The name-less crusaders

Playing hard against the other, desirous of victory,
My brain and my heart once had a long bitter fight,
To kill with veinless nervous guile, and bask in glory
They made me the battlegorund, indifferent to my plight!

Pumping as hard as ever, she scornfully kept going,
While he sparked up every neuron, in his raging fury
Arteries all scared and worried at the heartbeat racing,
Nerves all shaken with the war getting bloody and gory...

The stomach ached, the limbs shivered and the eyes all red,
As the tiff went on affecting others, unfair and unwise,
The duo paid no heed to them, in vain, as they pleaded..
For warriors valiant and wild, show no sign of compromise !

Simmering flames on the sizzling platter of choices,
To live or let live, to win for all or all for one,
Kept them confused equally, but unyielding in the crisis,
And in a strife lost for nobody or no good and won for none!

Now thinking off my brain, now feeling with my heart,
For the years that the scrimmage lasted, I was at unrest,
Reminders of the brace together as a child when we start
To disdain till the end, don't leave me feeling at my best...

Amity descends and graces the flight of doves at the pinnacle...
Of the triumph of their egos, in a war well fought, fought steady,
And their spirits turn to ash and smoke in the mortal debacle,
As they rest in peace, bound by lasting ties of a soul and body!

- Megha

Giving

Read this beautiful piece called "On Giving" from "The Prophet" by Khalil Gibran below - may you be inspired to give freely

Giving

Then said a rich man, "Speak to us of Giving."

And he answered:

You give but little when you give of your possessions.

It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.

For what are your possessions but things you keep and guard for fear you may need them tomorrow?

And tomorrow, what shall tomorrow bring to the over-prudent dog burying bones in the trackless sand as he follows the pilgrims to the holy city?

And what is fear of need but need itself?

Is not dread of thirst when your well is full, the thirst that is unquenchable?

There are those who give little of the much which they have - and they give it for recognition and their hidden desire makes their gifts unwholesome.

And there are those who have little and give it all.

These are the believers in life and the bounty of life, and their coffer is never empty.

There are those who give with joy, and that joy is their reward;

And there are those who give with pain, and that pain is their baptism.

And there are those give and know not pain in giving, nor do they seek joy, nor give with mindfulness of virtue;

They give as in yonder valley the myrtle breathes its fragrance into space.

Through the hands of such as these God speaks, and from behind their eyes He smiles upon the earth.

It is well to give when asked, but it is better to give unasked, through understanding;

And to the open-handed the search for one who shall receive is joy greater than giving.

And is there aught you would withhold?

All you have shall some day be given;

Therefore give now, that the season of giving may be yours and not your inheritors'.

You often say, 'I would give, but only to the deserving.'

The trees in your orchard say not so, nor the flocks in your pasture.

They give that they may live, for to withhold is to perish.

Surely he who is worthy to receive his days and his nights is worthy of all else from you.

And he who has deserved to drink from the ocean of life deserves to fill his cup from your little stream.

And what desert greater shall there be, than that which lies in the courage and the confidence, nay the charity, of receiving?

And who are you that men should rend their bosom and unveil their pride, that you may see their worth naked and their pride unabashed?

See first that you yourself deserve to be a giver, and an instrument of giving.

For in truth it is life that gives unto life - while you, who deem yourself a giver, are but a witness.

And you receivers - and you are all receivers - assume no weight of gratitude, lest you lay a yoke upon yourself and upon him who gives.

Rather rise together with the giver on his gifts as on wings;

For to be overmindful of your debt is to doubt his generosity who has the free-hearted earth for mother, and God for father.

A Networkologist's Christmas

Itz Chrissttmaasss ! ... so herez one from the GNU project.
http://www.gnu.org/fun/jokes/networkologist.html

A Networkologist's Christmas (v3.1)
" 'Tis the night before Christmas," , I thought with a frown.
I was stuck at the office.  The network was down.
The  routers were hung in the closet, all crashed.
Their tables had holes in their data, all trashed.
Remote distribution, it seems, just for fun,
had erased DLLs Windows needed to run,
on 84 desktops, way down in accounting.
I sat stunned at my desk, my blood pressure mounting.
When all of a sudden there arose such a clatter,
I saw that a server had something the matter.
There was smoke coming out of the main hard disk drive.
"No problem,"  I thought, "I'm set up with RAID 5.".
But I found out the system I thought was unstoppable
had disk drives that turned out completely unswappable!
"No problem," I thought, "I've tape backup to thank.".
And then I discovered my backups were blank.
The UPS burped, and its lights all went out.
I started to scream!  I started to shout!
But nobody heard as I vented my rage,
my gurus were all on vacation those days,
and nobody's tech support answered the phone.
I was nose deep in trouble, completely alone,
when out at reception, I heard a soft knock.
As the hands just touched midnight on my desktop clock...
"What's your problem?", he asked,
"Never mind, friend, I know.
I checked out your network five hours ago.
I did some proactive analysis, so
I knew that this time bomb was going to blow."
Who was this guy?  Who did he think that he was?
He was dressed in red coveralls, white beard, black gloves.
His eyes had the twinkle of technical genius.
His smile cut down personal distance between us.
He spread out his tools, and went straight to his work.
"Whoever configured this network's a jerk.",
he said with a :-)> as he quickly rebooted,
uploaded some software, and smoothly rerouted
the LAN to a WAN that he quickly supplied
with bandwidth at least 20 gigabits wide
that went via wireless, I think, LEO,
to tech support elves waiting at the North Pole.
"Now bridging, now routing, now Ethernet hubs!",
He chanted as each piece of hardware he rubbed.
"Cheer up, my good friend!
Lose that mindset so tragic!
Technology often looks just like some magic
To people who don't understand what we do.
Now a switch, emulation, now middleware glue!
Look at the protocols, check one or two,
Debug a bit, test a bit, presto!  We're through!"
My data was back!  Every system checked out!
Tears of joy wet my face as I wandered about.
"How can I thank you?  You must be Saint Nick!"
He said, "Really, my friend, it's not such a great trick,
If you don't give up hope, focus on what you're doing,
And read all your issues of NETWORK COMPUTING."
And I heard him exclaim, as his reindeer were coursing,
"Merry Christmas to all!   And consider outsourcing!"
    -by Timothy Haight

ಆ ನೋಟ!

