Scribble 2:
[In the eve of the O’bama elections...]
Title: USA
Red or Blue, all in the image of Thee
be married under the rainbow - my country so free
that emanates from all the bright stars so white, so pure
from up above amidst the skies and galaxies of democracy...
(Red and Blue not only means
1. the colors of the flag
2. it also means the two parties
3. it also implies people – both white and colored.)
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
in the wake of NY and for WTC…
Scribble 1:
[in the wake of NY and for WTC…]
The tear rolls down from buildings..
Mothers walk from it lashing out
Pull down those buildings, raise it from the ashes.
Wake up my children, there’s a mornin yonder after the dash.
The blood runs wet through the streets.
The children walk through the nights..
Its time you take them in your arms
For weary and tired, fighting the claws of the nights..
O’child of mine…
Rest awhile for the flowers bloom for thee..
For they will carry thy fragrance
long after the world’s forgotten thee..
[in the wake of NY and for WTC…]
The tear rolls down from buildings..
Mothers walk from it lashing out
Pull down those buildings, raise it from the ashes.
Wake up my children, there’s a mornin yonder after the dash.
The blood runs wet through the streets.
The children walk through the nights..
Its time you take them in your arms
For weary and tired, fighting the claws of the nights..
O’child of mine…
Rest awhile for the flowers bloom for thee..
For they will carry thy fragrance
long after the world’s forgotten thee..
The Death Of Thought…
Title: The Death Of Thought…
[prelude]
Is a thought a thought or just a word
Was thought ever meant to be but a mere accident of thy creator
What is it to be, if being is all but unreal
What is real if not another word, a sheer pleasantry for thy senses…
[birth]
Is there a word in the thought of a child as it cries.
Is the love of thy mother all but a mere web of words
Is to be liked a feeling, or the thought of a feeling all but a word
Is to be alive, a mere thought or an ephemeral fragance of a withering flower…
[childhood]
Does a thought drape itself in slumber
And slip into dreams on cool summer nights
Does it hide behind clouds and play as a child,
And blossom to a youth in the castle of thy minds…
[youth]
Does a thought arch itself, amidst dew drenched flowers
And wear a new garb, as seasons wax and wane
Is it the wind that caresses thy face, as the love of thy Almighty
Or is an angel’s whisper in thy ears, of a feeling that’s newly born…
[adulthood]
Is a thought but a flock of birds
A flock of birds that nests in the wings of thy imagination
Is it’s color a feeling or the flight of thy thoughts
What is red or blue but a streak of sensation to the veils of thy eyes…
[death]
The death of a poet would be the death of a word
As it slips into the darkness of after life
Would the word live far beyond, in thy minds
As contagious thoughts that plagues humankind…
[beyond]
Would it go far beyond the realms of the poet's mind, it once enslaved...
In search of meandering rivers, of words that have no banks
banks of thoughts, that he fights and prays
prays to fade away, in the very womb of it’s mother…
[postlude]
What would thy give…
To measure the freedom of thy thought
The thought that sets you free, of all thoughts and feelings
Or is it all but to a word’s whim, we fall to, defeated…and slain.
[prelude]
Is a thought a thought or just a word
Was thought ever meant to be but a mere accident of thy creator
What is it to be, if being is all but unreal
What is real if not another word, a sheer pleasantry for thy senses…
[birth]
Is there a word in the thought of a child as it cries.
Is the love of thy mother all but a mere web of words
Is to be liked a feeling, or the thought of a feeling all but a word
Is to be alive, a mere thought or an ephemeral fragance of a withering flower…
[childhood]
Does a thought drape itself in slumber
And slip into dreams on cool summer nights
Does it hide behind clouds and play as a child,
And blossom to a youth in the castle of thy minds…
[youth]
Does a thought arch itself, amidst dew drenched flowers
And wear a new garb, as seasons wax and wane
Is it the wind that caresses thy face, as the love of thy Almighty
Or is an angel’s whisper in thy ears, of a feeling that’s newly born…
[adulthood]
Is a thought but a flock of birds
A flock of birds that nests in the wings of thy imagination
Is it’s color a feeling or the flight of thy thoughts
What is red or blue but a streak of sensation to the veils of thy eyes…
[death]
The death of a poet would be the death of a word
As it slips into the darkness of after life
Would the word live far beyond, in thy minds
As contagious thoughts that plagues humankind…
[beyond]
Would it go far beyond the realms of the poet's mind, it once enslaved...
