Four Decades And A Poem
Page 3
never heard gurgling like a brook
but being cried in darkness.
I feel like a childless man
seeing other children play
counting each year
in moments you would grow before my eyes,
filled with nothing but silent tears in a collided world…
Food for Thought
Every morning
the newspaper comes with hot news
like bread from the oven,
spiced with salt and pepper from the cruet:
the combined cooking of circumstances,
and twisting it
to dance and play in the minds of the readers,
like food, savored.
Silence
Silence is,
Shutting yourself from the world
when things go wrong,
and missing out on the good things in life.
Silence is,
When your crying is over,
and you begin to realize
that all things happen for good.
Silence is,
The time a mother waits ‘til her son,
lost at war, is flown home,
and touches his face., that one last time.
Silence is,
When two people embrace and kiss
each other tenderly,
while the candlelight burns their passion.
Silence is,
The yearning for food during a famine,
the absence of food going down,
or a small sip of water.
Silence is,
Denying the truth without speaking
or failing to stand up and face reality,
letting the wrong go by.
Silence is,
Your brief moment with the Lord,
His temple, the path on which
your prayer travels to His ears.
The Millionaire (Monorhyme)
In his hazy life’s days, sitting in his chair,
Face covered in wrinkles and unkempt hair,
Staring into a void of solitude and despair,
Wondering how this doom befell, from where?
for someone as rich as he, a millionaire.
Never found time to account and square,
Never took time to beware or be aware,
A whore a day and also an extra marital affair,
Banks now empty, home, silent and bare
with no one for company and no one to care,
No wife, son or daughter for an heir,
He blames his own destiny for being unfair.
~*~
crimson ball of light
fills the immense ocean bowl
as birds fly homeward
~*~
Notice Board
Clothed in felt, velvety envious green,
Pins of rust on his face,
Spotlight focusing his performance
He hangs on the crafted wall,
Glass keeping him from breathing
Reflecting unexpected eyes,
looking with
scorn, sadness, satisfaction and surprise.
From his rigid place.
He announces without guilt or pride
the failures and successes
elections and selections
schedules and memos,
news of sorts, where anything goes.
vulnerable, abused, accursed.
Tongue Twister
Keep kicking kegs, can you clap and keep kicking clanking kegs?
keep kicking kegs as cool crowd claps to kegs’ clicking caps
kick clicking caps and keep kicking kegs as crowd cackles and claps your gags
as you clap and kick clicking caps and keep kicking clanging kegs.
Unspoken Goodbyes
When love is fading,
both hearts hear the rhythm of goodbye.
No words, whatsoever
leave anybody, broken,
as no words,
are left to be spoken.
When love is fading,
both souls hear the wailing of goodbye.
No excuses need to be given
and nothing remains mistaken,
as all understanding
has been stolen.
When love is fading,
Both minds read the face of goodbye.
No expression goes unnoticed
when your face is fallen,
as your once brightened life
begins to darken.
When love has finally faded
goodbye remains
just a word…
Unspoken
What Then?
What can be the end of all this pain?
How much more can you damage my soul?
The least you can do is see my end
what then, when I’m no more in this world?
What then is the answer to your question?
How long would you live with a wrong notion?
The least you can do is mistake my death
and be satisfied that I have been wrong.
But then, someday the lie will be unhidden
What then will you do to repair the pain
The loss that can never be regained
What then my dearest? What then?
***
season’s first rain ~
highlights trees, calms dust
nobody sneezes
***
Kites ~ Tanka a Suite
Diamonds in the sky
dance in the wind, wild and free
to the tune of strings.
Tiny hands of naughty kids
control their fun and frolic.
~~*~~
Colors dodge the clouds
as kites sway and eagles swirl
harmoniously.
The kites pray for stronger winds
so strings may break to fly free.
~~*~~
Strings slip through slyly
while kites fly wild and free
torn by winds and trees.
Helplessly sleep on high hills
never again to fly free.
Hick! anazer zrink bleezz
Pay day, drink and make merry day
squander with friends waiting at the square
the barmaid too, would get her pay
dressed to impress with flowers in her hair.
Showing little cleavage just for tease
looking seductive in the clothes she’s wearin’
pouring prime pegs for men to appease
peeling, revealing a few hidden inches of skin.
Extended happy hours just for a day
make drinking painless and shed a fake tear
until it makes them stagger and sway
pick a fight, turn tables, make cops appear.
Eyes turn, clothes covered in puke
muttering and swearing, in persona of a fool
making tongues talk, reason for rebuke
being irresponsible and ignoring life’s rule.
Wives and children waiting at home
while their men lay drunken, sleeping on road
unconscious and mouth full of foam,
waking in the wee hours as spirits mellowed.
Debt begins right from next day on
Adulteration too, as settlements come slow
barmaid dressed as modest as a nun
quiet and plai
ntive as she is a poor widow.
Family alive on things being pawned
the men make no effort, drinking on and on
though these sickos have been warned
before they lose their lives and are all gone.
Body, Mind and Soul
Fear crept,
Pulse raced,
Lungs quivered,
Chest sighed,
Breath shortened,
Stomach numbed,
Tongue dried,
Skin, pretending,
Eyes flooded,
Visions reel.
Fingers: insane,
Trust betrayed,
Blood boils,
Soul crushed,
Spirit smothered,
Dreams shattered,
Thoughts frozen,
Hope stolen,
Heart broken,
Life devastated,
Memory lasts…
Ranjo Macaro
You were born with me -
Dad brought you home
in his overall pocket!
and had already named you
while they were still deciding mine.
