennessey providin pain to my enemies
***** so when ya see bewar ya in for a scare
And one last thing **** the police **** the elite im the true og mobster style
This chronicles of a broken child