In search of meandering rivers, of words that have no banks
banks of thoughts, that he fights and prays
prays to fade away, in the very womb of it’s mother…
[postlude]
What would thy give…
To measure the freedom of thy thought
The thought that sets you free, of all thoughts and feelings
Or is it all but to a word’s whim, we fall to, defeated…and slain.
Happy Birthday Friend!
Wishes for a friend on her 40th birthday
Title: Happy Birthday Friend
Driving along these winding paths
May this day remind you of …
Of those rolling hills and mountains
Of meadows that entrance cows in peace
Of trees dancing in the breeze, and
Of sturdy firs with their mighty girths
Of tiny flowers, dew wet along the paths
Of soaring birds and their songs so sweet
May this day remind you of …
Of chiming bells out on the porches
Of children waving their tiny little hands
Of snakelike rivers, that chases the seas
Of sea shells, fishes and white sandy beaches
Of fairies and goblins that
Dance in your dreams
Of summers sunshine bright and
Of moonlit winters cold …
Happy Birthday Friend!
Title: Happy Birthday Friend
Driving along these winding paths
May this day remind you of …
Of those rolling hills and mountains
Of meadows that entrance cows in peace
Of trees dancing in the breeze, and
Of sturdy firs with their mighty girths
Of tiny flowers, dew wet along the paths
Of soaring birds and their songs so sweet
May this day remind you of …
Of chiming bells out on the porches
Of children waving their tiny little hands
Of snakelike rivers, that chases the seas
Of sea shells, fishes and white sandy beaches
Of fairies and goblins that
Dance in your dreams
Of summers sunshine bright and
Of moonlit winters cold …
Happy Birthday Friend!
Of poems that’d never be…
My humble interpretation of my following poem:
It’s this constant struggle between you and something you always were as a child or something that you want to be. The child, the friendly star and the caravan portrays the state of absolute happiness, truth and knowledge that one can possess. It is a symbol of having reached the acme point (nirvaana) which eludes everyone who are the children of long lost cultures lying in the very hearts of mountains. It picturizes oneself among these people of the land who are oblivious of the existence of a soul, like the one that the poet has, which constantly urges him to venture into or grope for the absolute reality or truth.
The poem is sad and disillusive since it shows the poet as a weak person and not one who stands boldly upright in the crowd of people he belongs to. This is a delineation of reality. Or else the poet would have been a great human being who could overpower the shortcomings like the ones possessed by the people of his valley. Thus the soul that kindles the fire in the hearts of people like the poet, is the true hero of the poem, which braves to scale upto the challenges posed by the deeply enrooted culture which is now dormant.
Thus, in the sentence,
The poems that would never be
The poet wants to say that, “poem” as a term implies the state of achieving nirvaana or the absolute truth.
The next sentence,
Of poets, never free
Implies the insignificance and fruitless existence of people like the poet, who are afraid to venture the path of truth, in spite of being haunted by their strong and dominant counterpart, THE SOUL !!!
Title: Of poems that’d never be…
Yet another day,
The sun shone bright
Yet there’s no light in sight,
As I plod along …
I plod along the paths of life
With weary eyes and feet so sore
With sacks of my deeds
That I carry along,
That burdens me more …
The battle goes on
Between right and wrong
Yet another day,
It’s me and my soul
There seems no end
It’s me against my soul …
I see the child in me
In my very eyes
Climb the vines of life
Among shades of flowers
That nurture trees,
In their bosoms deep …
I see him, talk to the trees
And sleep among the leaves
I see him, swim the rivers red
Among rhythms of love that run deep,
Run so very deep …
When silence screams
And laughter cries
And ghosts of loneliness crowd you
My weary eyes probe the dark skies
For a friendly star, of sunshine bright …
I feel like the solemn winds,
That roam valleys, in silent despair
Though cultures, buried in the hearts of mountains
Lay deep in slumber,
My soul rests no more,
In search of friendly caravans, it goes …
The battle goes on
Between right and wrong
Yet another day
Like the rain and the sun
There seems no end
It’s me against my soul …
As I plod along
I hear whispers, speak of
Poems that’d never be …
Of poets, never free
As I plod along …
It’s this constant struggle between you and something you always were as a child or something that you want to be. The child, the friendly star and the caravan portrays the state of absolute happiness, truth and knowledge that one can possess. It is a symbol of having reached the acme point (nirvaana) which eludes everyone who are the children of long lost cultures lying in the very hearts of mountains. It picturizes oneself among these people of the land who are oblivious of the existence of a soul, like the one that the poet has, which constantly urges him to venture into or grope for the absolute reality or truth.
