A man, who never believed in Gods,
Refused to acknowledge the supremacy of the imperialist British Lords,
Challenged imperialist world empire with stubbornness,
Wished to build a peaceful superpower country, with farsightedness.

Through his reading, kept himself on evolution,
Sowed in the hearts of Indian youth, the seeds of revolution,
Raising and threatening administrative tones,
Stood fearful and could only break his bones.

From, soviet World misunderstood,
Revolution a product of blood & bullet,
He approached and transformed revolution,
A product of inspiring pen and booklet.

Never limited himself to fight for boundaries of administrative right,
Expanded himself in the jail to throw away human plight,
Fought a death-nearing battle to regain the human right,
To finally set all things for his jail mates completely right.

Pen is mightier than sword,
His life bore testimony to prove that record,
When others attempted for freedom movement to nurture,
He dreamt and worked for building his country a beautiful future.

Born an ordinary Sikh man,
Misinterpreted a lunatic gunman,

Lived a life of comrades,
Hated in every step, caste, religious and gender retrogrades,
Wanted to save his country from blood-******* renegades,
Decided to break all the youth-distorting barricades,
And put his life to a mortgaging death trade.

Lived a life of an unselfish tree,
Decided to give his life to witness the country free,
Evolved his life, a chapter of sacrifice,
Offered overprice to fight the imposed injustice & cowardice.


His physical life remained short-lived and temporary,
Lived for the country to set an example for ideal revolutionary,
Beaten by humanimal imperialists, black and blue,
Opened the youths towards fight for freedom, on a new avenue.

Imperialist empire remained pathetically cruel,
His thoughts & phenomenon inspired a never ending fuel,
For the youths, to sacrifice themselves for liberation of the soil,
Through revolutionary paths, filled with constant sufferings and toil.

The world personified, revolution is,
Red, blood, blood and blood,
He defied and responded, revolution is,
Think, evolve, unite, and change, by the act of read, read, read and read.

He proclaimed a desperate need,
To get ourselves away from disturbing ****,
Sowed the fire of revolutionary seed,
Thus stated to read, read and read.

Imperialist empires killed people like blood-******* vampires,
He fought and responded, with the shot of a demonstrative gunfire,
When ordinary humans aimed to save their family,
Every millisecond, lived a life, personifying whole country his family.

Like a wood that offers light, and burns itself in fire,
Gave freedom a ray of light, submitted himself happily into the death wire,
For revolution, turned the court his Centre of propaganda,
Responded the ruthless imperialist, a warning memoranda.

On the imperialist death rope, he was killed
The batons he passed for the youths of next generations,
His final dream for India, still unfulfilled,
On the presence of present blood-******* politicians,

A baby that never cries on starvation,
A child that never starves for education,
A youth who never roams around to get dignified occupation,
Let’s at least work and fight towards, fulfilling this mission.

Inherent nearsightedness
  a natural tendency
  to appreciate flaws up close
Inherited farsightedness
  an acquired ability
  to step back and perceive beauty

microchaos...macrobalance

a semblance of perfection...
all the reality one needs

Some may see
me as a writer;
a person who
spins words and
articulates emtotions.
But I'm not sure if
I see myself as
anything more than
a subtle manipulator.
I'll take a feeling
and it will become
a paragraph you can
see beyond farsightedness.
I'm not a seer, but God
help me if I've been
looking for my place
in the world. I'd like to
think that there is more
to my life than the
words I choose.
I've written dozens
of short stories,
and hundreds of poems.
Some say that there is
a novel within us all,
and I'm sure there is,
but that's not what I'm
after. What I'm looking
for is not a snap of the
fingers. Or a bulb
to flash. Not even a
seed to grow. What I
want is a teardrop
that falls in a lake
and creates a ripple
effect that slowly
spreads out. I want
a snowflake to hit
my tongue and not
dissolve from the heat.
Instead what I have
to give is a left hand
pushing a ball point
into paper, disrupting
the flow of the ink.

As I poised the deserted western valley's,
Ten thousand feet above the billowing vapor,
Cactus to make as friends along the desolate berth,
I felt the curse......