Just saw an exquisite Kathak performance by Nirupama n Rajendra! The song 'MadhurashTakam' written on Krishna goes as - adaram(lips) madhuram, vadanam(face) madhuram, nayanam(eyes)madhuram, akhilam(everything!) madhuram madhuradhipathey(of the lord of sweetness)...('Kr' dhaatu- of the word Krishna itself is attraction after all!)

Hm, I wrote this poetic-bit inspired by the song/dance :-))

ನೀ ಕಣ್ಣರಳಿಸಿ ನನ್ನತ್ತ ನೋಡಿದಾಗ...

ಚಿಟ್ಟೆಯೊಂದು ರೆಕ್ಕೆ ಬಿಚ್ಚಿದಂತಾಯ್ತು
ನನ್ನೆದೆಯಲ್ಲೇನೋ ಚಿತ್ತಾರ ಮೂಡಿಸಿದಂತಾಯ್ತು!

ನೂರು ಹಕ್ಕಿಗಳು ನನ್ನತ್ತ ಸಂಭ್ರಮದಿ ಹಾರಿಬಂದಂತಾಯ್ತು
ಹೊಸ ಸಂದೇಶವೇನೋ ಹೊತ್ತು ತಂದಂತಾಯ್ತು

ಸಾವಿರ ಅಲೆಗಳು ನುಗ್ಗಿ ನನ್ನೆದೆಗೆ ಅಪ್ಪಳಿಸಿದಂತಾಯ್ತು
ನನ್ನೆದೆಯಂಗಳದಲ್ಲೆಲ್ಲಾ ಮಳೆಯಾದಂತಾಯ್ತು!

ಅದೇಕೋ ನಿನ್ನೆದೆಯ ರಾಗಕ್ಕೆ
ನ್ನನ್ನೆದೆಯು ಅನುನಾದ ಹೊರಡಿಸಿದಂತಾಯ್ತು

ಮನದ ತುಮುಲ ಮೊಗದಿ ಮೂಡಿ ಮುಖ ರಂಗೇರಿತು,
ಕಣ್ಣು ನಾಚಿ ನೆಲ ನೋಡಿತು!

The translation (yathaavat ;-)) )-
When you looked at me, it felt like a butterfly(chiTTe) had spread its wings; it felt like someone had scribbled some art (chittara) on my heart; it felt like a hundred birds flew towards me carrying some news for me; it felt like a thousand waves (aley) splashed on my heart and wet my heart!I could see my heart resonating to the beats of your heart, my mind's turmoil showed up on my face, I blushed and my eye could not look up any more and it gazed down!

Bit o' bookish blogging

Thanks to A (my colleague at work) ! This instantly brought a smile to my face :) .. And with his kind permission,... sharing it...


Books to the ceiling,
Books to the sky,
My pile of books is a mile high.
How I love them! How I need them!
I'll have a long beard by the time I read them.

- Arnold Lobel
This is him...
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arnold_Lobel

Fireflies - By Tagore

My favourite from Rabindranath Tagore's poems :

FIREFILES -

I touch God in my song
as the hill touches the far-away sea
with its waterfall.

The butterfly counts not months
but moments,
and has time enough.

Let my love, like sunlight,
surround you
and yet give you illumined freedom.

Love remains a secret even when spoken,
for only a lover truly knows
that he is loved.

Emancipation from the bondage of the soil
is no freedom for the tree.

In love I pay my endless debt to thee
for what thou art.

My candle burns at both ends

A friend's favourite

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends -
It gives a lovely light!

Edna St. Vincent Millay ("First Fig", A Few Figs From Thistles, 1920)

ಚಂದ್ರನಿಂದ ಭೂಮಿಗೊಂದು ಪ್ರೇಮ ಪತ್ರ...

ಭುವಿ,
ನೀನು ಚಿರತರುಣಿ
ನಿನಗಲ್ಲದೆ ಇನ್ನಾರಿಗುಂಟು ಜೀವಕಳೆ?
ಆ ಉತ್ಸಾಹದ ಚಿಲುಮೆ, ಸೊಬಗಿನ ಗರಿಮೆ!

ನಾನಾದರೋ ಶಾಂತ ಶಶಾಂಕ
ತಾರಾಮಂಡಲದ ಅತಿ ಚೆಲುವ
ನನಗೇನಿದೆ ಕುಂದು ಕೊರತೆ?

ನಿನಗೇಕೆ ಆ ದೂರದ -
ಸುಡುವ ಸೂರ್ಯನ ಸುತ್ತ
ಸುತ್ತುವ ಸೊಕ್ಕು?

ಅವನಿಗಿಲ್ಲವೇ ಸುತ್ತ ಪ್ರದಕ್ಷಿಣೆ ಹಾಕುವ
ಸಾಲು ಸಾಲು ಸಖಿಯರು?
ನನಗಾರಿದ್ದಾರೆ ನಿನ್ನ ಬಿಟ್ಟು?

ಭುವಿ, ನೀನಾಗಬಾರದೆ ನನ್ನ ಪ್ರಾಣಸಖಿ?!

swapna sundari yodane love marriage flop aadaga...

this is again from a long time ago:-) ..

ake nanna swapna sundari,
kannada naadina kasthuri,
bengaloorina viswha sundari,
aadre bahle vayyari,
kalsiuvala divasa nanna,"hogi thagond bannree, tharkari".

Shubha Dina

I wrote this for a friend, on her bday a couple of years back -

munjaaneya manjinali,
suryana kiranagalu, thanditu mathonda varushava.

hosa baalina modala januma,
hosa belakanu thandu kodali,
santosha , santrupti, iveradu ninnadaagali .
dukha, sankata, iva edurisalu dhairyavirali.

namma muddina sakhiye,
ninna huttida habba,ninage saagardashtu khushiyu kodali.

The two tales of a City...

The disadvantage of living in a place too long is probably the fact that you get too comfortable with the city that was and you endlessly complain about the city that is...

But to have seen the change and to live life by the changing rules still , which most of us are involuntarily doing, gets you thinking, atleast once in a while... Owe this one to all the thinking I have done in the past few days... "with my theatre masks on - : ) one for the happy tale : ( one for the sad tale "

I squinted my eyes, at the sunlight spears
From the broad blue skies and fluffy cheers.

I spread my arms to embrace the twinkling stars
On a moonlit night, past the street light hours.

I waded, my feet in the merry, silvery lake
Across the humble dwellings painted like cake

I felt the seasons amble along in the splendid colour...
Of flowers yellow, pink and lavander, that shower.

I smelt the lovely gardens in the neighbourhoods
And walked along the tall spiny trees in the woods.

