A FEW THOUGHTS AND A HOPE..... A FEW THOUGHTS AND A HOPE.....


When O Life shall thou farewell bid?
When of this world shall I get rid?

When death stares at me, in the eye,
will I be ready to fearlessly die?

Will I be young? Will I be old?
Will I be scared? Will I be bold?

I know not where. I know not when.
But I have decided to live life till then.

For worthless it is to think of tomorrow,
and waste today in grief and sorrow.

No one and nothing shall make me sad;
For tomorrow's sake, today mustn't be bad.

With honesty and courage, today I shall live;
Less I shall gather,more I shall give.

A little poet writes this piece,
Hoping tomorrow, he will rest in peace.  ¶ 5:14 AM 1 Comments

  WISE WORDS FROM AN OLD MAN WISE WORDS FROM AN OLD MAN......


Exploring philosophies and experiences, my mind,
has travelled distances, an answer to find;
To the question, the eternal question of all,
yet the question unanswered: what's Life after all?


Is it but a short, interval of existence?
A break from an infinite state of inexistence.
Does it have a purpose or is it merely myth
that a purpose is what we must be living with?


Nevertheless sometimes we do without thought,
what we have since birth, been profoundly taught.
And since the days of memory I recall,
being taught that in Life, Purpose is All.


And thus my search for Purpose began,
in childhood and till early youth it ran
I began to feel, this search was forever;
And to this an end, there shall be never.


My mind was at unrest, 'twas not used to quitting,
But quitting my search seemed the only thing fitting
Hence my search for Purpose i resolved,
to quit; And yet my mystery is solved


For with wrinkled skin and hair turned gray,
With experience and wisdom on my side, I say,
that living itself is the purpose of Life;
That living itself is the purpose of Life!  ¶ 5:06 AM 0 Comments

  TO MY LAMP.... TO MY LAMP....


Sadness sometimes sweeps me away,
when I think of my heartless act that day.
The incident I am about to relate,
can only be regretted, its late! Too late!


In my school days, when iI was a child,
we had a new teacher, one timid and mild.
He taught us our English-none really cared;
And of his li'l cane we never were scared.


When he came in each day, his textbook in hand
Not one of us, ever bothered to stand
And show him a tiny bit of respect,
not even the class-teacher's pet, I suspect.


Of all our teachers we felt he was,
the blaisest, we all hated his class.
Never was his class, to us any fun;
Except of course, that fateful one.


Looking feverish and tired, that day he came,
but up our sleeve, we had a li'l game.
Planning to put our teacher to shame;
We replaced his chair, with one that was lame.


But for some reason his class was that day, different,
we listened to what he said, with intent.
Somewhere in him, we noticed a change;
A sad yet strong spirit, of fight so strange.


And then we came to realise our wrong,
for he was quite good at his job since long.
Us it was who never would listen;
Alas! Our folly! But too late by then!


For after a stanza of a poem by Blake,
tired from fever, a moment's rest to take,
Wiping his brow and closing his book;
On the crippled chair, his seat he took.


"Crash!" went the chair, he fell to the ground,
with roars of laughter did the class resound.
He was hurt, more than body his heart in pain;
Left that day to never come back again.


In the next few days we were given to know,
that his only son had died a week ago.
And yet duty-bound, to teach he had come;
And we heartless, thoughtless, our acts loathsome!


Today handsfolded, I beg on my knees,
O great teacher, forgive me please!
For in darkness your teachings, to me have shown light,
'tis owing to you that today I write!  ¶ 5:03 AM 0 Comments

  NIGHT-BREEZE..... NIGHT-BREEZE.....


Your stars they shine, with infinite glee,
your moon she smiles, at ocean and sea;
Tell me your secret, reveal it to me,
O! Silent Night yet, why weepeth thee.


My tears are for her, my better half;
For the only one who will make me laugh.
Where hath she gone? O! poet please!
Find her for me, her name is Breeze.


