NISARGA

Thought of being disowned took a grip;
The familial ties were about to break;
Abscission about to take its toll;
I began my journey, my fall.

Once I had a grand family;
So many of me, fluttering free;
At times, a few guests came in;
At times, some came to stay;
A joyful bunch, a heavenly escape.

Then, granny thought of letting me go;
I was old, not a lot though;
I would be replaced very soon;
I would not, he wouldn't know.

I am mid-way of my fall, full of disgust;
I was at the top, now would be lower than a shrub;
All of a sudden, I gather the thought;
I realize the purpose, It means a lot.

The law of life, is the rule of life;
The fall was cool and the view was nice;
The shades change from green to dry;
I have long back, sighed my last;
The peace within, I was the cast.

This poem is about the fall of a leaf from the top of a grand old tree. Initially, when the fall begins, the leaf realizes what he is losing and this fills it with disgust, but mid-way of the fall a realization strikes and it comes to know about the greater purpose. Change is permanent. One must come, and must go.



Girish (11th April 2009)

PAINTING MY VIGNETTE

The mirror stares back at me,
The sand flows up the slit,
I hear the preaching,
Molten glass is deafening,
Free in my own penitentiary,
Am amazed by my pertinacity,
The presidium is premonitory,
The perfect physiognomy,
My rostrum, infested by treachery,
Fall of The citadel,
I am the clairvoyant sentry.

My cuffs and collars are red
I love this hatred,
This is my recall,
The front, about to fall......

Petals of a red rose, pattern of scattering,
I lay low, still and I am greiving,
Greiving my own demise,
Painting my vignette with a blood sacrifice.

I am pulled apart, I see myself at steps,
I stand anew, I see the view,
That heap of lies, false disguise,
Slowly making way, with the flow,
I found my natal glow.

STAIRCASE TO HEAVEN

It’s said a famous mythological demon,

Had an ambitious aspiration,

He wanted to build a staircase to Heaven,

But failed because he had an obligation.

A certain famous kid-brother,

Had disfigured, face of the demon’s sister,

He never thought to look deep into the matter,

In a fatal fit of anger,

He abducted the spouse of the Eternal Illuminator,

Not a very smart manoeuvre,

About which he regretted much, much later.

On deathbed he made a confession,

There is always a gap between intention and action,

Only difference between good and demon,

Is the extent of that gap minimization,

With a well thought decision,

Only if he had made a quick materialization,

Of the staircase to Heaven,

Only if he hadn’t given into that obligation,

Only if he had tried to find the reason.

He might have failed; he would have been a nobody,

Better still, at least not the “Raavan”.

This is my understanding of the famous Indian Epic “Ramayana”. Though it’s said to be a completely made up story, but every chapter of this story teaches you a thing or two about how to be successful and more importantly good human being, only if Raavan had decided to go instantly with a constructive idea, rather than with a destructive plan, he wouldn’t have had the “evil” tag. I feel this is the essence of every modern day success story. I was also deeply moved by a phrase “gap between intention and action” I found in Paulo Coehlo’s book “Veronika decides to die”.

Dual between I and me

An illusion of two and a half decade,
Caged emotions behind an extrovert facade,
How non-me of myself, I have made,
Who is the real me ? in me
No answer, even the question doesn't fade.

I stood infront of the mirror as a child,
I stand infront of the mirror today;
Can not find, that child, how much ever I try,
Then I realize in a jiffy,
I have lost my identity.

Most of you, have a "growing up" aspiration
Even I had one such notion
"Sports star" then "medical profession",
Wanted to do a "Mendel" then,
Clearly a case of Identity crisis,
"A network Engineer" my new ambition

It's a scary thing, this realization is,
Keeps your mind wandering and you, Static,
Every idea is made of plastic,
Takes shape, breaks, again I am spastic.
I want to resign to my fate, thinking,
a mould was never made that could mould me,
But "realization" prevents me,
Says, "search is still on, for your lost identity".


This is about a man who doesn't know who he is and what he should do about it, he feels helpless,his life is just something he always pretended it to be, his search is still on for his true self,but time is running out.

PHOSPHORUS TIPPED STICK

Within no time you are engulfed,

Your mouth spits out a curse word,

You are blinded in an instant,

You grope, nearest solid feel is now so distant,

You imagine something move around,

Your heart skips a beat, the synapse fires,

“Oh! It’s a cigarette butt on the ground”

I become bit lenient now on,

I allow those minuscule photons,

Your retina takes the battering,

You gradually can differentiate the surrounding,

You think where was the flashlight?

