Quarter of a century

Out of “Brahmacharya” I am
According to the Vedic “Ashrama” system
Have to live the world, fight it if required
Yet have to do my duty towards them.
Not only allowed, but am also expected
To be a “Grihashta”, even if for men only was it made.

There is a sudden
Sense of adulthood.
I will be now in
25-40 age group,
Of MBA Surveys.
Late 20s, my profile says.

My mom had me
When she was twenty five.
My brother’s age is
Eight years more than mine.
And I am still struggling
With this adulthood’s feeling.

In 25 years of her existence
My mom didn’t see
Anything beyond those few
Villages, towns and one city.
I have gone round the world.
Yet, hesitant am I of being an adult.

Saying when I grow up,
I can’t postpone things.
Quarter of a century is past me,
That’s the feeling it brings.
So, here is the gift I seek my friends,
I need to march, if I stumble, for a moment lend me your hands.

Thousands have said it…

Thousands have said it in past I know,
Yet its new, every time you feel it.
The calm outside, upheavals within,
Burning thing, apparently dimly lit.

Share I must not, for they’ll say,
“That’s how the life is you know”
But it can be different you think
Why must to the fate you bow?

Share I must not, for they’ll say,
“It’s your fault that it is this way.”
Fault or Virtue I don’t know,
When green grass converts into hay.

Thousands have said it in past I know…

Small Pleasures

Who wants the sky
I only want a bit of fresh air
Who wants the stars
One flash of light on earth is enough for me

I do not care when heavens fall
But it break my heart
When a small pleasure is taken away
Don’t take that away
That’s all.

 

The Burden of Cruelty

You all had something in common

To start with
The virtue of innocence
Or the pride of love
Or a friendship making sense
Or a motivation due to awe.

At the end of it
The consolation of victimization
And the resort to self-pity.

All I have is
A burden of cruelty.

Moments That Matter

Give me a few days
For just myself, my own self.
Away from the world, which
I would leave, if I could help.

These hours of drudgery
And this meaningless chatter.
Oh! Once, for once let me live
Those moments that really matter.

She can not love them

They love her from far
“Oh! That must be so pure”
But what is it they love so
Is what she is not so sure.

They love her shadow
They love her image
And its all cooked up
By their mind and craze.

She is not a decorated doll
Beautiful and totally lifeless
She is life itself, bubbling with it,
With all its beauty and ugliness.

She is not a goddess – so perfect
Calm and faultless all the time
They might want to worship her
But she does not care a dime.

She is not heartless and
She does not want to be rude
But in their ‘heavenly’ thoughts
How is she to get a reality so crude?

Those flowers are lying there
In the balcony, behind her room
They offer it to a goddess of their dreams
And hence she can not love them.

You!

You are those words to me
Which you had sometime written,
You are those sounds to me
Which I have heard quite often
Sometimes actually
But mostly in imagination,
And hence to see you as a reality
Puts me in some confusion.
I hardly know what to say
And what to expect from you
And wonder if you ever
Feel the same for me too.
When the dreams and realities
Mix up with each other
When play together in one’s mind
Tids of hope and bits of fear.
Then results the situation with which
My mind presently can identify
This is the mirror of my situation
And yes, mirrors do not lie.

Future

When the present seems too good to be true
Then I do not want to know the future.
What goes up, must come down – so I know
I will lose, sooner or later, my treasure.

What an ingratitude it must sound to the fate
That has given me the present bliss
But if I know the future, the pleasure
I can have today, I will surely miss.

Yes, so let me be blind and conceited
And a short-sighted fool, if you want.
But this moment of peace and content
You must, to me, unconditionally grant.

When the same old world glows all anew,
Then the future I do not want to know.
Things can’t be so bright and beautiful for ever
The moments that matter, let me not throw.

That Has Not Gone Wrong

Had written this one a while back -

–

My efforts have been wasteful
My principles have really failed
The world seems to have come to an end
And seems my senses have been jailed

So many things are not going right
Life has fights and time is tight
There is no light and nights are really very long
Still Thanks to God for all that hasn’t gone wrong!

(Written on: August 26, 2004)

Someday, sometime, someone, somewhere…

If I had known, what words to use
To make a poem exactly to tell you,
How I feel about things around me
Ah! Seems words there are very few.

Let me see if I can still put it -
Its a torture to me not to talk
And yet, talking will end a bliss (forever?)
How rudely the situation pulls me apart!

Give me a feeling of guilt and irresponsibility
These wasted hours, those lagging schedules
And yet I do not propose a tete-a-tete
Characteristics, I always attributed to fools!

You see its irrational, insecure and vain of me
And still with all this its me that you see
Whether to end the agitation or continue the bliss
In my confused state, I leave the judgment to thee