MEMORIES

POEM

My memories and for that 

matter everyone’s memories

are arranged in a haphazard manner 

like the students often

arrange their books keeping no pattern.

It is impossible,

absolutely impossible

to arrange one’s memories

keeping  order because they are

in a fluid state.

Memories often play

hide and seek games like children’s hobbies.

Memories like rains

often play spoil-sport like 

a cricket match between

two countries.

It is better to turn back

once in a while to renew one’s past

 since the current phase

is a bridge of the past to the present.

Then one would make

out the difference

between memories of

the past and current

phase of memories. 

Not only the memories

but the rains of the two periods.   

A FIDDLING NERO

POEM

Educated, but uncivilized.

Handsome, but

the face of mind is ugly.

Fiddling Nero while

the nation is burning.

Deafening explosions

piercing the eardrums

without any halt.

Lakhs and lakhs of citizens

fall prey to the bullets  and

bombs killing the former

and maiming.

Lakhs and lakhs flee for

life to the neighbouring  nations.

A doctor by profession

but cares not to measure

the pulse of his subjects.

A long chain of nightmares

haunt him several  times

disturbing his slumber

all related to impending dangers awaiting him

his family and the sycophants flattering

his non-existent

virtues  ranging  from generosity,

care for the citizens

his benevolence etc.

Despite the chasing nightmares

a ruler  stupid and stubborn by nature

like his wicked,

stupid and stubborn

father who was ruthless and wicked

towards  his subjects

the former too

clutching to his

throne like a leech

refusing to abdicate…….come what may…..

SUMMER HEAT

POEM

Like the dreaded disease plague hitting a city

and spreading far and wide

claiming hundreds of

thousands of citizens,

…………………..The scorching summer heat

seizes the lives

of thousands of people due to

sun strokes and dehydration.

The wells go dry, ponds

and lakes, rivers

and streams go dry

driving the people to

pray to rain Goddess

to shower mercy on them

by opening up the sky

thereby pouring rains

profusely and banish

the summer sun at least

for a short span if not

a long span

and drive the people

celebrate the monsoon 

by walking, running

and dancing in the

torrential rain as long as they wish.

Mother Nature running

out of the very depth

of her patience

avenge her revenge, anger

and frustration over

the entire land

wreak vengeance for

the ecological plunder

upsetting climate cycle

for the last few years.

Her retaliation is  

so ruthless that

we the people are

undergoing her harsh punishment…..   

JUDGEMENT

POEM

His steely resolve

and bold foot-steps 

convey the message of

his will-power and complacency.

His burly body, shining eyes

and disarming smile are not enough

to erase the fright

in the eyes  of many a person.

Both gents and ladies 

mistake him the

very embodiment of arrogance

inspite of his smile throughout the day

on watching from a

distance often think of

him for a rough figure.

But glancing him for

a  short distance

when the unfamiliar turns familiar,

reminds the latter of a rose petal

so nice, so soft and so fragrant

and they atone for

their misunderstanding

for a long period about him.

Our judgement of

people can be

right or wrong

on watching a fellow

while from outside.

MYSTERIOUS MAN

POEM

Day in and day out

he keeps on walking

briskly inside the

hall of his house.

He never sleeps

it is alien to him

and sleeplessness is his

intimate friend.

Still he remains energetic and

the word tiredness and

is never seen in his dictionary.

Even while the world is asleep

he remains awake, walking  to and fro.

Like unrolling  a carpet

the waves of a violent

sea one after other

lash the rocks near the sea-shore,

-          his mind.

But for a few unavoidable occasions

he is busy with

his walking to and fro inside the hall

of his house.

His wife after each day’s household chores,

espies his brisk walk and facial expressions

and sweating sturdy body

while slumping into the bed.

Whenever she badly needs proximity

he could read her mind and ‘hunger’ in her eyes

he like a machine throws himself into the bed

and  makes her feel ecstatic

and satiates ‘hunger in her eyes’.

