Category Archives: Poetry

Day 6: Sleep


Sleep

A routine to some, an occasion to a few…

During night to some, during day to a few…

A relief to some, a release to a few…

Medicine to some, pain to a few…

Sold in bottles to some, stored in books for a few…

End of day to some, end of life to a few…

“Sleep to dream” to some, “Sleep, a dream” to a few…

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Day 3: Monday


Monday

Butterflies in the stomach, legs weak at the knees.
Eyes rested, and yet not too keen to open up and see..
A languid mind, not yet ready to endure another week…
No age absolved, no vocation let go….
That devil – Monday, doesn’t spare any soul…..

monday_thumb

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The Facebook Patriot!


Listen to us, We’re The Facebook Patriots…
Here we are, revelling our Independence Day.
Before we hit ‘Like’ or ‘Share’ this on our wall.
Care to listen to what the Indian in us would say?

Tricolor on our chests, joy and fervor in our hearts.
It used to be a matter of real pride celebrating This day.
Videos of patriotic songs, photoshopped posters on Facebook.
15th August, today means ‘Chak De India’ on the bluray.

We curse the rising price to buy life today.
Post information comparing petrol prices around the earth.
And yet when it comes to us, are neither judicious nor wise.
Expensive cars, fast bikes, we spend our life in mirth.

And why shouldn’t we, for we earn in a year, and spend,
What our parents spent their enitre lifetime to save.
That thing called inflation, may have gone through the roof.
And yet we go on treats, and needless parties rave.

We curse the Government and pity the weakening Rupee.
And yet secretly smile at the exchange rate.
For we buy home plots, and build swanky flats,
With money in the U.S, we pray for the Dollar to inflate.

We only shake our heads at the soldier dying on the border.
Blame the ‘soft’ Government on not taking a stand.
But the usually mute, get vociferous on Facebook timeline,
When a 3 hour movie doesn’t release on the day it was planned.

We ask for a separate state as if it were a piece of cake.
And burn the country for it, like a bunch of fools.
And around the time they give in, we yell we don’t want any.
We show our dear politicians how to divide and rule.

We take a special interest to ridicule our Mute hapless PM.
Share posts about ‘The Madam’, ‘Son’ and ‘Son-in-law’ with glee.
We talk about this PM ‘Modi’fication as if some magic wand.
Truth is, not one man, but the whole nation awakening is the key

We see our sisters and daughters suffer in silence everyday.
Eve teasing and rapes, we condemn them, we rightfully curse.
On Facebook, we talk about Woman Independence and empowerment.
And yet never realize, just words and inaction is equally worse.

And no, oh Facebook Patriot, I don’t hold this against you.
For we all are travellers on the same sinking boat.
While we may cry, laugh or ridicule at our plight.
Frankly, We know not what to do to keep us afloat.

-x-

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Filed under Complaint, Current Affairs, General, Poetry

The Lamp Post on the 21st Street


The Lamp Post on the 21st Street

Braving the World, showing time the way,
Watching over them all like a Sheriff on beat.
The provenance of light in this bustling turf,
I am the Lamp Post on the 21st Street.

Countless winters, I’ve seen pass by me,
I’ve beheld this land through a well lit flame.
A thousand moons ago they set me here first,
I was similar to others, but I wasn’t the same.

Lined up in splendid array, my brothers and Me,
We guarded the nights with a twinkle in our eyes.
Forged out of the finest metals, we stood tall,
But time whithered most of us to our sad demise.

But I’ve stood through it as I saw the others fall,
Some crumbling to rust, some being uprooted out,
To make way for the future we were renounced to scrap,
Tucked away in a corner, lucky I wasn’t in progress’ route.

I’ve seen this prized land changing hands amongst kings,
I’ve seen tyranny, I’ve seen blood color my feet red.
Cries for freedom replaced by songs of incessant joy,
I’ve been the hub of festivities when the tyrants fled.

The winds of change have swept scars on my form,
The sands of time have furrowed a part of me to rust.
My quaint little lane is now the center of a Street,
This mean new city now bathes me in slime and dust.

The flame is gone, it’s replaced by bulbs instead,
The dusty paths of past are now graves under black tar.
Mortals walk past me with burden of a new bad world.
The only things lingering are memories and the night stars.

It isn’t all that bad, life yet survives around me,
Happy little street urchins play under me without fret.
Broken hearts still lean on me finding solace in my shadows.
Seeking the light of love perhaps, in my dark silhouette.

My rich, black coat, has been reduced to crumbs,
Love stories scribbled on the canvas of my trunk.
Packs of street dogs mark their territory around me.
I’m covered with banners notices and every other junk.

Once in four years when something important happens,
A few people hurry up to clean me and hide my blots.
I get cleaned, decked up with a fresh coat of black,
One day of indulgence after four tainted years of rot.

But I’ve survived so long, and will survive again,
Standing tall and watching life mill around me.
Watching the poor souls going about their chores.
Never realizing the wonderful life I’ve once seen.

Braving the World, showing time the way,
Watching over them all like a Sheriff on beat.
The provenance of light in this bustling turf,
I am the Lamp Post on the 21st Street.

-X-

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Filed under Nostalgia, Poetry

Breathtaker


Tired of tired fingers, turning its pages again.
An old, open novel, fanned down on my chest in disdain,
As tired eyes, sought oasis in the desert of my languor,
I scoured the world, through the halved window of my train.

Ten and two hours’d tired me, yet I had more time to kill.
Wrapped up tight in stolidity to cheat the winter chill.
And then it came and hit me, like a fresh breath of fragrant air.
In the melee of a moving train, time seemed to stop still.

