Dilemma Of A Seaman Ashore

I have the boat, yes
And the tide, and sail;
Yet I am afraid to set
Lest my fate should fail.

And then these numerous tales
Of storm and perish, kaput;
From seamen, old and worn,
Advice me to stay put.

My mind firm on shore,
But heart leaps for sea;
For the curtain’d fancy
And Pollyanna’s ecstasy.

Amidst such fracas I stand
To decide ’pon inviting waters;
Whether I should risk plunge
Or avoid unfortunate totters!?

For despite the charming tide,
There will be no guarantee;
That it may turn hostile
And wash me down in sea.

I do not fear destruction,
I have a sailor’s heart;
But I ponder my dear,
What difference’ll it impart!

Is it just to be ignominy, or
There be any glory in death;
Will I sink a forgotten failure
Or be remembered till last breath?

Which shall be my destiny,
I can not say for sure;
This is the unforgiving dilemma,
Of a seaman standing ashore.

Sound Of Silence

Long forgotten and bygone
Are those olden times,
Days of whispered notes
And tingle chimes.

When whispered chirps of land-dwellers
Would sweet notes inscribe,
And strike harmony with
Mystical echoes of ocean tribe.

The music that once lived
Nourished in living chords,
Has since become a noise
A commodity of metal cords.

And earth, whither peaceful Eden
Once, in all beauty, prevailed,
Is a mayhem of bastards' screams
Where Pandemonium shall be hailed.

Confused infants redden existence
In senseless, split-throat cries,
In these metal-worshippers
Music chokes, struggles and dies.

Their tumultuous wails
Doth heavens shake,
Estranged from melody
Lutes doth records break.

Each one with its own hate for world
Giveth angels up above close shave,
Howls and yells and vibrating lutes
Maketh gentle Mozart turn in grave.

And half-clad metal'd swans
Shake their beings to Devil's tone,
The purity of their white corrupt
And coloured shameless, skin to bone.

Eyes aged long before time
Ears weary of sirens' noise,
Sickening stomach, numb head
Can't take another decibel of voice.

So speak not my friend
Don't add to the nonsense,
Peaceful is the deaf world
Hush! Listen to sound of silence.

Tears

 The mist that
Clouded the eyes
And blurred truth
The one that
Lifeless numb mind
Failed to see
To which heart
Failed to agree
Mayhem of shadows
Moving and screeching
Like meaningless patches
Alive and illuminated
Like curtain'd sleep
Contrasted against light
Felt but unseen
Straining the head
Soulless and un-living
Drowned in delirium
Pining for Elysium
Vitals seemingly dead
When lids blinked
On pumice stones
Juiced a drop
And one other
Then yet another
Till saline stream
Wet the lip
And mouth gasped
That first breath
Being flinched by
Sudden rush of
Sharp blinding light
As mist lifted
And mirage dissolved
Blinds torn apart
Revealing the truth
Naming drops fallen
So truly, 'tears'.

Corruption Is Counted Sweetest

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

 

Corruption is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er cheat.
To comprehend this nectar
Requires an honest breed.

Not one of all the corrupt
Who took the bribe today
Can tell the definition
So clear of the booty.

As he, the honest, the fool,
Through whose forbidding  ears
Distant rustles and jingling
Pierce like unforgiving spears!


With all due respect and apologies to Emily Dickinson,

Yours Truly :-)

My Truth...In The End

Monday, December 3, 2012

 

We, who are born of dust
shall crumble to it soon,
Though, none can tell by
what fateful cycle of moon.

Whether we come full circle
or greet end at end of a line,
Not even wisest can tell all
ends to this entangled vine.

So whose truth shall I trust
I've never owned any of mine,
All I know is that I drag life
but a quarter mile at a time.

Life's too unpredictable see
to be thought of that far,
Even predators soaring high
are bound to mortal VFR!

What is what, who is when,
which, where, how and why,
Sorcery of interpretation 'tis
all of it a wretch'd damn lie.

Not of the great halls of
those fabricated dreams,
Nor promise of deliverance
which false messiah feigns.

