The Merger

Hi Jerly,
This comes in answer to your request

I take umbrage at the ways of this world
I mull by days in the saving Grace of the Lord
And in the open spaces of the passing hours
Bringing the traffic of the minutes and seconds to a regulated halt
All the while I try to close in on my goal
From my vantage point of patience

I shift gears with ease
And when the veil is lifted aloft
I manage to catch only just a glimpse of rare majesty
The hours tumble and roll on
Swooping the minutes and the seconds in the gale of a close embrace
Telling them unheard of tales of weird make-believe

I lull my eyes to rest
and call out Thy name
Thy name is my rest and repose
My faith and prayer
My Hope

The rain starts in a flurry and stops in jiffy
The spurt of rain is only just a gushing of my thoughts
It is then that I know i must be visible
Just as the sky is overcast with the dark clouds
My cup is filled to overflowing and brimming with love
I topple over from moment to moment
And in my clumsiness even swagger a little

It looks to me as an oasis in a desert
A hope that shines on like a guiding star
My own people hardly know anything of that which fills my heart
They knock me over and then lift me up
And take me each on their separate tours
As i come to see it that its really you in their guise trying to beguile me
You come to know that i have pierced through your secret

I know you lead me on to deviate
What you do not know is that I prefer  to merge
I mingle with you and long to find myself as you
To lose myself and to discover myself in you!
I am drunk with the wine of my own discovery
It is all an apparition
And i come to meet my friends
We rejoice and make merry - without end ....

   

One loud Thunder, One bolt of Lightning

It was One thunderstorm,

I lost my voice in the loud thunder!

The rains lashed and brought all the haze down.

The storms kept coming ...

Another storm ..

It raged all around me in all its wild fury

And then Lightning struck !

One blinding flash, I began to see

It was then I really saw.

And I saw through the masquerade !

The dumbness of the charades was over for me

In that one bolt of lightning, I had found my voice.

A Season for memories

Memories trooping down the mindscape,

Memories of people I meet in the stream of life ,

It is that season in life – a season for memories

And I have brought it upon myself – by harvesting my fields

A time of fruition, a kind of autumn, for me.

An old write-up

 What is writing but writer’s vanity?

                                      

Invitations and exhortations to write articles for magazines have assailed me in the past. I am ever skirting the half-urge to give in to them. But what holds me back from submitting before an audience is the unwelcome thought of an audience itself. Maybe I am a solitary reaper; or maybe I am hiding myself a bit too much!

 Crabby by nature that I am, thoughts racing through my mind are made of a line of reasoning that seeks caution. Thoughts that consolidate my stand , like – Writing need not have any readership    (As if a piece of writing was an end in itself, I wish it is though!) And that - A writer’s glory is always clamouring for a certain propriety        (At least a certain class of writers – like me!) Also somewhat similarly, A writer on a forum, must maintain some kind of decorum, for he is a cynosure of many minds (So much for policing one’s own conduct – or trying to ).

A deluge of thoughts, nay feelings overwhelm me and I am awash with them – submerged for a long while – in limbo. I wonder what to present from the limitations of my perceptions. The abstractions interest me and invite me to delve into the realm of poetry.

Leaving men to fight over the pettiness of routine measures, for men in the business of living, will most often be gross; it’s a poet’s privilege to be able to talk about the myriad aspects of life and of this passing world. Nature holds a huge canvas for the painter. Man’s affairs and his struggles in life, tug at our hearts, pulling strings that make for now a clamour and then a medley of sorts ,  - and yet someone somewhere hears sheer melody and breaks into a song . .

So goes my reverie …, the rivers of life flow on…. 

A poem 

What is writing – but writer’s vanity?

Sometimes a shout shrieking “Hear me’’

Between the folds of memory and the ticking of time

Who has the patience to etch and dole out perfect rhyme?

Besides, rhyming is only just the start

Of a poet’s budding talent or unfolding art

That pales in comparison and will smart

If overused thus – like a profuse poetic fart

What is writing – but giving in to an urge

Or like trying too hard in the fight of the bulge

To chisel gems and stones that will dazzle for a while

For every writer or poet has a certain guile

What is writing - is it mere expression?

More importantly, is it useful against depression?

There is nothing to authenticate a writer’s status

At best it is functional; at it’s least, anonymous

Or is it the cause or origin of a certain malaise

That has one thinking more than one says

How can writing ever be an end in itself?

Only by consigning it to the wind from the shelf !

So toss it up and cheers, say

Seize the moment; go out and play

Have fun for life is in the living

And even humble participation is a form of giving

Perhaps writing is for the rainy day

Leaking batteries too need a place to stay

Besides, for them there is no other way

But to recover and then again to tick away

O Wind blow to where my heart soars and come back and tell me how it is there

I wait with bated breath for a whiff of some sweet scented air, laden with news of coming rain

I drift upon the breeze, I sail with the clouds

And in my mind’s eye I see

Some figures drifting alongside with me,

Some familiar faces  that tug at my heart’s strings, playing enthralling music

With Lilting music and the rain, I am dancing with my loved ones and singing  , letting my hair down and running all around

O bird fly in the sky but chirp on a branch of this tree ,

Twitter there everyday for me

And bring me tidings of pleasant weather, of wind and of rain

And now I am by the sea, running on the shore, feet in the sand

The shifting sands, the sinking feet and my quivering thoughts ..