The man, virtually a machine

still remains a mystery to her

but never divulges

the matter to anyone.....   

INVINCIBLE, INVISIBLE TIME

POEM

All days bring me boredom

except Sundays.

Sundays being holidays

we the employed can

spend our time and make merry

with our families.

All working days

bring me boredom and truancy

waking me up by my better-half

in the wee hours of the morning

I finish my routine one by one

and until I get dressed

up for the occasion and have my breakfast

thanks to my wife

who wakes up

early morning and prod me up by a

glass of bed-coffee

and like a truant child cursing all gods

who remain invisible and invincible.

My wife prepares my lunch and

fill the tiffin carrier with

food and curries and  put it in my briefcase

who can very well read my mind but never

expresses on her face.

Planting kisses on her cheeks

I walk along the

road and catch the

bus which speeds

thru the road for three

hours and drop me at my bus-stop.

From 10AM to 5PM

keeping engaged

before the computer

I finished the day’s work

and take my brief-case

and walk to the station

which passes thru my

land and drop me at the bus stop.

On reaching my 

house I am a totally

pathetic and tired man.

Dear reader

tell me my predicament I go thru

each day.

Wish all days were

Sundays….who is

here to listen to

 my desire and thereby

making time stand still….

Time never stands still…..

THE COUPLE

POEM

One day evening a car

halted in front of our flats.

They must be man and

wife (may be)

got out of the car

with their belongings

and the driver of the

taxi helped them carry

the belongings to their flat

which was lying vacant

since a long time

they entered the flat 

kept the windows open.

The flat was already

kept tidy and clean for them by the

labourers of the  owner.

Everyday  barring Sundays

both woke down the stairs

at sharp 9AM in the

mornings and walked

down the path to the station.

He was a ‘serious’ man and was reticent.

He remained talkative only towards the lady.

We, the occupants of the adjacent flats

tried in vain to befriend them

but their answers

were in monosyllables.

The man was tall, sturdy and healthy.

He was perfect match for the lady.

He was well-dressed and always wore

full-sleeved shirts

and the lady’s sartorial elegance

was charming and attractive wearing

sleevless blouses.

In the evenings

with the street-lights

they reached the flats

switched on the lights and fan.

They were in the

flat for nearly three years.

One day a taxi stopped

in front of the building

and both of them with

their belongings

stepped down the stairs

and walked towards the car.

No idea, where they went.

Without bidding adieu

to the occupants of the building.

And we were recounting that evening

they reached the flat of our building.  

  

CRUCIFIXION AND RESURRECTION

POEM

Each time he was

crucified by his enemies

he resurrected.

Crucifixions followed by resurrection

went on for a long time

until he melted into thin air.

Whenever sins

and sinners multiplied on our soil

his incarnations took place

to rid the sins and sinners

from the face of earth.

When he got fed up from 

incarnations galore

in these strange times

he has stopped his incarnations

have been vanished.

Today

we feel like orphans

thrown to the abyss

and the wars, civil wars, terror

and violence shedding rivers of blood

we pray you

to appear on the earth

and wash away

the last terrorist on earth  and

the stoppage of wars, civil wars, violence

and deaths and displacements of millions

and malevolent dictators

from this dirty

soulless, heartless

world, for ever….

so as to herald a bright new dawn.

THE MOON

POEM

In my early days

while walking down

the azure sky

together with my father

who was the first man

who showed me

the moon and stars

up above the sky.

I always longed for the golden moon.

I always cried for the golden moon

and on listening to

my stubborn attitude and pleas

my father would assure me

he would certainly bring the moon to you

when you are grown up

and consoled me.

Taking him for granted

I would repose my faith in him.

In the meantime

I grew up

and with the infinite time

playing tricks

my beloved father left for

his heavenly abode.

Now that I am an young man

and on glancing the moonlit sky

I saw my father once in a while

and he rained his love and blessings which

made me happy and cheerful

and the nostalgia embraced me

in abundance.