I heard a lilting tune, in the holy place nearby.
Found that in this little city, my joys truly lie.

I shed a tear once before, riding the wind over...
Brimming spirits oozed out often, never any lower.

I squint my eyes now, to look beyond the endless lines,
Of cars or people, who cannot read our traffic signs.

I spread my arms, to stretch, on this same old street,
Trying to avoid touch, amidst a tiring shoppers' fleet.

I wade through puddles, feet going sore, in the rains,
Walking on worn out roads and along overflowing drains.

I feel my life rush past me, in the big city's huddle,
Miss the friendly town with a puppies I could cuddle...

I smell the synthetic perfume, among all the phone calls,
In the neon lights of the sensational, olfactory malls.

I hear the cacophony of myriad horns waiting in impatience,
And endure the mindless music, switching radio stations.

I shed a tear again today, as my heavy heart within cries...
And the drop of regret is, for my city's despiteful demise.

And nostalgia...continued...

One of my favourite poems from school. There are a whole lot of T S Eliot's cat poems...but this, I guess, is the best.

Sidenote:
1) Check out this for more info on Macavity. It talks about the similarity between Macavity and Moriarty.
2) The Hindu, in its crossword once, had the anagram for T S Eliot as "toilets"!

Macavity: The Mystery Cat

by T.S. Eliot

Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw - For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law. He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair: For when they reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there! Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity, He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity. His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare, And when you reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there! You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air - But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there! Mcavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin; You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in. His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed; His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed. He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake; And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake. Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity, For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity. You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square - But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there! He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.) And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's. And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled, Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled, Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair - Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there! And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty's gone astray, Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way, There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair - But it's useless to investigate - Mcavity's not there! And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say: `It must have been Macavity!' - but he's a mile away. You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs, Or engaged in doing complicated long-division sums. Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity, There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity. He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare: At whatever time the deed took place - MACAVITY WASN'T THERE! And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known (I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone) Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

And nostalgia strikes

Over dinner with a friend...

And we remember the poems we loved in school... the ones that made an impression..

"Casabianca" by Felicia Hemans

The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud, though child-like form.

The flames rolled on–he would not go
Without his Father's word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud–'say, Father, say
If yet my task is done?'
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

'Speak, father!' once again he cried,
'If I may yet be gone!'
And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair,
And looked from that lone post of death
In still yet brave despair.

And shouted but once more aloud,
'My father! must I stay?'
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound–
The boy–oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strewed the sea!–

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part–
But the noblest thing which perished there
Was that young faithful heart.

The Brook (excerpts) - Alfred Lord Tennyson

I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret
By many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel
With many a silvery waterbreak
Above the golden gravel,

And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

The Wicked Postman - Rabindranath Tagore

Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me,
mother dear?

The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all
wet, and you don't mind it.

Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother to
come home from school.

What has happened to you that you look so strange?

Haven't you got a letter from father to-day?

I saw the postman bringing letters in his bag for almost
everybody in the town.

Only, father's letters he keeps to read himself. I am sure the
postman is a wicked man.

But don't be unhappy about that, mother dear.

To-morrow is market day in the next village. You ask your maid
to buy some pens and papers.

I myself will write all father's letters; you will not find a
single mistake.

I shall write from A right up to K.

But, mother, why do you smile?

You don't believe that I can write as nicely as father does!

But I shall rule my paper carefully, and write all the letters
beautifully big.

When I finish my writing, do you think I shall be so foolish as
father and drop it into the horrid postman's bag?

I shall bring it to you myself without waiting, and letter by
letter help you to read my writing.

I know the postman does not like to give you the really nice
letters.

The Coramandel Fishers - Sarojini Naidu

Rise, brothers, rise; the wakening skies pray to the morning light,
The wind lies asleep in the arms of the dawn like a child that has cried all
night.
Come, let us gather our nets from the shore and set our catamarans free,
To capture the leaping wealth of the tide, for we are the kings of the sea!

No longer delay, let us hasten away in the track of the sea gull's call,
The sea is our mother, the cloud is our brother, the waves are our comrades
all.
What though we toss at the fall of the sun where the hand of the sea-god
drives?
He who holds the storm by the hair, will hide in his breast our lives.

Sweet is the shade of the cocoanut glade, and the scent of the mango grove,
And sweet are the sands at the full o' the moon with the sound of the voices
we love;
But sweeter, O brothers, the kiss of the spray and the dance of the wild
foam's glee;
Row, brothers, row to the edge of the verge, where the low sky mates with the
sea.

Couplets... as good as can get

These are actually the lyrics of a song I've been listening to, the voices grace the song anyway, but the lyrics are genuine poetic soup for the soul ! And my rhyming attempt to translate..... inline

Presenting Nida Fazli's couplets - Dohe...

mai.n royaa parades me.n bhiigaa maa.N kaa pyaar
dukh ne dukh se baat kii bin chiThThii bin taar

I cry far away from home, wet as my mother's love cries
No words, no letters, it's our sorrow as binding ties

chhoTaa karake dekhiye jiivan kaa rustaar
aa.Nkho.n bhar aakaash hai baaho.n bhar sa.nsaar

Squint your vision to view life and the differences unfold
An eye seeing the vast skies, an embrace of the whole world

leke tan ke naap ko ghuume bastii gaa.Nv
har chaadar ke gher se baahar nikale paa.Nv

Guaging my stature, seeking new roads, leaving towns behind
To find a befitting mattress, but my legs outstretch every find

sabakii puujaa ek sii alag-alag har riit
masjid jaae maulvii koyal gaae giit

All worship and prayer means the same, but differs in expression
A pontiff in his mosque is like a cuckoo in musical confession

puujaa ghar me.n muurtii miira ke sa.ng shyaam
jisakii jitanii chaakarii utane usake daam

The altar may bear idols, of God and his consort in splendid decor
But at the geates of heaven, it's your deeds that are accounted for

Nadiya seeche khetko, totha kuthre aam
Suraj Thekedhaar sa, sab ko baate kaam

The river quenching thirsty fields, a parrot pecking at a mango sweet
At the start of each day, the Sun watches over the industrious fleet

saato.n din bhagavaan ke kyaa ma.ngal kyaa piir
jis din soe der tak bhuukaa rahe fakiir

Each day of the week, equals another, as God's generous gift,
The day, a tramp oversleeps, hunger lingers in the day's drift!

achchhii sa.ngat baiThakar sa.ngii badale ruup
jaise milakar aam se miiThii ho gaii dhuup

In the company of the noble, an associate seeks reform
As the summer's mangoes make the sun rays sweet and warm

sapanaa jharnaa nii.nd kaa jaagii aa.Nkhe.n pyaas
paanaa khonaa khojanaa saa.Nso.n kaa itihaas

Dreams are a cascade through sleep, for eyes awake, in thirst,
Of the centuries of losses, gains and a never ending quest!

chaahe giitaa vaachiye yaa pa.Dhiye quraan
meraa teraa pyaar hii har pustak kaa Gyaan

All holy books, preach alike, all religions the same
To love each other, is the universal rule of the game!

ummmm.... :)

ಹೂವೆ, ನಾ ನೀನಾಗಿದ್ದರೆ...

