Monday, June 18, 2012

Words


Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind.
                                                                            - Ruyard Kipling

Words
they captivate,
titillate beyond anything
ever perceived through eyes
mortal, divine. A lifetime’s beatitude
encapsulated eternally amongst a single word;
so unpretentious, yet with power beyond imagination.
Single word; containing ideas, philosophies, thoughts.
Inspiring men, common, extraordinary. Revered
ecumenically amongst pedantic, erudite.
Omnipresent nevertheless modest,
innocuously lurking
words.


Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Lost 2





Wandering through those labyrinths of mind,
where paths to hope ever seem to rescind.
No warmth there is only unfriendly frost.
Just one voice uttering, ‘I’m lost! I’m lost!’

No respite in view, just overpowering despair,
walls falling apart in a state of disrepair.
Hope seeping through when you need it the most,
leaving behind voices, ‘I’m lost! I’m lost!’

The veil of mists immobilizing all thought,
you crave for peace knowing it’s neither bargained nor bought
Piercing the mist are words you never sought
heedless, relentless ‘I’m lost! I’m lost!’

Demons, scavengers lurking at every turn.
With anger and despair the mind seems to burn.
In waking and nightmares they scheme and they plot,
echoing your words ‘I’m lost! I’m lost!’

Strange conundrums; befuddling, confounding.
Roiling the calm with alacrity astounding.
You thrash, struggle, heave, never considering the cost,
still the voices go on ‘I’m lost! I’m lost!’



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Lost 1 is here

Friday, February 3, 2012

Hope


            Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.
-                                                                                                                                                                   -  Andy Dufresne to Red (Shawshank Redemption)

Beyond the veil of darkness looms
light heralding end of doom.
‘Tis but a matter of unwavering faith,
till sorrow remains but a wraith.

Blooming amid wretched filth
are stories of great valor built.
Confronting misfortunes, mocking fate,
thus were hardships squarely met.

Staring in face of unmoving loss
the strong of heart always make it ‘cross.
For in the face of mighty foes
did tales of great victories rose.

Tossed and turned in the mighty storm
are great sailors of seas born.
At the darkest hour and the highest tide
do great men push their fears aside.

Thus it is during times ominous
when life seems afloat like loose detritus.
The only way out is a slender rope,
but great strength it has for we call it Hope.

Monday, January 16, 2012

To Goa



Goa – probably the most sought after destination in India when it comes to vacationing, this place holds special significance for many people for many different reasons. For some people, it’s a place to enjoy some repose and get away from the stressful and hectic everyday life; for some it’s someplace where you can party without any inhibitions; a chance to see a different culture for some; whereas a religious and spiritual destination for others.
There are many who must have glorified Goa in songs, poems, and other literature; and using better words than me. Indeed, when I began writing this piece – given my limited vocabulary – I fell desperately short of words to do justice to this Eden located in a remote corner of India. But it would be an even greater disgrace if I didn’t write anything about Goa after the many memories it has given me to cherish. So here goes…

an Ode...
                                         
                                       ...to Goa...
                                                     The hallowed ground,
                                                     where millions abound.
                                                     Leaving behind sweat and toil,
                                                     mindless things unto which life seems to boil.

                                       ...to its beaches...
                                                     Those sparkling sheets lustrous, fine
                                                     nature's hammock to relax and recline.
                                                     Scalding hot under glare of day
                                                     caressing our feet as the lights fade.

                                       ...to its seas...
                                                     Shimmering velvet 'neath bright blue sky
                                                     swallowing the sun as night draws nigh.
                                                     Waves upon waves obeying the wind
                                                     a deep sonorous tune during nighttime they sing.

                                       ...to its temples and churches...
                                                     Carved lovingly with faithful hands,
                                                     tribute to will and devotion they stand.
                                                     A devotee's sanctuary, a connoisseur’s delight,
                                                     apt testimony to mortal imagination taking flight.

                                       ...to the culture...
                                                     Ever welcoming to people new and old,
                                                     offering new wonders if they be so bold.
                                                     Whether it be music, spirits, or merely the food,
                                                     motley of distractions to suit every mood.
                                       
                                       ...to Goa...
                                                     The place to be,
                                                     should you need to feel free.
                                                     A small corner that might,
                                           make a mundane life seem bright.





Monday, January 9, 2012

Time




Under the bright blue sky,
I lolled watching the clouds float by.
Wandering amongst countless thoughts, wondering why,
O why is it that time does fly?

Amid the droll existence of life,
hour after hour of misery and strife.
To just one question we eventually arrive,
O why is it that time does fly?

Ill thoughts we think and curses we shout,
jealousy, anger, and spite rearing their ugly mouth.
Too late it is when you begin to doubt,
O why is it that time does fly?

Demons in head, reflecting thoughts hazy,
numbing mind, making the body go lazy.
In times such as these the question seems easy,
O why is it that time does fly?

Futile attempts to scry the future.
Hoping to redeem a life sewn by suture.
Questioning the past once the present’s a caricature,
O why is it that time does fly?

Dark clouds rumbling and blanketing the sky.
Cold, biting wind raking the land dry.
With a jolt I awoke, and wonder with a smile wry,
O why is it that time does fly?

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Despair


Dark is the hour
when happiness tends to flee.
Leaving behind a gaping hole,
absorbing all the glee.

Dark clouds on horizon,
threatening thunder and gale.
Where does one gaze,
searching hope should prayers fail.

The fading light mocks you,
taunting with cynical smile.
Nightmares come to haunt you,
bewitching with their guile.

Dreams torn asunder,
your descent's painful, slow.
The gaping abyss beckons,
to deal the fatal blow.

It's claws grabbing at you,
rending you beyond repair.
Always warring blissful happiness,
is the omnipresent despair.

Friday, May 13, 2011

On a rainy day...

Rains - to most of us - are harbingers of joy. When the heavens open to let through a downpour of relief, they inevitably herald visions of lush, sparkling greenery, rich white, flowing water, and monsoon trips.

Living in a city however, means muddy roads, potholes, dirty sidewalks, and of course increased density of traffic. This short piece was a result of being caught in traffic during heavy rains.

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Pouring down in sheets,
splattering against the road.
Caring not for the earth beneath,
the heavens opened and roared.

Confined in the three-wheeler,
a haze covered the sight.
Like a phoenix rising from ashes,
imagination took a flight.

To the lush green farmlands,
savoring the touch of life.

Dancing in the sweet nectar,
filled with heavenly delight.

To the high and mighty mountains,
dressed in lush green coat.
The canopy of wispy clouds
caressing as they float.

To the tall steep falls,
nestled in mountain's womb.
Water daring the heights,
yet not meeting its doom.

To the angry roaring river,
shackles broken, set free.
Sweeping away one and all,
who dared not to flee.

To the rambunctious childhood,
danced away in first rains.
Feet splashing in the puddles,
not bothered by the stains.

Blaring horns and pungent smells,
clear the mist that led astray.
Leaving behind a smile on lips,
on a dank and muddy rainy day.
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