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On life and its vagaries

Posts Tagged ‘love

To An Unknown Friend

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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.

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Crossing A River

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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

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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

On Mynahs and Puppeteers

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On Mynahs and Puppeteers

  Amusing is this tale

Some insipid friends, out of congenital debility

Or out of unblushing and irrepressible weirdness

Bought a few  Mynahs

And fed them words only such souls can think of

To show them off to all and sundry

  

The rest couldn’t take to this fancy

Because, those words were from places

People try not to notice all their lives

They smelt of unclean environments

And the sewages that run under their feet

It’s not denied that ‘some’ like these places

And would wallow in them all their lives

(It’s their choice, yet why punishes others with the reek,

By bustling among them shoulder to shoulder?)

They may have applauded this bizarre-

Feint at being amusing, (both the old and young)

But those ‘some’ is not the entire human race

It can’t be, since, even Nietzsche ended up mad

And these idiots can’t be the supermen he spoke of

  

The Mynahs did so well

That by a week they were

Using the same terms to honor their masters

Day in and day out

Though blessed with the skins of Rhino’s

The idiots were a bit worried too

Their Mynahs had started to get under their skins

And make inroads into their squishy souls

That too is not to be wondered at

Since even such souls play with ‘words’

And words emanate out of their own awareness

Of their lovely (lowly?) selves, or the mire they rise from

  

Now they are out to instill some sophistication

In the Mynahs, but alas, the benign words fed to them

Still come out coupled with the refuse of their master’s souls

And with the fumes of the decay they carry within

  

As last seen, they were struggling to strangle

The birds, one by one, unnoticed, and on the quite

Those who have been watching these hapless souls

Wonder only at one simple thing:

  

Why are they so bothered of the shame now?

 

On Didactics

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On Didactics

 

Teaching the cute little wild cat

The sum of life is hard; it can turn bad, ‘cause

The darling is wild, and can only be had

By its silly neck—always remember to catch it firm

(And as one of the old masters told me)

 

“It is cute, absolutely sweet

But it is dark and mighty wild”

 

She stands up on her hind legs

Exposing the pristine fur on her belly-side

Her claws spread and her mews rasping

She’s ready for fight, her furs are alight

Her eyes aren’t the same on two

Con-secutive moments

They suck you in, and spread you thin

You be better on the look out

Or she would wound you dead

 

If you aren’t a cat whisperer

Don’t ever think of  teaching it

And you would be hard put even

To get someone to train her

 

I picked on a  poet for the purpose.

But that soul  brushed me off with these lines

By singing:

 

“My love is not speaking( to me) any more

So how can I speak on my own “ (‘Own’ is elongated)

“It is he who speaks through me

And without his words I am no more” (‘More’ is also drawn-out)

 

That’s some powerful insight

So I left in peace, no business in meddling

In love affairs.

 

Well I have now decided to release

The  cat kid to the wild.

 

If poets can’t train a wild cat, who else can?

Saturday

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Saturday

Is no chatter day

On A Split Hydra

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On A Split Hydra

                                                                                                  (Poems on nature)

She split into two
No one knows how
There’s some who say that
It was a hacked and bisected thing
Just a chance happening-
In a moment of pain

 

It doesn’t matter
How it came about
Where there was one
Now there’s two
And the one clasps the other like
It has iron claws
Everyone who looks at the two
Would learn it at a glance
There is no help for them
They are fated to part

 

Yet once split, it started pining for
The split part
It grieves and cries over it
Over and over
It has turned maudlin
Those who watch, feel the rent of the heart
The tearing of the eyes
The snot blocking the larynx
The juice in the troubled voice
(Even if it’s a hydra and we
Are being anthropomorphic)

 

Yet It’s a sad thing
Who’s there to console the poor being

 

However hard it tries to hold on
It had splintered apart
The more it
Stays separate
The harder it’s going to get
The older part would age and shrivel
And the sprung part would grow
And move off
It’s how the world goes on
You can’t hang on

 

Those that became severed
Can’t stay united
Yet we are all such fools
We think we can find some way
To repair the incompleteness
That we see in ourselves

 

It’s a fact of life that
All repairs need be in the heart
Letting go of something
Is an art
Its learned through pain and
The inevitability of loss
So let us say to the fading one:

 

Don’t cry, you darling thing
Learn to live with the hurt
Learn to let go, learn to
Receive the pain. You aren’t alone
We are all with you.
We are around you, and we know
How you feel. We are there for you
Aren’t we all one after all?