We grew as brothers,
with lot of rivalry, jealousy,
for many a times, you were the baby
of the family, instead of me,
we fought: I wanted your bone and you gnawed my ball.
I knew you well and you knew me…
perfectly well.
You’d follow me to the hills,
through the fields and to the lake,
afraid of the water,
standing afar, shaking your tail.
We had our times…
Then as fate would have her way,
cancer took you away…
It was sad, it was painful,
it was painful to see you sad
and sad to see you in pain.
It was sad to see you die,
But we had to, for the good for you and I.
The Calling
If mankind were a rainbow,
All races would lie side of each other,
If grass could talk,
it would relate its pain to Rwandan soil,
how the angry rain takes away its life.
If I were an angel,
I would rest on the arms of the moon,
I’d paint no hues or taint the skies.
If only my hopes wouldn’t wander
like a traveler on a lonely island,
and my wishes,
didn’t dare to look as petty
as a poor man’s craving
for leftovers of someone else’s meal,
If my dreams,
were not like parched surfaces of the earth,
My desires, subtle and fresh,
as a new born baby,
thirsting for its mother’s breasts,
would journey through the glistening
ambiance of the happy world below,
and touch what’s untouched…
Then I would bow down to my destiny
for fulfilling the calling.
~*~
peace of mighty sea
lost in a destructive wake ~
heed nature’s warning
~*~
Forlorn
Constance,
concealed a heart of gold,
people pressed her palms in theirs
and flowed emotions from their eyes.
She touched lives,
touched everything that gathered dust,
kept her home spic-and-span.
Often, she sat alone, sad and unhealthy,
shedding nothing but light
on what she needed in life…
Throwing parties for company
cooking a five-course meal
and doing the dishes all by herself,
she relaxed and sighed after
all her guests left.
No more parties at seventy she thinks,
her friends perhaps,
are too weak to make it…
The Rose
What does the world find
enchanting in a rose,
when all I can see is pain?
What beauty is it they talk about,
the beauty of a moment or two,
leaving the bees and butterflies
unquenched when it withers?
I feel the thorns hurting
tender hands,
Its fragrance smelling of death:
Petals strewn over the grave,
I see petals torn by lovers
when love falls apart
falling like drops of blood
from the heart
tears flowing as the soul departs.
Another gate and Pomelos
Your gate was broken
and you’d lay logs across it,
sitting in your verandah,
watching for cows and children
(as you had a lazy dog)
jumping over your fence for your magnolias.
Little did you know
that amidst the weeds and vines,
older children made way into your backyard,
stealing pomelos
that you thought were still
not ready for selling!
When the Wandering
is Over
When the wandering is over
we shall return home,
Forever…
They all marched home
walking through several valleys
and mountains of life
until they finally returned home
where their bodies lie at rest
on fruitful, fertile earth,
looking only at serene skies
where there is no more pain,
heartaches or tears.
where lush grass and wild flowers
sway to requiems,
trampled by mortal men.
Just as them,
this home is made for us,
mortal men.
Thus, when the wandering is over
we too shall return home,
Forever…
Watered Down
While cicadas and birds’ chirping
readied to welcome the sun,
the freezing breeze kept the cans fresh,
full of milk and secrets.
Our strength was litmus
and mother always felt the milk was doing no good
for our nutrition,
complaining everyday but left without choice,
continuing, buying the milk.
She was a firm believer: fresh milk is best for children’s bones,
although our milkman eclipsed her faith
with his schematic smile.
His luxuries sprawled,
his kids wore torn uniforms no more,
his roof stopped leaking, cattle-shed widened threefold.
It’s good.
Over the years, rural development agencies
changed the lives of many
one, that of our milkman, another, my mother.
Milk sold cheaper and packed hygienically
was available in plenty
pure and creamy
delivered in vans instead of cans
and in every nook and corner.
Mother was content at this revolution,
she didn’t want to hear ab
out the reasons
of the milkman anymore,
and why he sold translucent milk.
Take Him Home
Alone on the park bench, he sits
wearing a monkey cap,
a pullover,
a scarf covers his neck,
shoes covered in cement,
munching Marie biscuits.
He seems rather sad,
a polyurethane bag lays at his feet,
print, barely readable.
A stray cat brushes against his legs,
like she’s known him for years
and like, she knows his pain.
She knows he won’t scare her away.
His eyes tell a story,
for passersby
and those who have the time to read it.
Son, take your father home,
You are all he’s got.
Don’t ask yourself if he belongs there,
He is the reason of your existence,
He was all when your mother died,
Living for you in the nighttime
and dying for you at daytime.
Take him home son.
Ready
Door lock clicks in the midnight lamp
Your body like the desert dunes warms the room
Perhaps it’s the heat of an Arabic atmosphere
that you bathe in my showering sweat.
You burn the oil while the buds get ready to bloom
With lips like pink rose petals over my copper skin
Our bodies like orchards ready for harvest
with fruits firmly ripened and ready to devour.
Dousing the fire we wait for the rain to dry
Smelling the passionate fragrances of the earth
Relishing the flavors more and more and more.
It’s time to eat the fruits before they’re overripe
and as their sweet smell builds the appetite
eating until we’re fully consumed and born again.
The Peepal Leaf
Dying
Fallen in the howling wind
under the pale moonlight
from the boatman’s wife’s garden ~
you float
on the surface of the pond
bordered by lush grass
swaying in the breeze: mocking you,
drifting where the wind takes you
along the bank and uncertainties,
refusing to disembark,