The poem is sad and disillusive since it shows the poet as a weak person and not one who stands boldly upright in the crowd of people he belongs to. This is a delineation of reality. Or else the poet would have been a great human being who could overpower the shortcomings like the ones possessed by the people of his valley. Thus the soul that kindles the fire in the hearts of people like the poet, is the true hero of the poem, which braves to scale upto the challenges posed by the deeply enrooted culture which is now dormant.
Thus, in the sentence,
The poems that would never be
The poet wants to say that, “poem” as a term implies the state of achieving nirvaana or the absolute truth.
The next sentence,
Of poets, never free
Implies the insignificance and fruitless existence of people like the poet, who are afraid to venture the path of truth, in spite of being haunted by their strong and dominant counterpart, THE SOUL !!!
Title: Of poems that’d never be…
Yet another day,
The sun shone bright
Yet there’s no light in sight,
As I plod along …
I plod along the paths of life
With weary eyes and feet so sore
With sacks of my deeds
That I carry along,
That burdens me more …
The battle goes on
Between right and wrong
Yet another day,
It’s me and my soul
There seems no end
It’s me against my soul …
I see the child in me
In my very eyes
Climb the vines of life
Among shades of flowers
That nurture trees,
In their bosoms deep …
I see him, talk to the trees
And sleep among the leaves
I see him, swim the rivers red
Among rhythms of love that run deep,
Run so very deep …
When silence screams
And laughter cries
And ghosts of loneliness crowd you
My weary eyes probe the dark skies
For a friendly star, of sunshine bright …
I feel like the solemn winds,
That roam valleys, in silent despair
Though cultures, buried in the hearts of mountains
Lay deep in slumber,
My soul rests no more,
In search of friendly caravans, it goes …
The battle goes on
Between right and wrong
Yet another day
Like the rain and the sun
There seems no end
It’s me against my soul …
As I plod along
I hear whispers, speak of
Poems that’d never be …
Of poets, never free
As I plod along …
I know not why ...
POEM 8
Title: I know not why ….
Why doesn’t the rain, from roof-tops
Tingle me as I’d soar high up in the sky, anymore
Nor
Thrill me to row boats, down streams and puddles, anymore?
Why doesn’t the touch of flowers please me, anymore
Nor
The morning dewdrops fill me with happiness, anymore?
Why don’t I crave to climb the trees, anymore
Nor
Yearn to run behind swaying kites, anymore?
Why don’t I see dreams of
Fairies and goblins, anymore
Nor
The shapes of demons scare me, anymore
As they pranced the ceilings
While the curtains danced with glee …
All those days,
Days and years,
Seem to fly away like the butterflies
Off my tiny little hands.
I know not why,
It doesn’t bring me joy,
To walk in my father’s shoes, anymore …
I know not why …
Title: I know not why ….
Why doesn’t the rain, from roof-tops
Tingle me as I’d soar high up in the sky, anymore
Nor
Thrill me to row boats, down streams and puddles, anymore?
Why doesn’t the touch of flowers please me, anymore
Nor
The morning dewdrops fill me with happiness, anymore?
Why don’t I crave to climb the trees, anymore
Nor
Yearn to run behind swaying kites, anymore?
Why don’t I see dreams of
Fairies and goblins, anymore
Nor
The shapes of demons scare me, anymore
As they pranced the ceilings
While the curtains danced with glee …
All those days,
Days and years,
Seem to fly away like the butterflies
Off my tiny little hands.
I know not why,
It doesn’t bring me joy,
To walk in my father’s shoes, anymore …
I know not why …
A Wish
POEM 6 (A house warming present)
Title: A Wish
May,
The flowers of the heavens
Bloom in your little garden,
And
The birds of the air
Build nests on your window sill.
May,
The fears of the nights, flee
As you lay in your cozy bed,
And
The moonlight bathe your house
With the warmth of the sun.
May,
The stars brighten your rooms
As they play hide and seek with thee,
And
The skies color the walls
As they would, the souls of those
Who come …
To THEE.
May,
…
Title: A Wish
May,
The flowers of the heavens
Bloom in your little garden,
And
The birds of the air
Build nests on your window sill.
May,
The fears of the nights, flee
As you lay in your cozy bed,
And
The moonlight bathe your house
With the warmth of the sun.
May,
The stars brighten your rooms
As they play hide and seek with thee,
And
The skies color the walls
As they would, the souls of those
Who come …
To THEE.
May,
…
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