ಹೂವೆ, ನಾ ನೀನಾಗಿದ್ದರೆ...

ಪ್ರತಿ ಬೆಳಗೂ ಬರುವ ಅದೇ ಸೂರ್ಯನ ಕಾಣಲು
ಕಾಲ್ತುದಿಯಲಿ ನಿಂತು, ಕೊರಳ ಚಾಚಿ,
ಕಣ್ಣರಳಿಸಿ, ಹೊಸ ನಗೆ, ಸುವಾಸನೆಯ ಬೀರಿ,
ದಿನವೂ ಹೊಸ ಉತ್ಸುಕತೆಯಿಂದ ನಲಿಯುತ್ತಿದ್ದೆನೇ?

ಪ್ರತಿ ದಿನವೂ ನಿಂತಲ್ಲೇ ನಿಂತರೂ
ರೆಕ್ಕೆ ಬಿಚ್ಚಿ ಹಾರಾಡುವ ಹಕ್ಕಿಗಳ ಕಂಡೂ ಕಾಣದೆ,
ಅಪರೂಪಕ್ಕೊಮ್ಮೆ ಬೀಸುವ ಗಾಳಿಯಲ್ಲೇ ಮೈಮರೆತು,
ನಿಂತಲ್ಲೇ ನೀಲಿ ಆಕಾಶದಲ್ಲೆಲ್ಲಾ ಹಾರಾಡಿದ ಅನುಭವ ಕಾಣುತ್ತಿದ್ದೆನೇ?

ಮೊಗ್ಗರಳಿ ಹೂವಾದ ಕೆಲವು ದಿನಗಳಲ್ಲೇ
ಸಾವು ಬಂದೆಳೆದು ಪಕಳೆಗಳೆಲ್ಲಾ ಉದುರಿ
ಮಣ್ಣು ಪಾಲಾಗಿ ಕೊಳೆಯುತ್ತವೆಂದು ತಿಳಿದೂ,
ನಾನು ಹೂವಾಗಿ ಅರಳಿದಾಗ ನಗುತ್ತಿದ್ದೆನೇ?

ಹೂವಾಗಿ ನಗುವುದೇ ಧರ್ಮವೆಂಬ ಅರಿವು ನಿನಗಿದ್ದಂತೆ,
ಹೂವಲ್ಲದ ನನ್ನ ಧರ್ಮದ ಅರಿವು ನನಗಿದೆಯೇ?
ಹೂವೆ ನಾ ನೀನಾಗಿದ್ದರೆ,
ನಾ ನಿನ್ನನಂತಿರುತ್ತಿದ್ದೆನೇ?

The two wolves

I wrote this over the long weekend :-)
*******************************************
The two of them walked hand in hand,
The old man and the little boy,
Leaving their footprints in the beach sand,
The kid jumping over the waves with joy

They found a bench after a long walk,
Right under the shade of a palm tree,
They sat down on it and began to talk,
And the old man turned and said to me.

There are two wolves within my heart,
Two wolves big and strong,
And they tear each other apart,
They have been fighting for so long.

One embodies good, makes me turn away from sin,
The other embodies evil,destruction and greed,
Then I asked him, "So which one will win",
And he replied, "The one that I feed".

---Prem

********************************************
Something else which gave me this thought was this mail:

This is from one of the lectures by Chandrashekhara Bharati, who
was the Jagadgaru of Sringeri Sharada Peetham. The saying goes
with the four yugas :

In Krutha Yuga, good and evil lived in separate worlds.

In Treta Yuga, they lived in separate geographical regions,
but same world.

In Dwapara Yuga, they lived in separate bodies, but in
the same family, same region, same world.

In Kali Yuga, they live inside the same body. This is why
victory over evil must come within oneself. It cannot happen
through an incarnation of god.

MooDitu ನಗೆ...

MooDitu nage..

ಚಂದದ ಚಂದ್ರನ ಬಿಳಿ ಹೆಚ್ಚಿಸಲು
ಗೆಳೆಯ ಕರಿಮೋಡ ಇನ್ನಷ್ಟು ಕಪ್ಪಾಗಿದ್ದು,

ಅದೊಮ್ಮೆ ಆ ಕರಿ ಮೋಡದ ಶುದ್ಧ ಹೃದಯವು
ಕರಗಿ ನೀರಾಗಿ ಮಳೆಯಾಗಿ ಹರಿದು ಬಂದು,

ಅದರಲ್ಲೊಂದು ಮಳೆಹನಿಯು, ಅರೆ ಅರಳಿದ ಗುಲಾಬಿಯ
ಎಸಳುಗಳ ಮಧ್ಯದಲ್ಲಿ ಚಂಚಲವಾಗಿ ಹರಿಯುತಿರಲು,

ಆ ವಿಸ್ಮಯದಲ್ಲೊಂದು ವಿನೋದವ ಕಂಡು
MooDitu ನಗೆ, MooDitu ನನ್ನಲ್ಲೊಂದು ನಗೆ!

Do not go gentle into that good night

Do not go gentle into that good night
-Dylan Thomas


Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Tiny and Shiny - Series...

This one was my tease... written for an ex-colleague of mine... in the course of an interesting new person's short stint with us.

Part ONE :

Tiny and Shiny wanted to talk,
So Tiny and Shiny went for a walk.
Tiny says to Shiny.."Let's walk further away!"
Shiny says..."Oh not farther than the bay!"
Came the bay, and they stopped in silence
Far somewhere a motorboat rumbled in violence
The next minute came along the Don
Tiny and Shiny's faces began to fawn!
The gunfire sounded the couple were scared
Shiny behind him, as well ahead Tiny dared,
The gunpoint aimed at our hero, all ready to go
When up from behind came the huge blow!
That's how our story went...where it went doesnt matter!
Shiny ran away with the Don ..and Tiny drowned in the Water!