My end, neither in a heaven
nor in the hell shall meet,
Those are show for privileged
ones who can afford a seat.

Will I ever...ever go yonder
to Golden Halls, I can't say,
Even the ferryman respects
only the customers who pay.

Pay by their great riches
or by even greater deeds,
Before angels above or below
can tend to their eternal needs.

But what of the commoner
who can not pay the price,
In riches, who is humble
nor in deeds is he wise?

Neither tyrant, nor savior
I am your man of regular sin,
My only truth, perhaps, is
the dust I shall crumble in.

Dreary Ballad Of Reason-dead Rhymes...

Thursday, January 13, 2011

"I can't find the rhyme in all my reason
Lost sense of time and all seasons
Feel I've been beaten down
By the words of men who have no grounds

Can't sleep beneath the trees of wisdom
When your ax has cut the roots that feed them
Forked tongues in bitter mouths
Can drive a man to bleed from inside out"

- What If (Creed)

ECHO OF CONSCIENCE

For all the whimpering, whining, complaining
That I endured in your matterless chatter,
Ever thought, 'How these men with no grounds
Came to gain Higher ground and began to matter?'

While they rejoiced evil and scorched the sky
You were caught up in this low life rat race,
And today you lament loss of reason from rhyme
When your ignorance put them there in first place.

It's not their presence, but it's your absence
That lay bridges of doom for their admission,
No Helen shall take blame for this Troy burnt
But your own suicidal tendencies for submission.

A Tea To Thee...

Sunday, October 17, 2010

On a fine morning much like today, 

She sighed and said, "I need tea"
My failing earpiece misheard,
And I thought she mentioned me.

It was a glorious, bless’d morrow,
My mortals leaped after my heart
I was her chosen frog yet again
Not a forgotten, sulking ol' fart.

Far and wide we two had travelled,
Not long ago (yet an age), I and she
And for the greater sake of Ours,
In worldly strife, exiled Me and Thee.

The peaceful equilibrium of monotony,
For years we practised and perfected,
Till that spark, rekindled, sent me back
To very shore from which we defected.

I twirled on to centre of her stage
And, as my audience took the seat,
I then landed with as much grace
As I could muster in two left feet.

But, I had forgotten that iceberg,
The one I’d help build to the tip,
Which stood between our hearts
Eyeing to sink my hope’s last ship.

With one distant, impassive look,
She dismissed this love display,
Only an awkward stare to offer,
Moan, a grunt, but nothing to say.

Yet, a battle-hardened soldier I was,
I met bravely with flurry of ice picks,
‘Hit me with all ye have, for, I too
Bring a bagful of charm-school tricks.’

I searched my deep, ancient lines
For that one last seductive smile,
One that’ll do old man the favour
Of walking that last tiresome mile.

I prevailed upon my pumice rocks
To squeeze them for a tear or two,
And tell my dejected sweetheart
‘With all my might, I still love you.’

I drained all my emotional leftovers,
"My Love," said I, "I too need thee,"
But, on that fine morning, my dear,
All she said, "Thank you! Just tea."

Untitled

Monday, October 15, 2012

 

Our world has come to what end
Where others' misery is our friend,
And others' promising tomorrow
Finds foundation in our sorrow.

On A Restless Summer Night...

Sunday, June 3, 2012

 

Day is running rather late today
Rose when it should've nooned,
Lost course on a sleepless night
Where 'twas hopelessly marooned.

Unwilling eyes refused to close
By miles dreams had missed mark,
Left me in semi-conscious limbo
Trading riddles with the dark.

Of Sunshine And Rain...

Monday, June 6, 2011

Random thought of a beautiful mind
Tired of lying in the sunshine
Staying home to watch the rain
You are young and life is long
And there is time to kill today


My humble response

Tried lying out on a bright day
Instead of bliss got a blister;
Atrocity of sun in earth's oven
Menacing, diabolical, sinister.

So I dashed indoors, cursing,
Calling sun names of all kinds;
Wishing summer to shove sweet
And rid us of light that blinds.

