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.

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

Photo courtesy: http://spako.deviantart.com/art/Lost-90052967?q=boost%3Apopular%20lost&qo=8

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.

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.

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?

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.

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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Betrayal

'Pon the cliff he stood so proud,

bethinking glories in the days gone past.

Victories won with blades flashing hard,

smiting all who dared to waylay his path.

Riding with the valorous, more brothers than comrades,

honoring the mortals immortalised by their deeds.

Fair he was, to foes, broken and defeated,

winning over hearts with kindness befitting a king.

His foes vanquished and kingdoms conquered,

he dreamt of ballads sung to honor their deeds.

Thus stood he, lost in glories achieved,

looking over his lands stretched beyond mortal sight.

The hand laid on his shoulder, to a brother belonged.

Alas! T'was too late to know the purpose of the hand.

One hand fastening on his shoulder,

the other driving in the blade.

Grief overwhelmed him, driving away the pain,

As the blade pierced his heart ringing his death knell,

his eyes seeking answer, met with the betrayer's.

Regret he saw first, overcome by jealousy.

'O my brother!' said the King, 'may you be blessed and live a life long!

Remember though that jealousy is unworthy of a king to be.

I beseech to thee to leave it be, for a mighty heart befits a king.'

And then he fell down the cliff, plummeting down helplessly,

till he was but a speck of sand, lost in the dunes of eternity.

In Hibernation

'Tis a time to slog not to frolic and play.

Thus says the clock commanding attention.

The mind struggles on, wanting plenty to say.

Mourning the days of coerced hibernation.

Random Musings

A lonely Drop in the vast ocean,

Tossed and turned and by the wind blown.

Journeying seven lands, over mountains and stones,

never in control, I wonder does it ever moan?

A Beam of sunlight bringing hope to all,

clearing the shadows wherever it falls.

Warming all hearts, gladdening all spirits,

who gives her the joy that she rightly merits?

The delicate Lotus standing tall amidst the filth,

Praised by all, it floats unnoticed, adrift.

Beauty it radiates, shining pearls on its leaves,

Surrounded by squalor, does it rejoice or grieve?

Standing proud and majestic, towering above all,

Unyielding to nature, come summer, spring, or fall.

Thus stands the mighty Oak, sheltering the lost wayfarer.

Neither tales nor songs speak of the behemoth’s valor.

Random thoughts drift ‘cross the mind,

Queries aplenty, no answers to find.

The many hues conflict, in the cauldron they strife.

Is this why they say it’s a wonderful life?

Life at a stop

For anyone living in the city, traffic jams are as much part of our lives as getting up, having food, going back to sleep, and other such mundane things. Curse them, bless them, or just sulk and ruin your mood, the one thing that you cannot do is ignore them. This poem was penned down while I was caught in one such traffic jam.

I sit in the bus staring out the window

Wondering at the chaos and the melee under the streetlight's glow

The cacophony of noises makes my head go woozy

The smoke and dust make everything seem hazy.

The sun is setting and the tempers rising

The bikes find their way while the cars keep on honking.

A stream of expletives here and the waving of fists there

Frustration, despair, and anger cloud the very air.

Like a matador in the ring, the signal waves red

Standing tall and stoic, it makes you wither under its gaze

It has a will of its own and cares not for the throng

You can do naught but wait 'til it waves you along.

Put one foot wrong and the guardians come calling

They make you beg and whimper, till you are a sight too appalling

Portly and bumbling, they form a strange tribe,

law-breakers they call us though they don't say no to a bribe.

A moment's hesitation and you miss an opportunity

to snake up your way through the rabble of the city.

A scratch on the fender, a dent in the door,

each scar on a ride speaks tales galore.

Mundane things in life can pose great ironies

Raising questions strange which forever remain mysteries.

For the answers lie in the very essence of human nature,

which after thousands of years is still a conjecture.

Life's too fast, there's no time to smell the roses,

is the reason often offered for the lack of reposes.

And yet caught in the slow lane raises angry voices,

and makes one wonder about the sanity of the masses.

For isn't this a time to sit back and relax,

listen to a song till reality pulls you back.

My mind whirls in confusion, these thoughts clattering inside,

as the signal gives a nod and we carry on with our ride.

Waiting for the gallows

Reviews are one of the never ending sagas of life. When in college Professors prefer to call them as Vivas; moving into professional life, they take the forms of code reviews (for IT professionals), product reviews, appraisals, and so on. This short poem was a result of waiting for one such review.

I sit in a room thinking all alone,

the deep contemplation spreads a chill through my bones.

My palm sweats with abandon, my eyes seem to burn,

every way that I look, there's misery at every turn.