Part TWO :

The sounds of Tiny's heart breaking,
The ground beneath his feet shaking,
His long love all torn apart,
As Shiny boards the bullock cart,
The gallant Fiero, he cycles right behind,
His heart weeps,with her memories on mind,
At the intersection they take different ways,
All this strong sentiment hardly ever pays,
Heart break..again.. all a part of the game..
He'll start again, this time with another dame.

Part ONE and HALF:

This one was written by another colleague of mine in response to the Part ONE . I disturbed him from his deep slumber to show off... and got a handsome payback :)

To thee, I give my applause
For imagination that fleeted without a pause.

Rumbling, it was, not the water, mind you,
it was the run-away wildness of thoughts anew.

As the bay waited in quietness to don the shine
My sleep vanished as I glanced thy creation with these eyes of mine.

Pleasant shock it was to learn new truths
of people who wrote in their fanciful youth

Pleasant also, for I can write too
poems so simple, when there's nothing else to do

Awaken may you now to the glory of afternoon
And better get to work, and better do it soon.

I'm a woman...

The first of my Women's Day Poems... inspired and meant to antagonize my batchmate- PJM's " I am a Man and I am proud of it!" ... If anyone remembers that one :P ... he he

She was the woman dressed in white,
The traces of blue at the edges,
With missionaries of charity, holy and bright
She cleansed our land with her dredges!

When man thought of war, and went on to destroy
She was right behind listening, she heard their cry!
With wounds of soldiers lying in the camp
She worked indefatigabily, the lady with the lamp!

When the world had comfort and leisure to offer
She chose all hardship, chose to suffer,
Compassion not just to humans, dedication not just to sciences
She spent a life with our earlier forms, lived with them in their crisis!

She tells her different tales, she portrays a variety of roles
She plays each part,a work of art and reaches all her goals
Although, some of them are sweet, some of them are bitter
Seldom will you hear her grouse, rarely feel the jitter!

The embodiment of endurance and love,
She works down here, works for God above!
The dearness of life, the art of living,
The pursuit of happiness, the joy of giving,
She carries them all with such wonderful grace,
She's the child blessed with God's true embrace!

If only all the men in the world understood what effort is needed
And if only all her troubles were told, her grievances were heeded!
Of the mother they're part of, of the sister that they take support,
Of the wife who endures, of the daughter who cares,
Men could show their gratitude and truth in it's purport
That would help them define themselves- that'd be a man who dares!

This womens' day, I call out to her and I question her conviction
Tell her her life is a beautiful reality and do away with all the fiction
If she'd just know what she's really worth, and she's worth every bit,
She'd say it more often, she'd say this-" I'm a woman and I'm proud of it!"

Idle busy-ness

One from 4 years ago.... And now sometimes I wish I had an exam... like a purpose ... once in a while

Sometimes I also feel maybe everyday is an exam... :)

There's a time when just staring at the ceiling,
Returns such happiness...cant tell how i'm feeling!
When memories of good old times keep coming back,
It fascinates me - how huge ... my memory stack!
Compelling thoughts of the near future and fun
Sets free my imagination and wildly it does run!
My heart skips a beat every time the phone rings
And most often than not, to someone else's tune it sings.
And the clock's ticking is so inconspicous,
When my emptiness is the object of such a fuss!
When voices from around come rattling through
And I snap back...hey, dont tell me what to do!
Up from sleep, my senses show so much resistance,
And eating seems to be the only reason for existence!
It's surprising, I read anything and everything I can find,
And how irrelevent things i need to read,seem to my mind!
Poetry becomes my food for thought and soul
And getting one together...then my ultimate goal!
These are the simple pleasures of doing nothing,
Make life so satisfied so happy... so fulfilling.
So much for happiness, that worries I now begin to garner,
Scare me now...this time, exams're just'round the corner!

The World to Me...

Was written for someone I immensely respect ... :)

Broadminded and western, guarding by the tough Rockies,
Dense, unexplored and natural, is the Amazon, one sees,
Comforting Savannas and calm Sahara, on an African Safari,
Diversity and endurance is what the Asian clans carry
Rich and secure, apple of the Queen's eye, Down Under,
Industrious and wise, is the Post-Renaissance splendor,
Cold, quiet, mystic and peaceful are the sleeted poles,
All continents, embracing the oceans, play their roles!
And you who bear all these virtues, for us to learn and be
Will remain, forever special, for you mean the world to me!

2005's new year poem

Poem I wrote for the New Year 2006... just after the Tsunami...


I am born among Mother Earth's various off springs
For me, songs of compassion and spirit, Nature sings

The Spring arrives, brings with her merry greens,
Flora and fauna sing and dance in splendid scenes,
In the clear skies, stars sparkle all bright,
But I walk farther for a diamond while I might

As the Autumn's hues over leaves unfold
I am gifted with Midas's touch of gold,
They fall down on me, precious to gather,
But I dig deeper for shining metal rather,

The Showers pour on the window's cob webs all night,
Glittering curtains bring through gentle sunlight,
Silver drops along the railing's ridge trickle
But I work longer for earning a worthy nickel,

Winter and Chill enter my lonely life together,
Call for sitting around warmth in the weather,
The Sky flakes kindly over me leaving snow covers,
But I look beyond Her, to dream of Ivory towers,

I bind beauty in cages, capture birds flying free,
I rest on wooden luxury, cut down a living tree!
I claim compassion, while my burden, animals bear,
And the love for you, I claim often, is actually rare!

Blessed am I, with such intelligence and speech,
But I wrong all of it for everything in my reach!
I have survived another year, in such disgrace,
I can not complain if the Oceans reflect rocking menace,

While the Powerful, avenge us with their mighty waves,
I thank my Mother for every friend of mine she saves!
And Mother is so truly giving, I have another chance,
This year I will have more to see than in a glance.

Mother and me will live this year, with amity and grace,
Only my eyes dare capture memories of Her smiling face!
Four seasons that encompass a whole Year's expressions,
Come to me again, as a promise of priceless lessons!

Roads and Crossroads

A flimsy little one I felt compelled to write for my friends in Tokyo... Also was trying out, how three-line rhyme appeals to one's senses... If you survive through, let me know :)

At crossroads, we always long for a while more.
There's ease and comforts in the smiles we wore.
More to hear and more to say, of now and before...

At crossroads, we are met with exciting newness,
Of possibilities, challenges, failures and success.
And well mapped out ways for the direction-less.