Not just any old bane,

Yet as I glared off into the perception of that timeworn Gaia,

Between the red rock basin's,
I was vigilant of the indigenous people's indignation,
As I saw them, on horseback and bare foot tracking,
The backs marked by sweat, as tis their eye's spoke of prophecy
By blood and anguished expertise!!!!!

Their spirit was mighty in warrior sense,
No recompense should they gave, nor any to return the favor!!!
They yelled out to me ( Weeping willow) "you are welcome to be among us young one", as this voice quavered and cracked I replied in most happiest form,
" I see thou brother art porous"
As we both met eachother in the in-between down below the bottle shaped precipice!!!!!
As at the moment,
I gave them mine only water to help them extend their journey's!!!
I felt their longing,
Their yearning's rip me as mine soul became a joint dual to their own,
("Ourn province was perverted")  the chief said in an almighty thunderous inflection,
As in his shadowed reflection,
I saw all direction and ley-lines cross on the map of his face!!
("Ourn children and women were embezzled ") he mumbled amongst dusted breathe,
I gave him all I had left,
Also the crest from the falcon on hand.....
("For these strange swain have lost their own ways, and hath gambled with our's" ) in a fleeting tone of words he gave so vibrantly.....
As a moist tatter fell from both ourn facultie's,
We cultivated eachother in brotherly philosophy proficiency,
And I was high to be amongst their primordial efficiency,

The Superior with his Turquoise chaplet on
Had given me a serpent shaped prudence receptacle
As his espial he gave as exceptional spectacles!!!!

We blended as one beatific vertebrate!!!!

As they galloped off chanting consecrated hymn's,
I went mine own way,
Preaching and teaching,
Giving love as one teething,
Whilst the one's who lost themselves were still sleeping!!!

As I awoke them by the farsightedness of that wargripped forefather who had just split me,

I saw mineself in the middle of that boomtown,
Feet in motion,
Rain dance to glorious sound!!!!

With a squash blossom necklace to sway to mine neck!!!!

I had shown something new to these newly come arrivals,

"Something these people were once thought to think was " brutish animal behavior",
Now has embraced this sacred rain dance.....

As I continued to foxtrot,
Gravel and clay upon mine face
That serpent shaped box

The people of the metropolis had rollicked right aside me!!!

As they began to tear down the fences,
The trenches
The steel towers they have polluted with!!!

They put aside their guns
Made music with deity drum
And encamped the fire to hear me!!!

As it wasn't me who spoke......

Tis,
The map faced chief all along!!!

As a harmonious peace crept the red bottled cliffs!!!!!!

a small town, inexhaustible,
somehow far from mundane,
a predictable spring followed
by a predictable summer,
and yet nature, per se,
never really allows man
a mortal fascination with it,
a mortal by that I mean,
enclosed in replicas and analogues,
with an extinguishable "self"
to boot, as if in every democracy,
one vote, one life,
the end.

                   not some mystical
ever after,
    either the materialistic
absolute, or the other,
materialistic absolute,
                   if latin could invite
itself into the schools among
which sit Tao, Zen and others...
well, drop the prefix hyphen
and call it Re...

               trill of the tongue
that begat Sisyphus who:
     not having a jailor sit and
with pitchfork nagging...
         somehow... didn't roll the stone
aimlessly...
       but, simply,
sat there, less in love with anything
that might be peered at in a lake,
and more, or less,
       a hole that his "self"
       needed to fill...

                            interchangeable
ad infinitum of:
    cube through a square hole,
square hole with a cube in tow..
cube square hole, cube square hole...
trig. meaning either
from up, to down...

      or, or at least then...
offshoot, in life through and in
death, also through...
     two schools of thought:

1. man stands above nature,
2. man stands beside nature...

comes the audacious first,
with its
Manhattan Project,
     and with Hurricane Katrina
and the fact that lighting is yet
to be harnessed, and... farmed...

   comes the awe-stricken
second, with its naturalists
and... nature without man
will run its course...

   unappreciated,
     it diminishes, is even robbed,
no sooner the suffocating
murmur of prayer,
as soon enough,
           the caged bird prays
an indistinguishable song
to the song beneath
the watchful eyes of hawks...