Only if you kept it in the place assigned,

You feel for the matchbox on the kitchen shelf,

You hear a choked scream, it’s yourself,

“Oh! It’s still hot, the frying pan.”

Friction of the match, your anticipation,

Phosphorus tipped stick, great invention,

You watch as the flame takes form,

Looking for thread in wax, your next norm,

The thread is lit, the stick of no use,

Flame on thread flickers, one verbal abuse,

Your un-destined tryst with me,

Only momentary,

Is uncomfortable? I muse.

I pity you, your need for light,

I fear those without a sight,

I am belittled against their might,

Zillions of lenient photons, nothing’s bright,

You look at them with mercy, you are so blind,

Their rainbows is more colourful, in their mind,

Had they had your vision, and seen your world,

Only miseries would be bestowed to those eyes.

There is nothing as “love at first Sight”,

For them it’s just love, day or night,

Do not pity, thinking for their plight,

You have eyes, see the bigger picture,

I engulf all of your starry night…

This is about darkness. Darkness mocks at the people who have sight; a momentary darkness due to power failure makes them uncomfortable. It says, it is afraid of beings that lack vision and feels happy for them, because if they had eyes, they could have seen all the miseries and sufferings the so called normal people undergo. In the end, darkness re-asserts its dominance stating that the entire universe is engulfed by it, meaning that come out of your worldly pleasures and see billions are still suffering. Sight here refers to all the seemingly “important” (materialistic) things; darkness refers to all the wrong doings of man.

MH-31 V 3600

I will tell you about the rider,

View of a confidante, an insider,

He was young, a teenager,

He was thin or may even thinner,

It’s been 11 years,

May be I don’t remember,

He was always eccentric,

Always an under-achiever,

Then he did something, that wasn’t in store

He ditched me and went with that whore,

One day he went missing,

I knew though where he was going,

He was with her, driving her crazy,

He crossed all borders,

And when he was tired, he fell asleep,

Then the law-keepers, took him in,

He came back, but not his childish grin,

I was happy again, but could make out,

He was longing to break-out,

Again he was not in town,

Break out, no, he broke down,

I heard the word about the blade that ran down,

The rope which couldn’t hold him on,

I imagined him bleed,

I imagined him cold,

I imagined not getting back that hold,

But he came back again,

He took me along this time,

But he didn’t have a dime,

I used to starve,

I used to stand out in the cold,

I used to be in foreign hold,

They didn’t care about me,

I was just an instrument to make merry,

I saw trees, I saw dirt, and I saw the dark,

I saw valleys; I saw the pitched path,

Don’t know how the stuff did start,

Don’t know why he was joint to it fast,

Now he just wastes away sitting in his dingy room,

He says, no one understands him, I do,

Only if he would know, how to call on to,

Hope he understands his fate,

Hope it’s not too late,

Hope he understands,

He is hunter, he is the bait….

This about a very dear friend of mine, MH-31 V 3600, is the vehicle's registration number, a beautiful Yamaha RXG, here the bike tells her view about his life, as she saw it, and still is...

Only One More Minute

“It’s time” said the holy man,
“Gear up” and my journey began,
Journey towards the end,
Am sitting in the back of Holy Pick Up,
Words of wisdom come as boost up,
I try to recollect the time,
When I was taken away against
Ma’s will,
“He is going to serve the Lord” he said,
“Heavens would open their doors” he said,

10 minutes to detonation,
10 minutes more of mortality,
10 minutes of flash backs,
10 minutes, and I would be knocking on heaven’s door,

I walk to the busiest place,
Ironical, but this would get me solace,
Inflict maximum damage,
That’s what Lord wishes,
Be it child, be it old, all gory pieces,
I feel a bit restless,
I feel a lot more anxious,I am about to be blown to smithereens
Maximum Damage, I guess that’s what they mean,
I can’t go back,
They won’t take me back,
Death inevitable,
I look for needle in haystack,

1 minute to detonation,
1 minute more to immortality,
1 minute to news flash,
1 minute, and my head could be in that drug store,

I am panicking as the dreaded second draws closer,
I am sweating as my thumb, on remote, gets closer,

Don’t know why I feel for my family now,
Don’t know why I feel for their families now,
Should I break the holy vow?
But,
For a fraction I see blood,
For a fraction I hear a thud,
For a fraction I feel the pinching pain,
In a fraction I leave that ever-lasting stain…….

This is about the last ten minutes of a suicide bomber,about how he feels that he is wrong but its too late to pull out.