At crossroads, looking back at what we left behind...
There'll be people and places that were very kind,
And memories deeply etched in a willing mind!

At crossroads, are bygones and good times bode,
There're your roads ahead, with promises aboard,
Let the glasses rise, here, now, one for the Road...
One last time, for you, me and for the Crossroads!

Daffodils...

For the inspiration it brought to someone I know... inspired enough to help the pleasure should reach out... and to transliterate into Kannada...

Kande naa hathu savira lilly hoovugalanna...


I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: -
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company:
I gazed -and gazed -but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought.

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills
And dances with the daffodils.
- William Wordsworth...

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

With my bias for Robert Frost's dark - nature - obessessed poetry, below I add the famous and my favourite ...

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening - Robert Frost.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it's queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

A Poison Tree

In my desparation to keep our blog alive, I have subscribed to About's a- poem- a- day. That doesn't mean I will bombard the blog with a poem everyday. It just means that now a nice play of words such as the one below will have more visibility among our limited audience...

A Poison Tree by William Blake,

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe;
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I water'd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with my smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole
When the night had veil'd the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree

Parity....

In my second year of volunteering for a Note Book distribution drive, we were giving away slates to 1st standard kids, in a particular Government school I visit. A friend of mine was handing out slates to all the kids, whose names were being called out by the teacher. At the end of it all, we checked with her if she was done. She called out once more to ask if all of them had had their chance. Just in time, she realised that she hadn't called one little boy's name out. He was sitting by a corner and didn't even complain. If I were him, I'd not only feel bad that my name wasn't called out, but I'd also raise my hand and rake a fuss or look upset. I went over and asked him, why he didn't ask for due attention. And he took out a old slate from his tattered bag next to him, and said he already had that one form the previous year's drive. His honesty, the sparkle in his eyes, the simplicity of his thoughts.....just killed me. Still kills me each time I remember his face. 7 year old innocence... I pray good things happen with that little fellow. I pray that his innocence will last a while longer atleast. I pray that there always be people who value truth and honesty. I pray that some day there will be equity, equality and "Parity"....

The rich man saw the ragged small boy and tossed at him a nickel,
But soon had his face go red, felt the coin in his pockets tickle,
As he walked wearing a satisfied smile by the false sense of parity...
He was belittled by a little hand, that refused the dime of charity!

The apology

I finally got down to writing something........

The Apology

He is sitting on the bed
Staring at the phone
A hundred thoughts in his head
Wishing the answers he'd known

With every tick of the clock
His courage slowly drains
And with every passing minute
Memories befuddle his brains

He knows it's all forgiven,
Its a story, old and forgotten
But not saying that one word
Makes him still feel small and rotten

He caused her much pain
She forgave,without him having to ask
So he hated her all the more
But she never took him to task

As time moved on, so did they
The passing years dulled the pain
Dulled the sadness, dulled the spite
And friends they became once again

She never mentions those past events
Never mentions how much she cried
He never mentions that he is is now sorry,
And to say that, how long he has tried

When you put a nail in a wall,
Drive it in with a force so blind
And when you pull it out later
Notice, there is a mark always left behind ?

So it is with relations amongst people
How hasty and foolish he had been
No matter the amends, the mark remains
But he is hoping he can wipe the slate clean

"Its long overdue", his heart tells him
And the same echoes through every muscle and bone,
"Its now or never", he tells himself,
As his hand reaches out for the telephone


*****************************************************
Before you can say "yaarige yen paapa madithiyo ?!" , this is just an exaggeration of some events that *may* have happened with me ;-)

regards,
Prem

A Snap at the Horizon...

I am not sure what inspired the thought behind this poem... The least I could do is capture the haze :)

In a quick flash, the few long decades have passed by him,
He sits there, in the shadows of the twilight, so dim...
A feeling, having travelled far, is cast in his weary eyes,
Of being in the same space and time as an infant, that cries.

He tries to focus, on the rising discomfort in the sound,
But resigns to the inarticulate pain by which, even he is bound.
Sneering at the ways of life, the vetaran inspires my lines...
That have flavours of young purple grapes and old red wines!

His loose skin with an etched display of veins and wrinkles,
Is as soft as that of a baby, then tight, now has crinkles.
Now, a worn-out cap, hides it and the yearly strands of losses,
That, when in the mother's hand, had promises of wild tresses.

A smile that comes by, quite often, with a proud pink display,
Comes now, but rarely, dotted and dull- a defeated white foray.
He walks with help, his tired limbs bearing the slighted weight,
Like the start, with a crawl, a wall, a fall and the ways of fate...

The youthful gather around a child, with their happiness to lease,
While he spends his time, with the newspaper,worries and memories.
An attention-seeker then, and now vainly seeks attention again...
Voices seek ears with the eagerness of words sought by a pen...

The routine of sleep, massages, admirers and scheduled lactic feed,
Is much like the timely tonic, tablets, capsules and their breed...
A colourful cushion at this moment, under twinkling stars at night,
At the other end of the spectrum is hospitable, but in blended white!

Strange ways of beginning from the end or ending where we started,
In the cycle of meeting ourselves at crossings where we parted,
Frame the riddles of life that are farfetched even for the wise...
Does just a snap at the horizon ever tell the sunset from sunrise?

ನೆನಪು...

ನೆನಪು...

ಗುಡುಗು ಮಿಂಚುಗಳ ಹಿಮ್ಮೇಳದಲ್ಲೊಂದು ಮಳೆಯಾಯ್ತು
ಸ್ಫಟಿಕ ಮಣಿಗಳೇ ಒಟ್ಟು ಸೇರಿ ಮಳೆಹನಿಯಾದಂತಿತ್ತು

ಧೂಳಲ್ಲಿ ಮಿಂದೆದ್ದ, ಒಣಗಿ ಒರಟಾದ
ಮರ-ಗಿಡಗಳ ಮೇಲೂ ಮಳೆ ಬಿತ್ತು...

ಆ ದೊಡ್ದ ಮರದ, ಮುದುಡಿದ-ನಿಸ್ತೇಜ
ನಿಶ್ಶಕ್ತ ಎಲೆಗಳ ಮೇಲೂ ಮಳೆ ಬಿತ್ತು...

ಪ್ರತಿ ಮಳೆ ಹನಿಗೂ ಪ್ರತಿಸ್ಪಂದಿಸಿ
ಒಂದೊಂದು ಎಲೆಯೂ ಪುಳಕಿತಗೊಂಡಿತು!

