The dust has settled,
The smoke cleared,
The dust has settled,
The smoke cleared,
To all those,
who want my vote.
Raise your words not your voice,
clear your soul and this noise.
It’s the rain not thunder,
that grows flowers.
It’s the spirit not speech,
that fulfills dreams.
It’s creation not disruption,
that’ll take us ahead,
It’s love not hate,
That’ll make the world a better place.
I am not a psephologist,
or a political mind.
But I can certainly feel,
That things aren’t right.
Another mundane day of life,
Sits amidst other passing days,
And sets a pace,
Where every passing day, the speed,
Makes people around invisible,
And conversations happen in deafness,
Without eyes meetings eyes,
And Hearts avoiding hearts,
In a paralyzing numbness,
In lost moments,
Candle light, lake and flying planes,
A cup of tea and music drowning my mind.
Dim lights twinkling from a manic world left behind,
Slowly dim in the depths of a reclusive night.
Sometimes I wonder why people in cities don’t find peace. Why are they all stressed out? One thing that tends to take my peace away is people and cities have bountiful people. To stay away from people all by yourself is tough. Getting time to spend with self, at peace, contemplating, and thinking is one tough task in a city.
The self dances in joyous harmony,
And the senses come alive.
Speaking back to the sounds of nature,
Life transcends to an enlightened stature.
I had this interesting conversation with my brother about the king and the pawn. This poem is based on that conversation.
After the game of Chess is over,
The King and the Pawn,
Go back in the same box.
Some say, it’s about power,
No one cares, the right or wrong,
The white or black blocks.
Some say about rewinding the hour,
Two pieces, out of a box,
One becometh the king, other a pawn.
But, I don’t really care,
About the end or the start,
It’s a game, two pieces and one odd box.
PS: “After the game, the king and the pawn go into the same box” is an Italian Proverb
Stay the way, the way you are.
Dwelling about the stars in the sky,
While the moon twinkles in your eye.
Appearing wrinkles, the forehead lines,
Calm vapors of this cold night,
Float near your thought’s delight.
Stay the way, the way you are.
Looking at you, a melodious rhyme,
These moments untouched in time,
Enchanting me through a subtle smile,
Stirring storms of northern lights,
Leaving a poet in paradise…
These are my top five picks of poets and their poetry, which I have come across till now. I hope you appreciate and enjoy it.
1. Pablo Neruda – He is one of my favorite poets who have composed romantic poems. Pablo Neruda was a Chilean poet, diplomat and politician. He chose his pen name after Czech poet Jan Neruda. In 1971 Neruda won the Nobel Prize for Literature.
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
(A verse from If you forget me by Pablo Neruda)
2. Robert Frost – His poems have left a mark since they first made an appearance in my childhood textbooks. One of the most popular and critically respected American poets of his generation, Robert Frost received four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
(A verse from The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost.)
3. William Wordsworth – I came across his poetry and that of Robert Frost in school. William Wordsworth was a major English Romantic poet who helped launch the Romantic Age in English literature.
For oft when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude,
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the Daffodils.
(A verse from I wandered lonely as cloud by William Wordsworth.)
4. Maya Angelou – I first came across Maya Angelou’s work around five years back. Her poem Phenomenal Woman was impressive and I started reading about her and her work. Maya Angelou’s list of occupations includes pimp, prostitute, night-club dancer and performer. She is best known for her series of autobiographies, which focus on her childhood and early adult experiences. The first, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings tells of her life up to the age of seventeen. This brought her international recognition and acclaim.
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,
When he beats his bars and would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings –
I know why the caged bird sings.
(A verse from I know why the caged bird sings by Maya Angelou.)
5. Rabindranath Tagore – The list is incomplete without the first non-European noble laureate in literature. I had not read his work for a long time but it was a just matter of time before I got hooked to his work.
The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish,
and thy voice pour down in golden streams breaking through the sky.
Then thy words will take wing in songs from every one of my birds’ nests,
and thy melodies will break forth in flowers in all my forest groves.
(A verse from Patience (Gitanjali) by Rabindranath Tagore.)
There are many more who have created master pieces in poetry. This is just my thought and opinion based on my narrow knowledge. Feel free to express your thoughts in the comments section below. I hope you enjoyed reading this post and other poems on this blog.
Inquisitive eyes, your sensitive smile,
As we spend, time some more,
Me, You’ll get to know,
A little more, a little more…
Ticking clock, and music behind,
Every second you’ll find,
Passion for lyrical lines,
Compassion for those mine.
Every rising and setting of Sun,
You’ll know me more than the day before,
To find deep inside, I care,
A little more, a little more…
Inhibit your Inhibitions says the modern sage,
Open your heart, follow your dreams,
But control the rage.
If the inhibited heart exists,
There are always lingering feelings,
The possibilities we regret.
But the same regret opens doors,
For Uninhibited our imagination,
To reach distant shores.
Inhibitions are good in way. They open doors for our imagination and give us time. The time can be used to figured out whether being uninhibited was worth it or not. They also shield us from stupid, careless decisions. If the dream is worth it, we can pursue further. In either case, the dream is still ours to cherish.
Earlier I had written an argument (below) against inhibitions. The poem is about inhibitions stopping us from enjoying life.
On this deep blue evening, I sit down and ask my mind,
Why you sometimes tie me down, When words in my heart want to say,
You build walls, barriers, chase those voices in my heart astray.