O! Silent Night, how foolish art thee!
Pray forget her , accompany me;
For a thousand stars await thy smile;
With them and the Moon, make merry awhile.


Alas! My friend, what poet art thou!
Who has only heard, not ever known love.
For in love when you miss your beloved one,
merriment and smile there can be none.


On this the Poet said to Night,
"The truth thou hast spake, thou art right."
And prayed to God closing book and pen.
And in rythmic silence, Breeze blew then!  ¶ 5:02 AM 1 Comments

  HER GOD HER GOD.....


Some call me a beggar, some a thief,
O what do they know, of my grief.
Why do I beg, or sometimes steal,
what do I want, and how I feel;
No one perhaps shall ever know.


Clothes ragged and torn, on the pavement I rest,
while they stare at me, like I were a pest.
But home none I have, where may I go?
Yet I must live on, I must live so;
For the sake of myself i must live on.


No purpose I see, to my belittled being,
but thats not an excuse for me to be fleeing.
From realities of life- of hunger and sorrow,
So sometimes I beg, I steal, I borrow;
For the purpose of life is living itself.


I care not for riches, or clothing good,
all I need, is shelter and food.
To keep me alive, two meals a day,
and a corner of this pavement for myself to stay;
And nothing more I ask from this society.


Nothing more I ask this society to give,
You live your life, and mine i will live.
Selfish I am, I live for just me,
But thats how it must be, do not you see;
Why must I help someone for nothing?


So one night on my concrete, bed I lay,
thinking of what to do the next day.
Nothing! I thought, just steal some bread,
and sleep all day, on my hard bed;
A newspaper pillow and a ragged-cloth for blanket.


Just before noon, the next day I woke,
with a stick in my ribs, I felt someone poke.
I looked up to see a policeman stand,
greed in his eyes, and stick in hand;
He hath found his prey for the day.


At my sack in the corner, I saw him look,
he asked me," what's in there, you dirty crook?"
"Nothing," I said, " just scrap from the street,"
" nothing that would be, to your eyes a treat."
"O! shut up and get up and empty your pockets."


I stood up and emptied my pockets for him.
His face was stony, silent and grim.
He took the small change that in my pockets I had,
And warned me,he'll get me if i was bad;
And then he left, leaving me broke.


Later that day I, was caught stealing bread,
And they beat me up, till I was almost dead.
In hunger and pain, I wandered the street,
hoping to find a morsel to eat;
But nothing I got, but contempt and hate.


From house to house, I begged for food,
but the end of the day, and still hungry I stood.
A splitting headache, from hunger and sun,
my eyes too went down, but food there was none;
A body so weak, a mind but weaker.


Thus shoulders drooping, to my home I returned,
only to find my, newspaper-pillow burnt.
So this night i thought, would go without sleep,
with hunger and pain to company keep;
I bent down to pick up the ashes of my pillow.


I sat down there, my hands held my head,
without a pillow, I couldnt use my bed.
More so when you've had, nothing to eat,
For this was no bed, twas but concrete;
And then I saw him come to me.


Some kind of social worker was he,
he gave me a smile and sat beside me.
In no mood I was, for some cleanliness class,
So I asked him here, why he was;
And then he whispered," Are you hungry?"


"Yes" I nodded, and he walked away,
to a vehicle nearby, and came back with a tray.
With food in it, and water to drink,
I grabbed it and ate, not stopping to think;
With me he sat, while I alone ate.


My dinner I finished, in no time at all,
feeling i was,the luckiest of all.
Joy may exist,in this world a lot,
but I was the happiest, right now I thought;
Yet I found myself wrong, when I looked in his eyes.


He was smiling in joy, his eyes shone in glee,
but how could he be, happier than me?
Happy he was, from the joy me he gave,
he smiled as he went off, giving me a wave;
And then I realised, he was my God.


He went away, but his memory remained,
like a little neat spot, on a shirt fully stained.
To me he was God, because he was happy,
solely for reason that, I was happy;
And how happy he was! How happy he was!


