Shades

Like a child
happy to be back home from school,
The sun gathers it’s rays in fistfuls
And hurls it at the bevy of clouds
Waiting at the far horizon.
The fistful of sunshine lies splashed against the sky,
Its dazzling brilliance
Enthralling,
Mesmerizing,
Hypnotizing,
Stunning the clouds
Into a state of immobility.
From the opposite hill,
Dusk approaches on sprightly footsteps,
The crickets’ chirp are
The sound of anklets on her dainty feet.

Kotagiri… May 2018

The Hammock

I know why the clouds come rushing in!

Even the hills cannot pose a barrier

To their eagerness

And childlike exuberance.

They descend in droves,

Roll down the slopes of the hills,

Sometimes in a trot

And at times in a canter.

The wind, lending a pair of jogging feet

To the clouds

As they race to reach

This piece of heaven,

This corner,

Where the hammock sways in the wind,

Inviting the clouds!

 

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Kotagiri/Coonoor- May 2018

 

A Painter par excellence!

The gulmohar tree is a fool.
In midst of the mindless clutter,
Irresponsible asymmetry,
Abusive spread
And energy sapping dullness,
The gulmohar tree blooms
Every spring;
As if it wants to show its solidarity,
Unlike the unappreciative concrete all around.
The gulmohar tree wants to hold back the passing spring.
It spreads out its branches
And offers itself as a canvas,
To applaud and acknowledge
spring’s intense desire
To be a painter par excellence.

Random musings

When do we sow?
What do we reap?
What should take precedence?
Desires or
One’s own conscience?
Who knows what is right?
Who decides what is right?
In a world full of individuals,
Who decides who is sane
And who has lost his mind?
Where do we come from?
Where are we destined?
Who can say with finality
He has planned for all,
right down to the “T”?

Calcutta Norwester

The debris had been gathering
for quite some time.
Dreams, ambitions and desires
had been crushed
And it’s dust lay in heaps
In corners and crevices of the heart.
Faith, belief and convictions
Had been torn to shreds,
Which lay in scattered
All around.
And then,
The storm rose!
The power of the storm blew away
All the debris hithertho accumulated
The dust spiralled out
Of the crevices, corners and lanes
And was thrown far away.
Then came the rains!
The cool, fresh rain water
Lashed and trickled to a spread,
And in a comforting caress
Swept away all that remained
of the remnants of debris.
Then the leaves on the tree outside
Broke into a jig.
They swayed, twirled and tangoed.
Celebrating the lightnes

s of heart!

Ode to poetry

I need a poem,
filled with rhyme,
rhythm,
inciting love lorn sighs,
or drawing tears from the eyes.
Poetry-
romantic and dream filled.
of seeing hope in the heart being instilled.
of valour of common folks on streets.
of tales of struggle to exist.
Poetry-
under the blazing sun.
in form of the Krishnachura blossoms.
Poetry-
on soccer field in fluidity of motion.
Poetry-
in defiance and hailing liberation.
In salute to man’s poverty alleviation.
Poetry-
the scent of the working multitude,
picked up
and scattered by the evening breeze.
Poetry-
in the flailing footsteps of the child.
bent with load
on his back and in his mind.
Poetry-
in the excited hyperactivity
Of mongrels by the roadside
love sparkling in their limped eyes.
Poetry-
in the fragrance
let loose by the shower drenched earth.
in the pain that wells up
When someone very dear departs.
Poetry-
in the twitter of the birds,
bidding adieu to the sun going down!
In the hurried footsteps of the multitude
from work, homeward bound!
Poetry is life,
Poetry is in the mind!
Poetry is breaking shackles
that tend to bind!
Poetry is Ram!
Poetry is Rahim!
Poetry is all about
a romantic paradigm!

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From my window on an airplane…

The colours of spring-
Bands of saffron and yellow,
Bounded by red-
Spread in single stroke
All along the horizon.
The hideous darkness,
Spreading it’s cloak and
Smothering the sun in its vice grip,
Squeezed every ounce of colour
From the sun.
The colours have drained out
In a constant stream and
Spread all along the length of the horizon.
Spring,
in all its glorious shades of colour
Squeezed out of the sun,
Lay before my eyes
Spread across the length of the horizon!

A winter morning

The sun flows down,
Running its way through
the gaps and crevices
in the curtain of mist that
hangs down from heaven!
The curled up, stiff world,
awaits eagerly-
To unwind,
To uncoil,
To bathe in the warmth,
To spring back!
The flowing sun finds its way,
tentatively,
Creeping over the garbage vat,
skirting round its corners
and swamping the pile of garbage.
The lady lay there,
shivering.
Seeking some vestige of warmth from the crooks and crevices in her own bony body.
Her tattered clothes make a desperate attempt,
To cover her fragile frame in bits and pieces.
The sun creeps further and
Spreads a coat-
A soft caress,
A blanket of warmth,
Over her curled up frame!

Changing Times

The highland lass doesn’t sing anymore.

She spews profanities instead

as she stands by the road.

The Road!

That stands out like a black scar,

as it runs in from the horizon far,

Dissecting the highland and

Devouring the meadows green.

The road is the recipient Of her curse.

For like an enticing Apsara,

It had lured away her man.

The city on the other end of the road

Is her man’s current abode.

Eternity 

Standing bare, naked,
Must have brought a sense of shame.
The days of glory were long gone.
The layer of plaster that once was,
Hung loosely , chipped, in patches,
Having lost the battle with nature’s elements since long.
The bare skeleton of the house stood at the street corner.
Dark, desolate, lonely,
Devoid of life.
No one cared.
No one was left to care!
Except, perhaps, the banyan tree!
The tree had enveloped the house,
It’s roots moving all over,
Creeping over the ledges,
Slithering down the walls,
wedged firm into the cracks and crevices in the wall,
Travelling inside through the broken window frames and hanging loose over the plaster peeled walls,
Like decorations of brown streamers!
The banyan tree had once sprouted in a corner of the terrace.
The house was, then, full of life.
The young sapling had drawn  nourishment and dug roots.
Today, when everyone had gone away,
the banyan tree was there-
like a guardian mother
It’s arms wrapped protectively.
Like an inseparable friend.
Like two lovers
Hugging and clinging on to each other,

Till eternity!