ಕ್ಷಣಮಾತ್ರದಲ್ಲಿ ತಾನು ತೊಯ್ದ ಮರದ
ನೆನಪೂ ಎಲ್ಲದೆ ಮಳೆ ಮಾಯವಾಯ್ತು...

ಮಳೆ ನಿಂತು ಭುವಿ ಒಣಗಿಯೂ ಅಯ್ತು
ಮತ್ತೆಲ್ಲೋ ಮೋಡ ಕಟ್ಟಿ ಮಳೆಯಾಗಿಯೂ ಆಯ್ತು!

ಆದರೂ ಅದೊಂದು ಹುಚ್ಚು ಮರ
ಇನ್ನೂ ಆ ಮರದ ನೆನಪಿನಲ್ಲಿದೆ..

ಮಳೆ ಹನಿಗಳ ಎಲೆ-ಎಲೆಯಲಿ ಬಚ್ಚಿಟ್ಟು
ನೆನಪುಗಳ ಹೀರುತಿದೆ...

ಆಗೊಮ್ಮೆ ಈಗೊಮ್ಮೆ ಹನಿ ತೊಟ್ಟಿಕ್ಕುತ್ತಿದೆ
ಈಗದು ಮಳೆ ಹನಿಯಲ್ಲ..ಮರದ ಕಂಬನಿಯಾಗಿದೆ!

Sarfaroshi ki Tamanna...

Sometimes I have goose bumps thinking about the intensity of purpose that people must have had during our freedom struggle... I pulled this out of the Wiki...

Sarfaroshi ki Tamanna is a poem by Ramprasad Bismil. It is an emotion-evoking ode to the revolutionaries of the Indian Independence Movement. It goes as follows:

Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.
Dekhna hai zor kitna baazu-e-qaatil mein hai
Karta nahin kyun doosra kuch baat cheet,
Dekhta hun main jise voh chup teri mehfil mein hai
Aye shaheed-e-mulk-o-millat main tere oopar nisaar,
Ab teri himmat ka charcha ghair ki mehfil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.


Waqt aanay dey bata denge tujhe aye aasman,
Hum abhi se kya batayen kya hamare dil mein hai
Khainch kar layee hai sab ko qatl hone ki ummeed,
Aashiqon ka aaj jumghat koocha-e-qaatil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.


Hai liye hathiyaar dushman taak mein baitha udhar,
Aur hum taiyyaar hain seena liye apna idhar.
Khoon se khelenge holi gar vatan muskhil mein hai,
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.


Haath jin mein ho junoon katt te nahi talvaar se,
Sar jo uth jaate hain voh jhukte nahi lalkaar se.
Aur bhadkega jo shola-sa humaare dil mein hai,
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.


Hum to ghar se nikle hi the baandhkar sar pe qafan,
Chaahatein liin bhar liye lo bhar chale hain ye qadam.
Zindagi to apni mehmaan maut ki mehfil mein hai,
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.


Dil mein tuufaanon ki toli aur nason mein inquilaab,
Hosh dushman ke udaa denge humein roko na aaj.
Duur reh paaye jo humse dam kahaan manzil mein hai,
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai.
Dekhna hai zor kitna baazuay qaatil mein hai.

This is probably not the exact arrangement of verses as Bismil wrote them, though these are all his words. Some verses of this poem were also featured in the 2006 Hindi movie Rang De Basanti Following lines are also a part of the original poem.

Yoon khara maqtal mein qatil keh raha hai baar-baar,
Kya tamanna-e-shahaadat bhi kisi ke dil mein hai.

Weather babies...

When I was here in Tokyo last December it was freezing cold... and I penned this down on a Saturday at work...

She looks dull, hurt and cold from the high sky,
Turns away from her earthlings down here, who cry,
Pray she lets her Son shine warm for a while,
So her weather-babies, down here may flash a smile!

I am here again in August, there are beautifully wet mornings ...and the most ornate umbrellas... I penned this one down on a lazy Saturday at home...

The cloudy eyes, the brimming gloom to tear down soon...
And we dance in merriment of the skies' impending boon!
When we look up puzzled at her, as she begins to cry,
She sprinkles on our blushing cheeks, her tears of joy!

For all the weather babies like me... Megha

If

Rudyard Kipling
If

If If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or, being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with triumph and disaster And treat those two imposters just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to broken, And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools; If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breath a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on"; If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch; If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run - Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

***********************************************
I had printed this out and put it up in my cubicle at work . This is what I had aspired to be and still am....

Abou ben Adam

The first poem I ever recited... still hoping angel wrote my name too :)

Abou ben Adam (may his tribe increase!)
awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight of his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
an angel, writing in a book of of gold.
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adam bold,
And to the Prescence in the room he said:
"What writest thou?" The vision raised its head,
And, with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?"said Abou, "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still, and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one who loves his fellow men."
The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again, with a great awakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blest,
And lo! Ben adam's name led all the rest.

- Leigh Hunt

Forever Green...

Fished out from my archives... was written for my aunt... on her 80th birthday... I cried that day... overwhelmed in the celebration of her strength and attitude... and the fact that she will be forever green..

Sitting by the bounty green grassy blades,

Relaxed and reminiscing thoughtful shades,

I looked up at her branches crude but sturdy,

Beneath them I write of a lifetime, all wordy!

A slice of candy, a sip of sweet mango pulp,

A box of chocolates and a mouthful to gulp,

Under my protective tree, in the lush meadow,

Merriments of childhood, with my wild credo!

A decade later, a pedantic black board rests

By her cozy, comforting and secure nests,

And I sermonize wisely, to a younger class,

Show them the books, through my looking glass!

Another decade goes by, I insanely hurt her

Carve out my name, and watch the oozing amber

Enduring the pain, she embraces me with love,

She brings me peace, with the sight of a dove!

Three decades now, my children at her stalk,

Climbing her diverse off shoots, as they talk,

She stands bearing, latitudarian in thought,

Hard to forget are the good times she's brought!

Nearing the halfway mark of a grand century,

I rest on a hammock, hung by her rich luxury

I've watched a long life span, pass well by me,

My spirits, high and low, but how steady is she!

The grand glory, leafy and brown, stands atall,

She teaches a way of living, through rise and fall,

While my years fly past, in a quick hasty scene,

Pictures of her, remain still, lovely and evergreen!

Slow Dance

This also is a nice poem.... another of those anonymous ones I guess .....

Have you ever watched kids
On a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain
Slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight?
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?
You better slow down.
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.

