next

men in turban sometimes i see
two other times i see three four
or even five seated around the picnic table
my rest stop beside the walking trail

they chat a chant in an alien tongue
effectively excluding others speaking
the language of the adopted soil
then i saw these men sitting on table

announcing another set of values to drive
others away from vicinity; they moved
one day to lay aged frames on platform
instead placing picnic food like others

as i probed what’s next they
vacated to the ground to sit around
playing a pack of cards one man even
waving as if inviting me to the game

but in heart i pondered who’s next
after my brother Rex, followed by mum
and dad, had crossed to the other side to play
that game none had come back to name

28.08.2012

nature’s nostrils

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

did the poplars beat paper calendars

in announcing an imminent autumn
aren’t they nature’s nostrils to smell
air from far mountains, or that farther

coast carrying the frost to soon churn

them into soft snow to scatter in a sombre
mood melting human arrogance to move
faster and fly higher than the tallest hills

soon windows and doors will be shut

air-tight not to let grief of the deciduous
to enter hearts of men, women, and children
creating new music behind barred doors

26.08.2012

Note: A painting done by Gitanjali Victor when she was 12 years old.

 

 

fear

my tiny brain frequently billets larger fears
letting the fungi like invisible roots
to enter my flesh, fibres, bones, and the soul
covering my mind with mildew of rottenness

this flesh inside my skull, now, freely gives
away odour displeasing to my inner nostrils, my heart
transforming my psyche to that of a restless dog
running from one day to another with the tongue out

this thorn in my head, the many dreads dwelling
inside my flesh will come out only with a sharper one
the brain boarding a bigger fear belittling my brain
by flushing content with fleshing of a grander vision

22.08.2012

strangers

destiny walks in the familiar mall
with unknown kind and colour
dress, dodging me always
lest i stop to converse with her

forever she remains hidden
to my eyes like the hiddenness
of my own soul so close
yet unfamiliar as hiddenness

of that life-giving life
blinded to my mind, intellect
with neither logic nor vocabulary
to affirm or deny with confident collect

14.08.2012

curled tail

dawning dusk of my life to enhance
a sense of a companionship
in an abode abandoned by a pet bitch
of over three decades i brought in a dog

whose tail was curled like
the mind of a retarded human
that i tried to uncurl repeatedly
but succumbing to un-success

unwittingly also enhancing
loneliness adding extra weight
and cluttering luggage reconfirming
van Gogh’s ‘misery never ends’

14.08.2012

leech

leech, that boneless, the loss

of purpose inching to suck
all the blood from my soul
has begun munching my mind

already weakened by a lack

of exercising, a disciplined reading
with dishing out to followers
acquired wisdom, the sweet cake

being stagnant too long in one

spot and anchored in a dead
love makes it easier for leech
to bring life to a screeching halt
 
11.08.2012

freedom

knowing not from where i came
or to where i am going, in confusion
i called the freedom to wash feet
of another my servitude

now lying naked with more naked

whom i freely choose letting
them freely caress my sensitive
spots i embrace enslavement

my being is blind to the line

dividing freedom that comes
from embracing a responsibility
but with joy and pleasures, lust

09.08.2012

 

letting go

folly in mind holds tight what is not
his hurting heart refusing to release
energy required to see beyond
the current bog holding being

like a dead elephant with legs up in air
from becoming the flying soul
with power to soar higher heights
than the strongest eagle

plummeting to bottomless
pit, un-retrievable now until
he learns the art to un-attach
the enslaved enslaving one

03.08.2012

generosity

she was very generous
giving her all to me for three
and a half decades like the land
my mother had to sustain us

she sneaked the same to others
as well before i woke from sleep
like sharing a stimulating coffee
in cups that i sipped from

someone else fairer is
the lucky unlucky one
enjoying her all with her
old habit of extending grace

04.08.2012 

picknicking

again the four men like gulls
are loud at the picnic table
crossing my path on the walking trail
that i cautiously chose

listening
attentively to the heart
and mind of my ears
and eyes, my invisible being

now tired of men, women, children
and automobiles
with deafening noise level
damaging my fragile ear drums

in this step fatherly
land these men in mother
tongue make up with such excess
for the scarcity of picnicking

07.08.2012

cardboard box

not a recyclable cardboard
box am i
yet considered a garbage
out there
waiting to be transported
removed
from the face, the familiar surface
with my face already
removed to be carted with neither
labour nor fuel

recyclable cardboard
box if i were
i would not be considered a garbage
out there
instead baled up and thrown in the back
of a truck
along with tons of cardboard
to be carted
for miles to that hydro-pulper to soak
my face, my whole being
giving me a new identity
for a cardboard box unlike me
has a second chance, another life

08.08.2012

furthest star

i constantly smell, hear
and continuously see voices
from beyond, clearly, from right within
my heart; then with the aid of mind
i ponder without funking the infuriating
experience, a life more authentic
making my mortal soul into a state
of dreaming thoughts of divine essence

these provocative dreams
nay, the violent thunder clapping
make me a stormy storm impregnating
my tender being with lightning, lightning
spontaneously gathering around snarling
quarrelling and discord leading
me at the end to Golgotha the empty
scull but hoping that one day though
comprehended much late like the dim light
of the star that is furthest, so at last
my soul shall enlighten innocent children

13.02.1995

Note: Is Justin, my grandson, painting a picture or crafting a poem? His is a piece of art!

releasing the anchor

fear of depth and hesitation
mind’s preoccupation
with shark is only in the shore
the beginning of a voyage
an opening of a business

further in open sea challenge
is to enjoy those gulls mindlessly
surfing, sitting on the ocean

as rowing your little vessel
continues, like a walking exercise
of a man stingy with time,
to cross the chasm

02.08.2012

gossip

poetry is an art of playful gossip
with focus of that chatter
dressed colourfully for mind’s eye
to catch the butterfly

fluttering around like a gossip
in a metaphor concealing the nakedness
with pubic hair jutting out
making head to turn away

02.08.2012
 

conversation

four tall men in five hundred
year old tradition of wearing a turban
were seated on picnic seats
beside my walking trail

did the Punjabi men in conversation
content of which sounded Greek
exclude me for what they knew
or for sake of an art i failed to learn

01.08.2012

optimism

chipped, truly cracked, broken
is my windshield of the vehicle
my automobile that gave my soul
the mobility and the speed to move

that’s my nest, my family, my all
in which i lived, swiftly moved
had my being creating and crafting
my toy toying with my time, my eternity

but George sees this whole in future
un-chipped, un-cracked, un-broken
this hope, or that un-real, the ostrich
total blindness, an optimism

30.07.2012