Under the sheet of this open sky, I sit down and ask my mind,
Why you sometimes hold my hand, When I want to run loose on sand,
When I want only to stand on cliff top, and call the grass to stand tall on land.
With the twinkle of the only star, I sit down and ask my mind,
It knows no fame, no glory, will win me time, Then why does it hold my heart, hold my breath,
Make me lonely, give a time I regret.
Seeking answers for a peaceful night, I sit down and ask my mind,
Am I the only soul that thinks this way,
Or is it the same with all thou creates?
Like a lost soul, I sit down and ask my mind,
Is it saving my heart from the birds of prey,
Or is it building a cage that will darken my day?
To live a new life, I sit down and ask my mind,
I once knew how to fly, I once knew how to fly,
Now I sit with regret only to see myself alive,
To build my own dream, I sit down and ask my mind,
Will I stay forever this way, and will time always stay this way?
Will my words drown in inhibitions, or will they come out and say?
On this dark cloudy day, I sit down and ask my mind…
Seeking answers, I sit down and ask my mind…
Whether they are good or bad is really up to you to choose. In fact they aren’t either good or bad. They sometimes save you either from fun and sometimes from regret.
As worry annoyingly paralyzes my simple life,
Little air castles carelessly sprout in my mind.
An unreal tale unfolds like a silver screen lie,
I sit back and smile until time pricks this bubble of mine…
Time ticks making little noises
Like falling drops of water,
Splashing my face with reality,
Of lazy attempts at reading the paper,
As my eyes curiously bond,
With the leading lady, those pretty eyes,
Like a floating dream caressing a chaotic life,
A lingering image, the pausing time,
Celebrating, this bachelorhood of mine…
This is the first time I am trying a theme based poem and photograph based on a slice of my life. Let me know if you like it!
Worn out from the heat,
The day drives me into submission.
As night arrives, the silent dream,
Reminds me that I am missing,
The home cooked food and mom’s tea,
The platter of homely love,
Along with the rumble of TV.
Now, I spend lonely hours,
Busy with work, yet all alone,
In the corner of my hostel room,
Contemplating how I miss,
The blissful days, the calm nights,
The beautiful time I spent at home…
The way you make me feel tonight,
Like the silver ocean under the moonlight,
Gently embracing the golden sand shore.
Like the trembling blinks of a firefly,
Painting the darkness with a green dye.
The way you curl around me tonight,
Like water trapping an air bubble,
Gently pushing, helping it escape.
Like fire around the mighty sun,
Showering light, keeping it alive.
The way you breathe in me tonight,
Like a cool wind on a summer day,
Gently healing the heated sores.
Like a feather rubbing my toe,
Tickling me with each stroke.
The way you lie down tonight,
Like an arched cotton mountain,
Gently waiting to be caressed by the sky.
Like the tender white clouds,
Slowly falling on dry earth.
The way you move tonight,
Like the wings of a dove in slow flight,
Gently pushing, gently pulling the air outside.
Like the high and low nodes of a symphony,
Imprinting itself through an emotional estuary.
You take your jacket and begin to take a slow walk,
And the hands of clock freeze in the eternal winter,
That has begun with the passage of our day, slowly fading,
Into the darkness of a gloomy night’s heat that’ll burn the garden,
As your frail time, moves a strong you into your bright doom,
I finally look up, and close my eyes; is it the end?
Like the tyrant ruler, this moment makes me a slave,
To the memories that re-live, like a flash back,
As the guards chain me in this mirage of paradise,
All I see is the long black strands of silk that move,
Like the curtains that have fallen on my helpless fate,
My heart murmurs through your deafening silence; will you leave?
PS: Republishing an old poem of mine.
La Poderosa satisfied my insatiable hunger, the exploration.
They called me Che! I traveled, I learned, got a direction,
Found my path, changed my belief, the immortal revolution.
Keep it alive! Your search, your study, your creation.
La Poderosa or “The Mighty One” was the name of the bike used by Ernesto “Che” Guevara (then 23) and his friend Alberto Granado to explore South America. The exploration transformed Che as he witnessed great degrees of social injustice.
Che represents a spirit of exploration and action. His reputation as a man of deeds rather than words is exactly the opposite of what we are witnessing today. Che calls to keep the spirit of exploration and action alive.
Tiny little she flutters in a garden colored by me.
From an egg to larva to pupa, I see her grow.
Sucking my precious nectar, I see her flow.
I watch her flutter with poise, making my garden glow.
The flower talks about her love for a butterfly who has grown from an egg to a pupa in front of her eyes nourished by her precious nectar. The flower nurtures the butterfly like her child adding beauty to the garden. A beautiful garden attracts people, just like an organization attracting more customers. Organizations, schools, colleges need to nurture talent like the flower since a beautiful garden is in the interest of all; the flower, the butter and the visitor. A selfish flower cannot feed a butterfly and thus can never make a beautiful garden.
There are days when my words create pure magic.
Then there are days when they disappoint you.
It is the expectation from me, climbing in you,
Go Slow! Else I will keep on disappointing you.
O Hair! I’ve loved you since you were thick and black.
I have cleaned the dirt, And will do so till you stand.
My love will shine you and will feel you with each strand,
knowing I’ll be washed away, knowing you’ll never be mine…
Through the darkness I rode,
To a distant heavenly abode,
Under the lamps behind a dim door,
Kissing a stranger, comforting sores.
Lavishes of the pure race,
Have created mass graves,
Stacking up by the day,
Scripting doom for the place we stay.