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.

Where is all the grandeur of the stars?
   Beauty between the notes of a violin?

Lost, inconsequential, insignificant...
   To the sample of your bare flesh.

Tell me to listen to your heart,
   Ear pressed to the thumps.

How I would feel that heart against mine!
   How would I ever feel the same again?

Sometimes,
When you choose to,
When you want to,
You help me.
I feel loved, I feel happy.
Then you do this?
Ignore me? Never answer my calls?
I thought you were better than this.
What happened to the one I played basketball with?
The one who makes me laugh,
the one who is a stupid idiot, but I loved anyways.
Family, sticks together?
Really?
Okay, if this is sticking together,
I'd hate to see your ripping apart.

the math teacher yells, and my shoulders shake
i draw smiley faces on the holes my dad kicks in the wall
you won't get enough of me
until it's too late.
we are the girls with their boyfriend's sweatshirts on their pillow
gloss, legs swish by each other,
everything your mom won't let you buy in the lit-up, pink aisles of walmart.
fish swimming in our heels, and poppy petals fall with our tears,
the fields and forests part for us,
and we don't fear anything but those closest to us.
I'll sit in my room, in flames,
or at my desk in class, soft as beagle ears,
slim,
I think of
you.

This dream head of mine
is bursting at the seams.
why is it that
I cannot like love songs
or love songs about liking
....
because they only remind me that
the happiness I feel now, is temporary,
like radio waves.
No song sounds the same twice.
If love decides to stick under my nails
and drip through the spaces between my fingers
(where yours fit perfectly)
my brain will malfunction, short-circuit
my hardwiring will misconfigure
and I might mess it up.

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.

you've given my heart both freckles and stretch marks
and make it feel like a 2010 justin bieber song.
warm fingertips that make me feel like
i stuck my head out of the car window
as we drive down the highway
and the world could be crashing down around us
we probably wouldn't notice

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

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,