One day I would also

grow up and I evolve

into an old man and

join my father and would spend

my golden days with him.

Life on earth, you know is

always cyclic as long as we spend our

days on earth…..

URBAN TO SEMI-URBAN

POEM

Days seem

to be exceptionally long and

boring in this part of the land.

To sit idly without

any jobs is simply put is unthinkable.

In the city where we were living

familiar faces were

dime a dozen.

While coming out of the

residence during the

evening walks.

I always kept on smiling and pleasing.

To return a smile

to those who smiled at

me even though some

are strange faces.

It is almost six kilometers away from

the city

this is a semi-urban area.

The crowd, the business establishments,

hotels, cinemas, super-speciality, hospitals, studios

a number of vehicles

tooting and hooting

speeding along are

absent in this part of the area.

Though flats and 

villas are seen everywhere

all faces are unfamiliar.

To escape from the

monotony of everyday existence

I have a number of

options up my sleeve

like reading, writing.

Television watching,

listening to music

which lifts me

to an ethereal world

forgetting sorrows

and daily evening walks.

Though nostalgia is not an

apt word it is something equivalent

to explain my feelings.

     

   

DEVILS PREACHING SCRIPTURES – ‘SATYAMEVA JAYATE’?

Amir Khan, the versatile actor of Bollywood was the cultural ambassador of India. And the credit goes to Ambika Soni who was the Minister of Information and Broadcasting in the UPA govt.

After the UPA govt collapsed he is not seen on the cultural scene and the credit goes to National Defence Alliance govt led by Narendra Modi. This does not mean that I am an unabashed admirer of Modi govt. I have nothing to do with any parties or govts.

Amir Khan’s still is a household name of each citizen across India.

First he played the role of appearing on the visual media enlightening the citizens to desist from polluting the surroundings and keeping them clean to attract tourists especially foreign tourists thereby creating a good and lasting impression to the tourists and the citizens as a whole. In other words advising the citizens across India making the citizens to talk – ‘Athithi Devo Bhava’ meaning ‘treat the tourists as Gods’. Nowadays that is not seen on the miniscreens since a new government assumed office one year back.

Next he wrote about ‘Sathyameva Jayate’ in newspapers for the newspaper readers. The sum total of message was ‘let the truth prevail’. His highly appreciated column touched upon morals and ethics and make us proud of ourselves by touching upon various subjects in the society. His ‘Satyameva Jayate’ conquered the hearts of many a citizen across India. Among the citizens who appreciated versatile actor too include thousands of us silently and lakhs and lakhs of Indians who lauded the gentleman.

Thirteen years ago Bollywood’s muscle man – Salman Khan – who was reportedly driving his car in an inebriated condition overran street-side dwellers who don’t have even roofs over their heads and killed a poor man, injured a few in the thick of night, was reported the media.

Instead of owning up the responsibility and approaching the nearest police station he ran away from the site to his flat in Bandra, Mumbai’s suburban queen leaving the car on the street side. A brave man no doubt…….

The sessions court sentenced him four years in jail which confirmed that Salman Khan was the real culprit and none was included in the crime going by the evidences.

Immediately the defence lawyer approached Mumbai High Court on behalf of Salman. Harish Salve, one of the renowned lawyers of India took up his appeal. The next day morning the first to reach his flat was none other than his close friend Amir Khan the so-called cultural ambassador of past to console his intimate friend Salman Khan. Amir Khan consoled him and he was sure that the verdict of the Mumbai High Court Judge would be favouring the muscle man. Close on the heels of Amir Khan’s arrival fellow stars reached his flat to comfort the muscleman. Conspicuous by the absence were Amitabh Bachan, junior Bachan and his wife Aiswarya Rai, which is self-Explanatory.

While Salman Khan was busy chatting with his co-stars a verbal fight by lawyers for and against the sessions court verdict.

As expected the verdict went in favour of Salman. The HighCourt thus nullified the verdict of sessions court null and void. The HighCourt suspended the verdict and the bail was extended upto July 10.