A wrong definition will set the tongues yapping,

if a page doesn't open, they say, "Where's the mapping?"

Miss a functionality and they put you on the noose,

you spell the product wrong and all hell is let loose.

Flawed beings that we are, we love to scoff,

spotting mistakes made by others, we love to show off.

Little do we realize in all the finger pointing and more,

a mind free of malice can solve problems galore.

It's time to end this rambling, and get back to work,

as I sit in a room no longer alone.

Evading the Question...

Another meeting...another poem...a short one this time.

"I'll get back to you."

is what all say when they have no clue

about what they've got to do.

It's a fact that we all know is true.

"There's no time now, we will take this off line."

seems to be everyone's byline.

They may say they have no time

though truth be told they pray for intervention divine.

"I have some work now, we will discuss it later."

is their way of telling you that you should have known better.

You are asking them question on such a terrifying matter,

that rather than answer you, they wrestle and alligator.

Oh what is this conundrum that defines human nature!

Doesn't he comprehend that a safe today doesn't mean a question free future?

But as they all say, as you sow so shall you reap,

so you may find yourself guilty if in the past you may peek.

A day in the life of...

I wrote this poem while attending one of the endless stream of meetings that are a part of the corporate life. It's senseless (so don't try and make any sense of it), stupid (so please don't try to find any deeper meaning in it), and is borne out of a deep desperation to avoid going to sleep during the meeting.

Sitting in a big square room,

I bite my nails as the big shots croon,

they tell of their plans to conquer the world,

with nothing in stead but a bunch of nerds.

They yap and they babble, about things unheard of,

"Hear ye!!!", says the leader, "we will beat all competition off!!!"

we nod in agreement with no clue nor hint,

numbness takes over the brain as we watch his eyes glint.

"Just get the product out!!!", says the thin bald guy,

but what do we do if no one's ready to buy?

this is the buzzing in one and all's mind,

the answer to which neither sane nor insane man can find.

The fingers go on clicking and the slides go on sliding,

all the meetings and presentations bring along more bad tidings,

some feature's not working and the UI's gone kaput,

the database's been overloaded and there's still so much to put.

Then they turn to documentation and then it's time to pray,

with all eyes upon us, "Where's the UI?" we say,

the developers squirm in their seat,

embarrassed to see their aura getting beat.

Boldly gets up their chief and surveys the crowd,

"Gentleman", he proclaims, "what's life without some mystery and shroud?"

amidst all the bewilderment and nerves that finally seem to fray,

"The meeting's over", he says with a lazy smile, "please help yourselves to the samosas on the tray."

P.S: This poem is a work of fiction. All the characters and events described in this poem are fictional and bear no resemblance to any living character or actual event. Any resemblance is purely co-incidental.

Walking into the light

"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman


"O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish;

what good amid these, O me, O life?"

Answer: That you are here; that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?"

                                                     - John Keating, 'Dead Poets Society'

The clouds looked dark and the wind howled loud,
the lonely wanderer walked through it all without a shred of doubt,
a grim smile on his face and his fears put to test,
he made his way through the raging tempest.

The trees were shaking,
beneath the stern gaze of the storm they were quaking,
the sword of lightning wrought havoc with each stroke,
amidst all this he stood tall akin to an oak.

The river was raging,
against the wind a war it was waging,
but he swam through the river,
and not once did his heart shiver.

The night grew cold,
but the traveler stood bold,
it was a battle of wills,
bringing forth all their skills.

The winds screamed louder,
and the lightning smote harder,
the wanderer’s heart grew darker,
and his steps seemed to falter.

Then the veil of clouds parted,
with a spear of light it was thwarted,
the spirits of the nature seemed uplifted,
and the gloom and the darkness departed.

The wanderer raised his head and looked heavenwards,
there was joy in his eyes and he was lost for words,
he fell to his knees, his mind no more misted,
and with peace in his heart, the tranquil morning his eyes feasted.

Hi all...I must have been very depressed when I wrote this poem. That's the only way one can write such a crappy poem...but still, it's my blog...so I guess I can pretty much write in whatever I want...any way here goes....

LOST
A drop in the ocean,
A cloud in the sky,
I see me in them,
I am lost, I am lost.

I know not where to go,
the horizon's out of sight,
the anguish grows and the fears seem to put on a fight,
I am lost, I am lost.

Yesterday seems far away,
today seems too good to stay,
tomorrow is a hope that seems to sway,
I am lost, I am lost.

My mind cannot see beyond thd haze,
the path ahead seems to be a maze,
the possibilities of failure never cease to amaze,
I am lost, I am lost.