The animal inside?

(Originally posted on my Medium page)

Its a shame to say,
“It’s the animal inside em!”
Yes, animals are wild,
Some with claws, thick hides;
Some prey, some hide,
Some protect their pride,
But scarce can their brains,
Match men’s evil inside;
Deep oceans of vice,
Under crusts of thin nice.

Leave the poor beast,
Blame the human inside!
We’ve too much to lose,
And no place to hide,
When the sleepy leviathan,
Takes a stroll outside.
Millions have vanished,
We’ve seen genocides;
We’ve heard of brutalities,
Against the girl child :,(

But then we grow callous,
We get numb and hide.
The next day beckons,
With its proximate cries.
Gosh! We gush;
Pretences puerile!
Soon the next wild human,
Rubs it in again.
And we chant as if an anthem,
“The animal inside em!”

Air supply

(Originally posted on my Medium page)


I can see the stars tonight,

Some dull, some twinkling, shining bright,

Pure, distant, cosmic, ancient might,

Fighting our puny city lights…

…

Just a dream!, I rubbed my eyes,

Waking up way past midnight,

"Alexa, cast some news, alright?”

“Right up”, she quipped, in cool calm voice.

…

“Its a foggy, smoggy winter night,

Ivy reporting for Weather Insight,

Wear masks and don’t dare step outside,

We’re almost out of air supply!”

Zero and one

I’m your zero
And you’re the one
Stand by me
Let’s be one
Cause when I stand
Right next to you
We both make
The perfect two

0
1
01
10
:)

It could’ve been me

Four women,

And a girl barely ten,

Scavenged for the leftovers,

Behind the butcher’s shop,

While I paid for the choicest cuts;

With banknotes, crisp and new.

It could’ve been me,

On the other side.

And for them,

Just another hot summer’s day.

While I gathered my heaven

In a ragged jute sack.

I saw a mother,

And her little child,

Wait to gather the milk,

Spilled over in the crate,

While the milk van unloaded.

And I bought an ice-cream tub.

It could have been me,

On the other side.

Facing hell each day,

While they prayed,

To keep them safe,

Till Thy kingdom come.

Didn’t pick my birth,

Couldn’t twist my fate,

Predict my health,

Or dodge all baits,

What this life gives,

We take. We make.

Yeah, it could’ve been me,

And it could’ve been you.

The privileged few

Feeling entitled to

The cards that we’ve been dealt;

Acting as if we know our bets!

The Dirt and the Tree

They kept digging up the Dirt around the old Tree,

With hoes fashioned out of it’s branches three,

They mocked its muckiness and scoffed at it’s scruffiness,

But waxed eloquent on the opulent tree,

“Mere mud! So mean! How dare it lean? And that too on this grand old beam!”

Cussing and digging till way past six, they scarce realized they were trapped in their pit!

From the empty moat they’d unwittingly built, they sensed that the Tree had begun to tilt!

Then a wind blew, the dark clouds swelled and the once-mighty tree, with a loud thud fell.

In the moments of silence that dawned in the wake, of the virulent vitriol and unbridled hate,

Mounds of Dirt gathered round and wept, as they mourned the end of their grand old friend.

(image courtesy: https://pixabay.com/en/users/danfador-55851/)

Life trips!

My worst foe and my best friend,
In my head they’ve made their dens,
Will I lose my mind or find my zen?
Life doesn’t answer to my pen ☺,
I don’t know why and I won’t know then 😞.
A million stories await being lent,
To a thousand journeys- a life well spent!
A hundred miles sure has its bends,
But this I know since I was ten,
A trip never started, has no tale; no end!

My Song

Past slow streams and paddy plains,
A gentle breeze, the drizzling rain;
A blue-bird tries catch-up in vain,
To a soulful beat, my rocking train

…

Back ten years, my numb mind panes;
Glimpses, memories retained:
Had no money, had no pains,
No plans beyond the morrow made;

When music was the sole refrain,
And dreams my waiting soul had gained,
To love, I was not yet ordained,
Just longings that were best contained,

The sleepy city, a narrow lane,
My good 'ol car, a bunch of friends,
Driving with the rolled down panes,
Humming a tune the radio made,

In the back seat, the guitar he played,
My fingers drummed on the wheel splayed,
On a high note, our voices strained…
I still hear the tune play in my head!

…

A thousand miles about to end,
Round the last corner, the rail-road bends,
Draws up to the station, almost spent,
In my notebook, these words I pen:

If ask I could, something of life,
That’d be to make music in the sunshine,
'Cause when night falls and slumber stays,
I hope, somewhere, my song still plays.

(originally penned in 2015. Image: a pic I’d taken at railway station, Chengannur, Kerala)

Er…

Earth’s warmer,
People colder.
Compassion rarer,
Crimes bolder.
Love’s in a corner,
Hate running over.