Now that his fellow stars are happy and satisfied including former cultural ambassador Amir Khan.

Mr.Khan, how long will you wear this mask like devils preaching scriptures? Mr Khan may I ask you one question which is none other than that whether a street dweller’s life has no value? Mr.Khan could you keep away  from playing the role of cultural ambassador and confine yourself in the tinsel world and prevail upon your colleague in the tinsel world to help the street dwellers to atone for the sins like his rash and drunken driving?

Platitudes won’t help like the politicians who preach from the podiums 24X7. 

THE GARBAGE

POEM

Carrying the sweet,

bitter, nasty and nauseating waste,

with the darkness

getting thickened and

spreading across the land

with the day turning night,

the sweet, bitter, nasty and

nauseating garbage

the odour of which is

unbearable throughout

are dumped in the roaring sea

which is like an insane woman.

And the day hands over

its responsibility

to the coming morrow

dreaming about an entirely fresh dawn.

And the bitter, nasty and nauseating garbage

seem to have vanished forever.

But the gone day

knows  fairly well that

everyday is the replication of

sweet, bitter, nasty, nauseating waste

piling up threatening the very

existence of mankind.

The fun is that

each man’s or woman’s

undoings are the cause

of everything dirty.

Still the gone days

dream about a fresh  

and happy new dawn.

While penning

about the subject

each day I can hear the waste collector blowing

his whistle

in front of each house for

collecting the garbage.

HER WOES

POEM

If I mistook him for an alcoholic

it was not my fault.

Everyday, driving his car

he reached his flat in the late

hours of the night.

Each day she waited for him

without plunging into sleep

until he reached the flat

though drowsiness pushed

her to lay asleep.

Except me,

all the neighbouring flats 

sank in darkness with the occupants

diving deep into the river of deep sleep.

I do have a habit of going to sleep

very late as I did have

a lot to read and write.

On hearing his knocks on the door 

she opened the door with dark  clouds

of anger and sorrow enveloping her face. 

She couldn’t keep mum for long

though she suppressed

her anger until he

tried to cajole her with a broad smile.

She ventilated her emotions

directed against him

but he never got angry

and silently listened to

her angry outbursts.

One day she even went

to the extent of threatening

him with filing a divorce petition

if he was bent upon

reaching very late into the flat.

This was not because

he did have any extra-marital affairs.

Her faith in him was rock-solid

and was aware of his deep

love and attachment towards her.

Neither was he an alcoholic.

One night I could hear her words

piercing my ears ‘work , work and work

day to midnight without

spending some time for her and two children.

Then I could reach the conclusion that

he was not an alcoholic, but a workaholic.

May be workaholism

too is a kind of ‘disease’ like alcoholism.  

NATURE’S FURY

POEM

On an unexpected moment

in the thick of night

lightnings followed by

thundershowers

while the people of

the land were  in

deep slumber

an earthquake  of

higher intensity

followed by aftershocks

struck the land

and the earth seemed turning upside down

many a time

took away the lives

of hundreds of thousands of people

and the buildings and historic monuments

came crumbling down

leaving thousands trapped under the debris.

People who awoke from slumber

ran to the open spaces seeking refuge

and as many ran to the neighbouring countries

leaving all their belongings

to escape from another quake

of higher intensity

though it was raining profusely.

Countries from near and afar

sent their helicopters

dropped food packets

and essential medicines were sent

by their men

to help those caught

under the rubble and

took out both the

dead and those who were alive.

The fear of an epidemic affecting

several citizens loomed large

with the rain and hail storms

showing no signs of abetting

across the land.

The rescue operations

which were going on a war-footing

had to be stopped

midway due to inclement

weather with hundreds

still trapped under the rubble.

Imagine the nature’s fury

striking anywhere, anytime

ie. at unexpected moments

claiming the lives of hundreds of

thousands of people

when its resources are  exploited

with its patience reaching its nadir……