   yet this is but a small town,
inexhaustible,
and by that I mean:
   the pen is always dry,
the muse is always shackled
    and stands mute,
    th conversations are always
less and more a pity on
an urban chance meeting,
the book is never written,
the pen is always used as rather
a tennis racket in a game of
crosswords...

         and a deep fascination
comes across between a youth
and an old man...
     on the lines of:
myopia - shortsightedness
     and utopia - hyperopia -
farsightedness...
          for the old man sees
a graveyard, as a murky lake
of grey, in the distance
the indistinguishable corrections
of detail...

     without his glasses...
but as he puts them on,
the murky lake of grey becomes
distinct in detail, crosses and tombstones...
         what of the distance?
far away and blurry in zebra
camouflage...
        two-dimensional details
in an otherwise tree-dimensional
yawn...

               optic corrector:
no, not a confusion on my part,
nearing age 80,
    he has both myopia    
   and hyperopia,
namely his reading glasses
    and his: walking around the town
glasses: to add to the details:
that's not cascade:
i. e. respectively.
      
Myopia glasses, id est:
   details in the distance
   culminating in shadows
of trees at noon.
  
Hyperopia glasses, id est:
          details on a piece of
paper, reading.

the inability to convey
an illusion of distance,
or rather the mind, cutting
corners,
    since it was possible for
the early game programmers
to trap a two-dimensional
fern in the first tomb raider
game...

   you would walk up to
the 2D object, and it would rotate
on an axis, very much akin
to the observed and the unobserved
electron...
          
    which, to me, is a bit like
discussing black holes...
    a two-dimensional object
in a tree-dimensional space...
     when observed behaving like
an atom...
     when unobserved behaving
like a wave...
or rather, to muddle,
and craft my own Pavlov exprience
in the watering eye...
    
    through the grey lake mass of
the graveyard... in the distance
no differing contorts but:
Monet... Monet...
    the old man speaks of ills,
hiding the achievements of old age,
a seated life,
   as if: no one likes
the man who doesn't leave
an enigma of some sort...
          
does cancer plague the soft tissued
organs? when mistletoe,
in symbiosis with bark bone of trees
can thrive in the winter sun,
minimally exhausting the tree
in its seasonal coma?

   old man cynic and
the woe of old age...
     but before the story of Judas
and H'eh Zeus (in Spain)...
   came the story of -
   the old man and the sea
(according to Monet);

  old man cynic,
on the rare occasion that the old
are disabled like children
at birth...
  while in most instances,
the privilege of old age
makes them in turn
into born again children...
         but unlike children a priori,
these a posteriori children
are... outside being convincing...
     in at leat some,
of their exaggerations.

Ever envisaged an island situated in the huge crater of a volcano?
That's Santorini - aptly fitting the description of a touristy soprano,
Fondly described by many as the supermodel of the Greek islands,
It's scenic location is as if crafted by Greek gods, in the uplands

As an archipelago of five volcanic islands, it is located in the Aegean sea,
The island is a head-turner for scenic beauty that makes one scream in glee,
Multicolored cliffs and whitewashed edifices add to the panoramic grace,
Candy-colored houses and paved paths lend to a milieu that's hard to replace

Adorned with black, red and white beaches, Santorini is a waterfilled crescent,
The much pleasing hue of the clear turquoise sea is a tribute to nature's accent,
Volcanic pebbles, spectacular rock formations lace into impressive lunar landscapes,
The breathtaking caldera and the island's geomorphology are sheer dreamscapes

The blue domes of Santorini that bedeck the Aegean Sea are iconic,
As picturesque architectural marvels, they are superlatively masonic,
Perched atop whitewashed churches, they are picture postcard perfect,
The vibrant blue hue contrasting the stark white buildings, seems so correct

Tourists throng the narrow streets and pathways to soak in the photogenic view,
The agonizing wait to gain access to vantage spots is forgotten while in the queue,
The spectacular sight is truly mesmerizing to leave us in a state of awesome wonder,
That it is an incredibly popular Instagrammer's delight, leaves little cause for wonder

Viewing the sunset from Oia is an unforgettable experience that tourists savor,
The energy of the sweeping panoramic landscape is so palpable that one must aver,
The fiery sun sinking into the sea within the caldera remains etched in memory,
Its' the exclamatory chatter of the crowd's praise that shakes one out of a reverie