A thing of beauty is joy for ever, odists say.
I gasped for words to describe elegance walking my way.
An Angel in Blue, a creature of stupendous perfection,
Any eulogy of her heavenly beauty, seemed a lame cliche.

Like clear sparkling water, that rushes down a splendid ravine,
Like a new tender leaf swaying in the breeze of God’s design.
She came and sat herself on that vacant seat before me
No Earthly synonym of beauty could match her form divine.

My tired, slouching body, found an excuse to sit up straight.
The reason of my existence, suddenly seemed to fall in place.
Like the bright blue moon, veiled behind the dark clouds of night.
My heart skipped a few beats when her dark locks fell over her face.

Day turned to night, and then night turned back to day.
I stayed a silent admirer, but not a word did she say.
She undesigned alluring gaze made me weak at the knees.
God’d been unfair to her, He must’ve took ages to make her this way.

And then like how she’d come, she was gone in a flash.
Feeling her way through the compartment, smiling, holding her father’s hands.
I stood there shocked, muted, I wanted so much to say.
She’d left her Braille books behind, but she’d taken my breath away.

-X-

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Filed under Poetry, Romance, Stories

Gotta Get Going – My 3G Life


This is my humble, little, lyrical entry to the Indiblogger – Tata Docomo “What is 3G life to you?” Contest. Check out what 3G is about, powered by the world leaders in 3G.

—x—

 

Gotta Get Going…

 

My 3G Life


Streamed on my phone, last night’s ODI ended at one,
No wonder getting up in morning didn’t seem too fun,
But then today’s Monday, and Mom might call me anytime.
And I wouldn’t want her to see me asleep during Facetime.

So I jump out of bed, grabs the day’s gazettes.
Not from the porch, but on my trusty old tablet.
I check my emails, there’s a presentation that needs some fixing.
Boss wants it immediately, I download it and get working.

So before no time, I’ve edited and sent the presentation,
while swinging to my favourite tunes from the internet radio station.
And all this on my tablet and phone, without even opening the laptop.
Which I only use when missus is searching video recipes on mobile for mutton chops.

So the phone gets docked, and becomes a full-fledged music player,
While I get ready for office after a warm, refreshing, shower.
I remember that tune that has been stuck in my head so long,
I hum it to my phone and it searches and finds me the name of the song.

I start to office, and my phone sits on my car’s dashboard,
The ever trusty GPS with detailed maps and my favourite routes stored.
Traffic is mean, but I hardly get in stuck in these streets.
My trusty Traffic App re-routes me using live traffic feeds.

At office work takes precedence, but then there is always room for fun,
A quick, little game, some social networking, gets a lot of things done.
The newly married Ramesh emails his Reception photo from Rome.
Picasa is blocked in office, so I see them in hi-res on the phone.

At lunch, I realize its Kirthi’s birthday tomorrow and I don’t have time,
To buy her a gift, so I order her favourite flowers online.
And during checkout, Boss calls up, wants some information.
I speak to him while continuing the payment, without disconnection.

And when works done, I wrap up for the day and start for home.
I’m reminded there is a party to attend by the missus on the phone.
I pick her up and we reach the place, looking good,
She chats up with her friends, bored, I stick to Facebook.

And then suddenly she remembers that her mobile bill is to be paid,
Though the bills have come down significantly, it was still delayed.
I take out my phone and she looks at it and smiles.
She remembers my banking app and knows I can pay bills on the fly.

On our way back, we stop at a traffic signal just near our street,
She looks at the huge banner of a movie soon to be released.
I know it stars her favorite actor and this she really wants to see.
I book tickets for the opening night right at the signal, instantly.

And thus my regular day, like any other, comes to an end.
There is so much that was done, with so little time to spend.
No science fiction this, all of this can be reality.
Gotta Get Going… My Tata Docomo 3G life is calling for me…

 

—x—


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A Dozen Red Bricks


A dozen red bricks, on top of his head.
Carried a soul, to earn his daily bread.

His tottering steps, burnt dark in the sun.
The bricks were laid, his job was done.
A shadow waved on his face, a wave of respite.
He pulled his weary head up, with all his might.

In a distance, on a pole, newly painted white.
Fluttered the tricolour, oh what a pretty sight.
‘Twas a sight to behold, what the poor soul had seen.
A proud wave of the banner, in Saffron, White and Green.

A smile showed his lips, and then faded away.
He thought to himself, what was he today?
Only then he then realized, his country was free.
And had been so, for long, he realized – years Sixty Three.

This freedom was a gift from his father too.
A freedom fighter, his stories he always knew.
In a way, like his father, he was a fighter as well.
His father fought the British. He fought poverty’s spell.

He saw near the pole, in whites, people, very few.
Dragged out of their beds, their faces rue.
None seemed to realize, what the day actually meant.
They hoisted the flag, and back home they went.

An ignorant world, locked up in their homes,
Stuck to their TVs, and their cushioned thrones.
He wondered why, only he had to work today,
Where was his freedom, on Independence Day?

He realized soon, he was much better than them.
Among heaps of coal, a rare polished gem.
Although to poverty and despair, he had succumbed,
He harbored a heart, that understood freedom.

He had no money, he had no wealth,
But he was free to do, what he felt.
His country didn’t give him much, he did confess.
But freedom was his wealth, which he did possess.

And he carried on with his chore for the day.
He wanted to do something for his country, his way.
He knew no miracles, to make it quick.
So he built his country, brick by brick.

A dozen red bricks, on top of his head.
Carried a soul, to earn his daily bread.

__________________________________________________________________

Also published on N-Zine at http://www.n-zine.com/2010/08/dozen-red-bricks.html

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Filed under Complaint, Current Affairs, General, Poetry