Smiles fewer,
Smileys taking over.
Staying closer,
Living farther.
Bodies warmer,
Hearts colder.

Mind's younger,
Flesh older.
Change maker/
Mute observer?
Start all over/
Sweet surrender?

Chasing mirages

Waiting for the night to wake up to a dawn,For the morning mist to make dew with the lawn,To glimpse the chirping thrush, strut on the ground,As the curious squirrels, scurry around.

Simple pleasures that now are rare, less found;
Lost among chores that seem far more profound,
And honourable jobs that buy our good days,
With promises to pay big soon; Someday.

Out to change the world, make a dent, we say,
Held firm by the charms of the silicon sway,
Eyes mesmerised by our shiny screens,
Mind skips to savour the flavours in our meals.

They say, birds in the sky neither sow nor they reap,
The flowers in the garden, need no chiffon and no crepe,
Yet, they live, fly free, are more beautiful than we,
In the best of our garbs ever can be.

Midnight. It’s time again to fall asleep,
The charm of the dream still strong bitter sweet,
There are bills to pay and promises to keep,
But you hear a soul somewhere silently weep.

Then slumber arrives and the body rests,
While the universe conjures our next day’s tests,
And again we’d miss a beautiful morn,
Chasing mirages ever since we were born.

क्यों? [hindi: kyon]

[hindi: kyon? meaning: why?] India. Where Mahatma Gandhi, who exemplified non-violence, is venerated as the father of the nation. When a few people of this land; my land, use violence as the first resort to settle their ideological, political, religious or regional differences, it evokes anguish. Hence the question, why?

क्यों लागे तोहे बोलो वो, दुश्मन गैर परायो?

क्यों उसके चेहरे में तुझको यार नज़र ना आयो?

क्यों उसकी चीखें तेरी कानों में ना चुभायो?

क्यों उसकी लहू बहत देख, दुख तुझे ना आयो?

---

हाथों में तेरी बोलोे, लाठी किसने थमायो?

जब उठाया वार करन, बचपन क्यों याद ना आयो?

ऑंखो पे काले ये परदे, बोलो किसने डालो?

मरा जानवर दिखो तुझे, इंसान नज़र ना आयो?

---

क्यों?…क्यों?…क्यों?…क्यों?…क्यों?…

क्यों?…क्यों?…क्यों?…क्यों?…क्यों?…

---

जो जान गयी इक देह से, लौटके क्या आवेगी?

उसकी अम्मा की आँखों से आँसू कब जावेगी?

दू पल की ना ज़िंदगी? दू पल को भाईचरो?

इतनी भारी थी क्या यह कि इसे ही ना निभायो?

---

सतरंगी है लोग यहाँ, अठरंगी सोच विचारो,

कौन सही और कौन ग़लत? ना है सब मोह मायो?

मूँ से निकले ईश्वरअल्लाह, दिल में विष क्यों पालो?

क्यों बचपन का यार मुसाफिर, इक पल में भुलायो?

---

क्यों?...क्यों?...क्यों?...क्यों?...क्यों?...

क्यों?...क्यों?...क्यों?...क्यों?...क्यों?...

My song

Past slow streams, and paddy plains,
A gentle breeze, the drizzling rain,
A blue-bird tries catch-up in vain,
To a soulful beat, my rocking train

Back ten years, my numb mind panes,
A time that sure no more remains,
Had no money and had no pains,
Nor plans beyond the morrow made,

When music was the sole refrain,
And dreams my waiting soul had gained,
To love, I was not yet ordained,
Just longings that were best contained,

In the sleepy city, along the drain,
My good 'ol car, on a narrow lane,
Driving with the rolled down panes,
Humming a tune the radio made,

Next to me, the guitar he played,
My fingers drummed on the wheel splayed,
On a sharp high note, our voices strained,
In my head they'd still remained!

A thousand miles about to end,
Round the last corner, the rail-road bends,
Draws up to the station almost spent,
In my notebook, these words I pen:

If there'd be something that I could ask of life,
That'd be to make music when the sun shines,
'Cause when the night falls and darkness stays,
While I sleep, I'd hope my song still plays.

- A
V

The Fly

There was once a fly,
Shown a beautiful sky,
Thrown a wonderful pie,
O'er joyed! it tried,
Flew higher and high,
Till the lights drew nigh;
Then hit a damn glass ceiling!

Tried harder than hell,

Cast all the spells,
Rang all the bells,
But down it fell,
Godspeed him well!
What could it tell?
Kept hitting that damn glass ceiling!

No longer a kid,
Evolve it did,
Diamond claws it hid;
The skies now lit,
This time it flew,
Fast as it could;
@###, who removed the damn ceiling?!

Moral of the poem is: Always wear a helmet before you fly.