A visit to the archaeological site of Akrotiri merits high recommendation,
As Greece's version of Italy's Pompeii, it is of noteworthy consideration,
The ruined city sadly buried by a volcanic eruption, holds a lot of history,
As home to the ancient Minoans, now an embellishment of Greek touristry

The ruins depict how people lived in two- and three-storey houses in 1500 BC,
Replete with balconies, underfloor heating, indoor toilets that one can still see,
Remnants of the city's painted frescoes and sculptures are a visual treat,
That such conceptual skills existed in the then Bronze age, is no mean feat

The quality of furniture and ceramic wares bears testimony to Akrotiri's prosperity,
That the people were able to make their own wine, is testament to their dexterity,
Visitors will be impressed by the acumen and farsightedness of the Minoan township,
That was so cruelly terminated by volcanic ash engulfing the town, ending in hardship

Oia's promenade stretches along the whole town with the caldera's breathtaking views,
Rows and rows of shops on either side flaunt souvenirs, boutiques with lots to choose,
Jostling crowds interspersed with multilingual chatter render a touch of street glamour,
As people flood the shopping streets post-sunset view, be prepared to overlook the clamor

The island's capital Fira, is perched on the Caldera's top edge, above sea level,
Stunning views of the Aegean Sea leave visitors awed and a just reason to revel,
Recommended daytime strolls in the scenic alleys fill one with joy and harmony,
An array of restaurants, cafes, bars and clubs adds spice to the nightlife cacophony

Greek islands are in a league of their own when it comes to planning exciting getaways,
Without bias, one can claim that Santorini tops the list with several visit takeaways,
Greece is also famous for it's gourmet food, friendly people and charming hospitality,
By the end of the visit, you realize the multifarious reasons for the island's popularity

in the waiting room I sit
across the way two older Oriental women stare,
walkers beside them
firm,
to their left sits a man of many years,
hairs white and gray
old,
he sits patiently with his eyes closed
peacefully
harmonious,
to my right sits a man with one leg reading the news paper
glasses magnify his eyes
farsightedness,
family's, kids coming in and out.
I sit there in agony like the last beer in a box,
"ARGH!"
I feel a great void in this provocative and exasperating freak show, buffoons all around me.
my experiences in Doctors offices and Hospitals have always been dim and unpleasant after seeing what my Grandmother went through, a light at the end of the tunnel. I feel like one day I might come into this hell hole and never walk out. I fear a Hospital room more then many things, unpredictable. I live my life on my own terms and I will die on my own terms. To die in a hospital bed, that's misery.
I then snap out of this brooded thought,
"For Shane."
sigh, then I walk through the door.
charientism. -Shane Book

Darling it's a shame
that you love the parts of yourself that he deems worthy
haven't you realize that his farsightedness has cause him to loose sight of beauty so close to him.

What are we if time cannot be measured other than by infinitesimally iridescent radiation be irrelevant?
As the people say we are bound just by the petulance of common life, and should not pursue higher ideals other than a plea for justice
Respect is earned by faithful people looking the dirt kicked in their face
It is better to be torturous to oneself than to seek logic for loving their flaws
Men judge more by the passage of hand by someone noble than impoverished farsightedness of a person with Dutch courage and Machiavellian results
You fall in a pretending game, and you find pretentious faces looking back at you
Wealth brings a drink, and drink if you must to lose yourself in poetry
For beatniks it became drugs, and the rashness brought them fame with a little spark of madness
I guess some of us are mad about the lunacy of this lacuna of neoteric tendencies
It could be art if you are obtuse enough to look beyond how modern politics has shaped the nature of stability
If you could be satisfied with the way you are going
Then, you might be on your way to the other end of the world
Where the political institutions are well-affirmed by their legislative decisions
While we look at hate has evolved, some of the proctors of hate of infecting our ideas beyond your comprehensive yet my colored knowledge of hatred is best shown in freedom in mindless
Yet, there is so much sadness on this planet in color
Paradise might as well be a dichotomy between photosensitivity
Like a motion picture where the title actually seems unctuous
With high octane, some poems do tend to get their questions well ordained
All of this is in my prior assessment

Does my poetry bear
Sign of being prescient?

I do not possess farsightedness!