Poems & Essays

Some faith is like iron. And others like the candle in the wind- standing against all adversity, it tries to hold on to its beliefs. It's a constant and everyday effort. And everyday the candle learns more and more how to burn and bend and flicker till the day it goes out. What is left behind is the legacy of its burning, to coax aside the darkness engulfing otherwise even if for a short while. The battle that was its life will be its only testament to those who fight for their faith, their conscience and that's a silent inheritance passed on by candles - to burn selflessly and with all the conviction.

Faithfully yours,

Save me from this rhetorical deluge!

Words all around, drowning me,

Them too hollow, none too strong,

I see a multitude standing by,

On crutches of 'ifs' and 'buts',

Watching me die.

Oh for some silent honesty,

The cobwebs were many,

They covered the precicnts with silkened threads,

And let the dust bed on them,

Like that,  a curtain was made,

That no sunlight permeated.

Within that dense veil, she resided happily,

The damsel , lone and yet lively,

In what she thought was paradise.

Sometimes her heart skipped a  beat,

When a waft of wind suddenly brought in fragrance,

When a bird chirped outside the skylight,

She could not help feeling

What she couldn't articulate as wonderment.

The caretakers' sound once in a while told her,

Of filial duty, and many other in a long list,

No Prince came looking by

There were none left. 

And so passed the years,

And she kept waiting for some unknown call,

All this time , she had been gathering the sparks within,

And one day, the sun rose from inside,

No cobwebs could mask its light, 

For it shone with the strength of a much greater right,

Next time when I look at the moon,

I would be looking at Monsieur Bezoz?

Would he want to repaint the moon ,

And that ever- loved celestial being

Would it soon resemble a pop art?

Next time I see the moon,

I will thank her,

For all the poems it had inspired,

Some souvenir to go by.

The leak

Did tell you about the leak,

Warned many times,

About this leak in the house,

In my heart...

Told everyone,

Told all the helpless multitude,

Told God even...

Why did they all keep quiet,

Did nothing,

While it all eroded in this leak,

In the house,

In the heart...

Well now, it's been sometime now, right?

How long would it have lasted,

Before it ran dry, everything,

In this daily leak, in the house,

The roads are too slippery,

Should take double care,

Not to slip and fall,

And not to respond to every call.

Let me breathe free,

Let me fill my lungs,

With the sweet air of freedom,

Of love, of faith.

Why do you keep pushing me down,

Let me connect with all that is mine.

Let me, let me.

My happiness is not for you to walk on,

My dreams are not for you to trample under,

I am what I am,

And I want to breathe free.

Sure, I wil do this and that,

And forget me in between;

Sure I will laugh and work,

The show must go on;

Sure, I will don all the finery,

And everything to look fine;

And sure, of course, I will  not know,

When during nights,

Enveloped by the soothing dark,

And the cricket's lament,

I will not know,

Oh not know,

Or care,

To pick up the pieces this time,

A broken heart's chime.

These days, the hooded sage as he is,

Doubly screened,

Far from the madding crowd,

Seems less tensed.

He looks a trifle less at the sky,

Which he does, more from force of habit.

He looks with a lot of pleasure,

At the dense canopy around,

And not far among the verdant green,

There is a flash of red,

The flame-red message he had been waiting for-

An outburst of floral conversation,

For such is the manner in which God converses through Nature.

From within the casque,

The hornbill utters a guttural bark,

Of joy, of relief.

The flame of the forest cries out its text,

It's but the harbinger of the rains.

Open to all to see,

For nature seldom hides but for a reason.

After the winter's tale,

It's nature's time to thrill.

"My peacock-tree!" Calls the giant with affection,

"My kindred spirit!

You and I are lovers of the same,

I wait for while you herald the much-awaited guest".

One among the many poems in nature,

Is the seasonal conversation between the two,

The hornbill in its wait to quench his thirst,

The self-resigned recluse,

Keep happening.

Somedays, nothing makes sense.

They say there is light at the end of the tunnel? Wisdom at the end of life?  What use is it then? Better to have happened when life was there.

So did Shakespeare say that life is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury? Then why God would have created life?

Was it the weakness of a moment, an accident that once started just kept going and going on and on...

Somedays, no matter what you do, you can't like or be liked. Is there such an emotion at all? How can you say you like another person when all that happens is control , jealousy, power...

Blessed childhood! They say beginnings matter. Only them. That is where life is. Where God is! Amidst all the pathos of living, being the child is the only sane thing that will save you. 

So that's why Dear life, dear child, you have to happen and keep happening.. cz u are closest to God and so are you the father of man. A give and take btw generations. Childhood is the smile, the one part amidst all sound and fury that makes sense.

Sunrises are beginning to mornings; sunsets, of nights. The crescent moon is the beginning to a fullmoon. And that's why it's a smile like childhood. A smile to the world in the beginning and.a smile to oneself during the waning. Wonder man ever grew up or grew down!

Waiting for the rain, really. Some respite from this sweltering heat!

Blinding morns,

Drowsy noons

Dulled brain,

And if it scales to 35 like yesterday , I refrain.

The mayflowers have already popped out. Would there be any when May comes?

The moon and the clouds having a playful camaraderie. Yesterday it annotated the moon's location and today it just plays pillow to the moon.where sped all the stars? Or has the moon also been told, "take care our Your Self!' So it manages a cloud just around it. Wonder what the temperature is up there? Is that why the moon is playing coolant to her own self and stars refuse to be out. Wish like sunbathing, we had moonbathing also and instead of mitigating the rays like sunscreens, there were moonscreen lotions also, inviting more of the cool rays. Funny she is just a follower but she has magically converted the intensity of the Sun into something so soothing like "the milk of human kindness'.

Indeed why did God send a double rainbow? Maybe he thought under the despairing circumstances, one may not be enough to cheer you up.

Breaking into the thoughts, again the unanswerable question of a child comes: "When will corona end? When will I see my friends and when do I see my school" and the eyes are ready to mist over.

Life is a journey or a dream?

In either case, there's a space that needs to covered; whether you fill it with sound and fury or whether with the sweet music of life, is entirely up to self.

Till then, till the end, let us light up the way, make a little music, do a little dance- not just for us alone but for every traveller that comes this way.

Yawnfully,