The eternal Lighthouse, the Guru, the teacher omnipresent, omniscient, reincarnate to guide his own home. Forever.
who’d ve thought it would come to this ? #poem #poetry #Covid19 #CoronaVirus #India
*my Teachers said …*
My routine broke, as they hushed “Don’t !!”,
Muffled voices echoing faintly across time,
Didn’t care listen, in a hurry, who has time ?
Am in hustle to put one upon my fellowmen,
To Conquer .. the conquest and the victory,
Surrender and subjugation, The Happiness …
But nature cares, for a mother can’t but,
When she sees her child wandering thus,
Her patience for the truants runs short,
Her rebuke, a gentle slap of no avail as she,
Unleashes pestilence, her stormtroopers,
To sweep, clean the home; they do, ruthless,
It seems best is to stay put, clear off streets,
Voice low, no splurge and abide in quiet self,
Closetted with partners and one’s own clan,
Coccooned in quiet contemplation on the ills,
Waiting for her anger to wash over the kind,
It’s message is to mend ; stark one too ..
Seems my teachers said, about this too,
The material, evanescent like the wealth,
It seems he said a time would come, when,
The money is not worth the paper it’s in print,
What to say of success, more than the King,
Who’s mortal hand, as empty as a newborn,
As his mortal was led down the street lined,
Seems they said much more ; now real too…
It is time to hear those faint echoes of time,
Ancients, strange habits seem so in tune,
Let’s put our ears on the ground, let’s listen,
To the faint voices of teachers across time,
For we can hear it better as troopers near..
This sod tosses hapless, to the left and then to the right,As the Lord’s poetic beauty pulls at it, to have it whole,He pulls at it with his beloved’s and their poetic beau,Written on palm, written by him, timeless, faded but kept alive,Sung by devout, heard by this sod, loved by all,Helplessly pulled to theContinue reading “Maarghazhi Sun”
#Onam, a festival in #Kerala to honour erstwhile King Bali and Vamana, the Avatar of #Lord #Vishnu ~ A Poetic Symbolism
The existential crisis, rudderless feeling one gets as one’s not sure what this body is, what’s to do with this and essentially how to map the world with this, or indeed whether to at all….. In the end one plays his/her part and vanishes but world exhumes the dead for post-truth – buries and burns it again. None is spared from this post-truth. Gods, Goddesses, great men and women are all queued up and exhumed for this ritual. What then one ……
Guru Poornima is an auspicious day in the #Hindu calendar. This is a full moon day where one pay obscience to the guiding , pervading unmanifest force who by his kindness manifested to guide people in the ocean of Samsaaram ( cyclical the bodily identity existence and it’s travails )
Of Free will or Fate : A conflict for the believer whether to put in hard work and free will to attain anything in this world if everything is already preordained by God.
Sudden inspiration followed after seeing an empty rusted bucket in my backyard and I composed this #poem about neglect of what was once useful, now neglected, still owned, but not cared or sought after ..
Happiness, as in the context of a Hindu (a cultural, subcontinental cultural expression, rather than a narrow religious term) is something that was thought about my the brightest minds.
A #poem to express the same ..
Cry of the Zealot : A #Poem about the continuing cycle of Left and Right wing extremism.