Haiku’s
Haiku’s
1
I saw, by chance, a
Smile on a sad face; why seek
Peace in futile words
2
The rudder seems new,
The Boat, about to take off,
What ails the slow breeze
3
The skies remain veiled
After a day of dogged rain.
Mirrors seem to cloud
To An Unknown Friend
To An Unknown Friend
Stay a while, my friend and stranger
The day is still meandering, and there’s still time
Those drinks you had, how are they faring
Does the mind tell you where I am now, near or far
The disheveled hair on your head, is it painted
Or are you yet young at heart to outgrow the Time
The way you walk, never steady and in control,
Does that affect you in what you see
How does the world look, flat or round
Does it look twisted or covered in glamour
When do you sleep my friend, or do you not
Is there a sleep that helps you dream
The world is passing us, the children laughing
Horns honking, footwear grazing the side walks
There isn’t a thing still, all are moving
While we sit here, on this lonely bench
By the side of this antediluvian road
There are flowers blooming, lots emptying
Pans frying, fans whirling and some even hooting
Things are ever frantic, let us be not like that
Let us sit here, till the close of day
Why are you drooping, hold your head steady
We aren’t done talking, my man, you and I
That stain on your shirt, does that sting friend
Did the potion spill into your soul
Is that why you are looking at me fearfully
Don’t be frightened, I am not your darkness
I can be the light you were seeking in your nights
This drizzle, it isn’t from heaven, it’s the tears
That you and I shed together, may be not here
Nor anywhere, but still we shed them together
For we aren’t divided, we, you and I, are ever together
That sagging chest holds a thousand terrors
The drinks can’t still them, they garrote the drink
Don’t get up, you can’t yet walk, I am here my man
Though I don’t even lift a hand to make you steady
I am here still, with you all the way
Stop looking at those happy faces, embraces, and kisses
They aren’t real friend; they are off a passing show
You had partaken in that show once, as I had
They are bland, at least to us sitting here
You are now muttering assent, I see your lips move
Don’t wipe those dribbles off; they are droplets of your pain
You aren’t wagging your head to the music now
Are you, the music stall across is what this is all about
Noise, more noise, there isn’t a lapse to the noise
It blares day and night, winter and summer, burial and birth
She could be your girl, the one approaching
I see I was right, she isn’t happy with me
And is abusive towards you, you are doing great, old girl
He is drowning in your love; we were having a nice talk
About just that and he was doing good
Now you cart him away, with bitter looks at me
Fare thee well my friend, you can’t drink
This sorrow away, for it has claws of steel.
“………………………..”
“………………………..”
Denizens of the underworld rooting for his life is a dormant psyche’s mistaken and muted wail.
Before hand
By a mind tortured to the extreme by inner conundrums -with the imprint of harsh reality on fantasies and ever reducing the zest to live, combating gips were being thrown out in the guise of barely fine-spun imagery.
Those were gruesome, and never ever were handsome, aiming to center on the not so winsome. Quips created to while away the ever ascending OF terrors of life.
By the macabre purchase of quaint expressions brave the world?
By and by that domain was overtaken by inanition.
Crossing A River
The Original Story
“Two mendicants, having taken a vow of celibacy
Were about to cross a river
A pretty lass was about to do the same
But was looking with fear at the rushing waters
The young mendicant suggested that
One of them carries her across
The old guy said:
Son, we have taken a vow
Of celibacy, we can’t do such things
The other Said:
We have only taken
A vow of not marrying, not one of Not Carrying
The old guy Said:
Do what you will
The three got across and went their ways
After a while the old guy grumbled:
Yet you shouldn’t have done that:
The young one responded:
I deposited her on the shore itself
Strangely you seem to be still carrying her!”
( This was the old tale. Yet what happened was this):
The Real Story
The old guy
Seeing the younger one quite set on carrying her across
And grasping the dangers of bodily contact
Volunteered to carry her saying:
Just watch our rear, when we are in the waters
They proceeded thus to the other side
The girl turning her head to look at the boy often
And the boy blushing when their eyes met
Water being a fine conductor of nervous energy
Their rapport was instantaneous
At the far side, after thanking the old man
They both took off together
The old guy, watching them disappear
In the distance, mused:
When you carry something precious
You either don’t put it down
Or you make sure that it stays yours
Before doing so
Touch of Dew
Touch of Dew
While young, some girl brought me
A blade of grass with
A glistening dewdrop at its end
It looked like a drop of pearl ….
She said:
Sam, it’s so cool to the touch, you know,
Can I touch it to your eye?
I had doubts on its coolness and
My ‘coolness’ in allowing such a silly thing
Yet being kind, I said hesitantly:
“Go ahead then”
And that touch of dew over my iris
Altered my way of seeing things…..
I don’t know where she is now
But I know she changed my life
Two Sights
Two Sights
1
Something is green in the grass
Yet it isn’t really true
It’s only a cute little word I found
2
Two people are carrying something
It’s a little dead snake
Their time is past noon, fast fading
Buried Hills
Buried Hills
Now
As I prepare to say goodbye
To this land of hills and the ephemeral showers
I feel a deep sense of ennui
Everything feels grey, and without glitter
The green leaves seems to have lost their luster
The valley’s their life
This mist in the pass itself looks like a smog
That shrouds everything pleasant
And appears to releases an unhealthy vapor
Of mistrust and tastelessness
I stayed here for couple of long years
Shedding my sweat on these roots of grass
And trying to tend a few shoots upward even
Praying that things would change-
For the better in this land of the forsaken
I didn’t know
About the curse this land had
Of having ever to bog down to the shadow
Of a distant and disturbing past
The memories it carries of muted pains
And violated lives, both of plants and the moving
The hovering thoughts over the plateau
Of mistrust to the visiting life
The other visitors to this land, unlike me, had
Intuited this fact the moment they alighted here
They opted to play the role of disinterested visitors
And were saved by that very fact
I erred in not doing so, and carry the regret
Still with me as I say bye to these buried lands
Rift
Rift
Now,
In the words I hear around
I can’t see a hint of light
Not that they aren’t said well
They seem to be
Yet
As they are spoken, I see
An abyss evolving,
Between those very words
Watching that fissure, I wonder
And ask myself:
Where is this breach?
In those words or in our lives?
On Certain Farming Techniques
On Certain Farming Techniques
I‘ve put some seeds out to dry
But what’s the use
The slow goofy rain wouldn’t stop
The thing has been around
For a week, the untimely brute
Would it ever cease ?
The seeds I have saved
Isn’t really bursting to come out
Yet I had hopes on them.
They might even come out right
Now with this rain around
There’s very little chance
Of them seeing the light of day
As I wait for a lull in the rains
I had the time to look at the past
Did I have the luck to dry all
My seeds, in time to plant them well?
None at all, it either rained or
Flared violent all the year round
And , there weren’t any seeds
At any time ready to be grafted
May be this happens to all
Is there a given time to do a thing?
We do what we can
Whether it rains or shines
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