An indelible mark, on my mind it made,
to my life of uselessness, farewell I bade
I resolved in my mind, to do something good,
to earn and not to steal my food;
Tomorrow a day, of radical change.


The next day I woke up,and emptied my sack,
hoping to find someway, to earn breakfast snack.
Papers and bottles, books and strings,
O! my sack full of valuable things;
I sold it all, at the corner scrap dealer's.


Now I had money, for three meals the day,
I needn't steal, for today I shall pay.
And from now I shall hardest work,
I thought to myself, with a proud li'l smirk;
I returned to my corner, with a new paper pillow.


But on my way back, I saw this girl,
from the distance I saw her lips curl.
Nearer I went, to ask her why,
she was crying silently, without even a sigh.
For hungry she was, and no food had she.


I took her to a shop, and brought her a bun,
she looked like she, was the happiest one.
She gobbled the bun, and smiled at me,
and strangely I felt, the happier one was me;
And then I realised, I was Her God !  ¶ 4:56 AM 0 Comments

  DEATHBED. DEATHBED....


Alone and awake she lay in her bed,
" If only I died.", to herself she said.
For the pain she had, she could no more take,
"Pray take me away God for heaven's sake!
Give me my end, let my curtains fall.
I wish not to live as a burden to all.
For this body now is, of use to none;
But a desire to die in the arms of my son.


O! My young sons and my sister so dear
Have been looking me after, for over a year.
Each morning and night, me they bathe and dress;
May their souls, every God bless!
For I can but pray and do nothing more
For added to my cancer, I now have bedsore.
And extremely painful, is now each day.
And out of this now, I find no way.


I can barely recall,the things of my past,
and my present from me, slips away fast.
Medicines each day, each morning, each noon;
O! what use are they, I shall find death soon
With each coming moment I now forget,
what I just thought, what I just said.
Thus is my life, a memoriless one;
But a desire to die in the arms of my son."


And thus one morning, she was bathed and fed,
and seated in an armchair beside her bed.
Her son came to her and held her in his arms;
He held her hands and, felt her humid palms.
Blankly at him, he saw her stare,
and he felt like she was saying, "Take care."
And thus with desires unfulfilled none,
she breathed her last, in the arms of her son.  ¶ 4:52 AM 0 Comments

  THE FIRST RAINS... THE FIRST RAINS.....


Killing a summer of humid heat,
giving those lovers a joyful treat,
in joyous torrents the first rains they come,
breaking the virgin wind's swaying hum.


They lash out! They lash out, like whips that sting,
but whips cause pain while these joy bring.
And the sky from fiery to dark grey when turns,
for this simple joy, every heart yearns.


Like sorrow that ceases when washed down by tears,
like tears of joy when good news one hears,
the sorrow is washed down, the summer is dead;
Time to come out of your homes and get wet!


So forget what you're doing, and come outside,
look at the skies and spread your hands wide.
Lay off your troubles and forget your pains!
Get wet! Get wet! in these first rains!  ¶ 4:47 AM 0 Comments

  THE BIRTH OF A POEM THE BIRTH OF A POEM......

Desperation and loneliness haunt me tonight,
when I sit down with book and pen to write,
this poem.This poem from somewhere it comes,
and in my heart, a tune it hums;
An empty tune of infinite grief,
yet much as I can, I ll try to be brief.


But a tune is not to be written but heard,
So for this tune of sorrow, I find not a word.
My mind drifts from persons to places to things,
but my heart this tune it sings and sings.
Trapped thus between Heart and Mind it aches,
and at last it gets out and a shape it takes.


And thus when this formless, bodiless tune,
becomes this poem, my sorrow melts soon.
That reasonless sorrow that inspired me to write,
a tune of sorrow, in words tonight.
For reasons unknown, the sorrow is gone;
And in these timeless moments, a Poem is born.  ¶ 3:31 AM 1 Comments