My blinds drawn on boiling world
Like a fallen angel of the dark I hid;
Till rain gods, to my rescue, came
Horde of droplets to do their bid.

Out I rushed, with arms wide open
To meet and greet world renewed;
Be soaked to bone in the blessing of
Overcast heavens as thunder ensued.

As my own hell washed away, I stood,
Wondering about you on other side;
Walking in a parallel creation indoors,
Alone as I, with your own time to bide.

Are you, forever, destined to stay home
Watch the wild wild world come and go;
Misshapen, distorted and blurred by
Rain snakes slithering down the window?

Of youth and long life, dear, I tell you
Their promises draw false breath;
Like wise Penelope’s shrewd shroud,
Playing Ostrich with suitor of death.

To live like there’s always a tomorrow,
And kill the minions of Mighty Time;
I marvel at idea of being your Marvell,
Fantasizing how coyness were a crime.

But I sing not another man’s lament,
I tell you the song that’s in my heart;
Give you my hand to cross this chasm
To join me in this rain for the start.

A Lament's Loss...Just In Time

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

As I stood on the far side of today,
Looking into the abyss of tomorrow;
A dread of fateful plunge imminent,
Sleep ceded eyes heavy with sorrow.

And when clock struck devil's hour,
All but I stopped dead in the track;
My ears imagined malicious footfall,
A hoary hand almost crept up my back.

My heart then skipped a beat and two,
And foreboding chill numbed my spine;
My trouble calculator was fluctuating
Betwixt threes and nine times nine.

But before figment of my imagination,
Could let puerile fear grip my sanity;
A voice shattered that silent moment,
With authority, but none of its vanity.

Cold, distant, yet kind and alleviating,
It demanded, "Why must dost thou thus;
Drag thy morns, sit thine nights glum,
Make every day of thine such a fuss!?"

Flabbergasted and rendered speechless,
I strained hard my dim wits and sight;
To map this voice to the sublime face,
And bring the kind speaker to light.

Flickering stump of my dying candle,
Couldn't even illumine the very first mile;
Yet some distant faint hope within me,
Kindled warmth of uncommonly kind smile.

Queerly appeased, yet full of nagging doubt,
I gagged 'Who? Where? What? How? Why?'
Then, bashful of mine own unintelligibility,
Almost disowned my shamed face so wry.

Benignly, it replied, "Now, hear hear,
Before thou art reduced to all fours;
Tell me thine mind my troubled child,
Don't argue whithertos and whyfores."

Brooding into emptiness, I thus began,
"No matter how hard I try to hold a day
It eludes my yearning grasp by yards,
From my hands these moments slip away.

I become dimmer and grimmer every hour
My dreams can no longer hold their sway;
Left to my demons, I sit and witness
Tenebrous carnival of my mortal decay.

Caught in tenterhooks I do my own books,
Seeking in my sealed fate some levity;
I add my blessings and subtract my sins,
Only to be left with sheer negativity.

Oft did I debate with space and self,
What if it be truth all that folklore;
If that end I dread be indeed all dead,
Which I shall bribe the ferryman for?

I unwrap gift of my present mindlessly,
And commit it to God's acre behind me;
I am my only illumination in these parts,
Not really a bright one though, I agree.

My world, thus, is a dimly-lit alley,
Pitch black all around for the rest;
To be every day is an act of faith,
And a fool's hope to survive the test."

Having embellished my plight thus far,
Gave it a well-rehearsed dramatic pause;
Some Ahs and Ah-Mes, mayhap tears,
And, if it be my lucky day, an applause.

But my theatrics tonight met their bane,
In even graver silence of my audience;
Invisible eyes rendered my soul bare,
They held me with the gaze so intense.

Unanticipatedly stage had switched courts,
And I was now trembling with anticipation;
Spectator at mercy of a bigger showman,
Severed from self by sudden deracination.

I felt measured for every inch absolute,
And surrendered to this mutual silence;
Like a low man robbed of his last lyric,
My wit abandoned all effort to make sense.

And then it spoke, still distant but kind,
"Heart deceives thee into imagining much;
A good instrument to pump life in veins,
Not for rushing head with thoughts as such.

What picture of tomorrow thou shall see,
If color and canvas be equally aphotic;
Thou art dimly-lit by thine own two hands,
Letting go hope, getting on thine own wick.

Instead of trying to hold sands of Time,
Get a hold of thyself, let go of this sorrow;
Do not lose wonderful today that be now,
To world that may or may not be tomorrow.

Peering too far into fickle future dear lad,
Is why thou see'st nothing but sheer gloom;
Now short-sighted thou'st be for change,
And see thine world's spring in full bloom."

Gentle light alighted and illumined my world,
As I, humbled, sat down to pen this rhyme;
Watching a Father figure recede in distance,
The eternally divine silhouette of Mighty Time.

What Makes Me And My Valentine Click!?

February 14, 2010 (2040 hrs)

Pondering over the question asked,
In retrospect, I sometimes wonder,
Over sweet nothings said, unsaid,
That in our distant past still wander.

What was it that brought me to her,
Her to me, and two of us together,
To fall in sweet love, only to rise in it
That too, in most adverse weather!?

Was it that very first moment,
That had lent me Icarian wings,
To rise and embrace Hellnic sun
Fearless of the fall it brings!?

Or was it being best of strangers,
When our friends saddened the eye,
Unconditional friends to each other,
That time’s tides may as well try!?

Or was it our two mutual fears,
To dare love and to trust again,
To fancy another Venus-flight,
Be deceived to another pain!?

Was it the way in which she healed me
That first made me fear clock’s chime,
The one in which she would vanish,
And leave footprints in the sand of time!?

Or was it the black night cursed,
Or the morning prayer that I said,
To savor the light of my day that
Brightened in every step she tread!?

Or was it her confession of love
That echoed like a slow dance,
On the racing (heart)beats of
The most wonderful romance!?

Was it the first storm of patient love,
That subsided to leave us stronger,
Or dreams to reap fields of our sow,
When I could question no longer!?

Or was it the hour of mutual solitude,
When love’s silent gaze enthralled me,
Wishful fantasies, those long-preserved
In amber of time, at last liberating free!?

Or was it her sweet remembrance,
Before icicle of clocked-love melted,
When like two determined children,
Time’s stubborn windows we pelted!?

I cannot say for sure which of these
Binds us together in divine bond,
And bring her and me together,
For this life, eternity and beyond.

So when they come and ask me,
“What makes you and her click?”
I say, “A bit of every snapshot,
You’re welcome to take your pick.”

Of Mondays...

February 1, 2010 (0717 hrs)
In response to a friend who “is curious to know how Monday feels being the most hated day of the week just because it had the misfortune of being placed right after Sunday !!”

Were it ever lent a human tongue to speak,
Monday would answer with a cheerful squeak.
"I actually feel fine," it would reply,
"Just like any other day...pick any on fly."

"To hate, to love are but petty human traits,
We Days are above them, and so are the Dates.
If only they would learn to 'really' work hard,
Rather than posting hate-mails on my backyard..."

In Response To Byron...

October 11, 2009 (1326 hrs)
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

- Lord Byron

In response to Byron...
For what it's worth, I still mourn,
The loss of green and woods forlorn.
Once pathless and sublime these ways,
Now bleed, carved with human gaze.
'Tis human way to everything defined,
To have, in its control, all confined.
Sea's roars, to music no longer subscribe,
But loss of mystical echoes of ocean tribe.
Its lament rises, and falls to deaf ears,
Of most pandemonic burden that earth bears.
What once was real, is now a fairy tale,
Lost are depths of sea, woods grow frail.
For man's nature, O Byron, plagues all,
Your fancy of pleasure is but a droll.
We ripp'd all nature but our animal within,
Nay, our real world is hell of our own sin.
The dream you sell, we lost it long ago,
That first disobedience, brought us all our woe.
But let it not turn you in your eternal sleep,
Your fantasy is still forever yours to keep.