Do you run through each day On the fly?
When you ask "How are you?"
Do you hear the reply?
When the day is done
Do you lie in your bed
With the next hundred chores
Running through your head?
You'd better slow down
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.

Ever told your child,
We'll do it tomorrow?
And in your haste,
Not see his sorrow?
Ever lost touch,
Let a good friendship die
Cause you never had time
To call and say "Hi"?
You'd better slow down.
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.

When you run so fast to get somewhere
You miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift.... Thrown away.
Life is not a race.
Do take it slower
Hear the music
Before the song is over.

TO DREAM THE IMPOSSIBLE DREAM

I dont know who wrote this....


To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear the unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star.

This is my quest to follow that star
No matter how hopeless, no matter how far
To fight for the right without question or pause
To be willing to march into hell
For a heavenly cause.

And I know if I can only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will be peaceful and calm
When I am laid to rest.
And the world will be better for this:
That one person scorned and covered with sores
Still strove with the last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star.

my 1st

I never had a title for this...but this is the 1st I wrote

Walking in the light of the dying sun,
Seeing the naked children playfully run,
In the dirty gully of the slum,
The dwellers see me as I come.

Helpless and anxious of the morrow,
Pained and miserable with their sorrow,
To them the lord has ceased giving,
And they’re existing and have stopped living.

But still they hope that some fine day,
They too shall be happy and gay,
Though an illusion it may be,
Though in that no truth they see.

To god I cried out “what is this ?
People suferring their lives without bliss
What’ve you done to help even a few?”
And a voice replied , “ I HAVE MADE YOU”

Beginning of me

One of my better efforts...since it was co-written with my friend I guess...

My life was flowing like a silent stream,
Everything around me like a pleasant dream ,
Life was easy,smooth and plain ,
You stormed into my life like a hurricane .

Your body was satin , but your heart was stone ,
Your hands were warm ,but your touch was cold ,
Your skin had gleam,your eyes had fire ,
It charred my broken heart, but fuelled my desire .

You’ve no idea how it destroyed my calm ,
When I saw you snuggle up in someone else’s arm ,
I made you my queen , I gave you my throne ,
How could you just leave me now I’m all alone .

Baby I beg you , please go away ,
Ever since you came, life is going astray ,
With you by my side , I’m going insane ,
There is nothing that can really undo this pain .

I don’t have the cool , to hear you explain ,
You’ll give me some crap and say its all in the game ,
I wont hold you to treason , I wont beg you to stay,
I don’t care a damn as long as you go away ,

The end. The finish .Its all over between us ,
Those whispers , those caresses and all that fuss ,
I was down on my knees , now I’m back on my feet ,
It’s the end of you and the beginning of me .

Beautiful people there may be

I dug up all my old poems(and when i say old..i mean 'OLD') and am posting it here..... this was in college....and when I was in love...uhmmm almost

Disclaimer: These poems are cliched , boyzon-ish and require the intelligence of a tadpole to comprehend. (hmm... that explains why all my sister's girlfrendz love it)


You surpass all in beauty and grace
None like you can I find in any other place
Beautiful people there may be
But I have eyes for you and you only

From the first time I saw Couldn’t take my mind off you
Love was sown in my heart And there it grew
Made me sigh whenever I think
That you were the spring of my life from where I had to drink

The thought of you so far away makes me sad
I comfort myself thinking of the little conversations we’ve had
Your hellos and byes matter so much to me
For these small little things I’d go begging on my knee

I wonder now when I would see you
And every time I do hope springs anew
I’d come running to you where ever you may be
Rather than sitting here, each hour feeling like an eternity

Your sweet kisses warm touches is not what I ask
Just wanna be close to you In the sunshine of your presence I’ll bask


--- Prem

morning poem

This one is from the net..... it is a mean poem but it always cracks me up !! ...sorry about the profanity

MORNING POEM

I woke early one morning,
The earth lay cool and still
When suddenly a tiny bird
Perched on my window sill,

He sang a song so lovely
So carefree and so gay,
That slowly all my troubles
Began to slip away.

He sang of far off places
Of laughter and of fun,
It seemed his very trilling,
Brought up the morning sun.

I stirred beneath the covers
Crept slowly out of bed,
Then gently shut the window
And crushed his fucking head.

I'm not a morning person.

Blanked out by Beauty!

I have been having these thoughts on how people *look* esentially the same and what their faces are meant to say. Especially how, whether they are Japenese, Indian :) ...Caucasian, Negroid or Mangolian...there are a set of feelings underlying the face that mean a lot more than the surface... And I actually have been thinking...about a face...blank..just blank...

I have been imagining her face, with no features!
With no eyes, no nose, no lips, but it is hers.

Would I know, of her thoughts, in that emptiness,
Would I know, if I made laugh or made her cry?
How do I to tell, her indifference from her eagerness?
How it would trouble me, not to know how or why!

Her thoughtful, sparkling eyes that shrink and widen
The lips that split to reveal her joy that was hidden
The many curves that tell me of her state of mind,
If amiss, would leave me longing for a face so kind.

Her tears would trickle down leaving no shiny trail,
Not the slightest sign of being helpless and frail...
Deceitful to a friend so true, who would be by her side,
Who would cherish in loyalty, even the times, they cried.

Is she angry, embarassed, shy, flustered, confused or coy,
A gamut of feelings obscured in her passive private ploy...
Would immensely trouble me, for being the person, I am,
For a friend and companion, finding truth in the face of sham!

I find beauty not in the fact that she is bright and fair,
Not in the way she looks, in clothes or her coloured hair!
I yearn for her expressions and the elements to portray,
I just need them to guage everything she wants to say...

Beauty is in the thought that the face willingly depicts,
In the expression of the eyes or a smile as the ruling edicts...
Hard to find in black or white, even if we really tried...
And impenetrable and alien in a countenance that is void!

2004's new year poem

There was one for 2005 as well... this year I missed writing one :(

For every poem I post... I expect one from atleast one of you too :)

You could grouse over misfortune,

Or thank your million lucky stars

You could dance to a merry tune,

Or think of time, that left scars!

You could remember the good time

That you spent with a great friend

Or recall to the nearest dime,

Funding a foe... you had to spend!

You could regret a fall over wet moss,

Or opportune a splash of rain,

You could dwell for long over your loss,

Or glorify a tiny spec of gain!

You could enjoy a sweet smelling rose,

Or rake a fuss about a spiky bush!

Hassle over din in the neighbour's house,

Or engage your senses in a silent hush!

Time brings all the same fair deal,

A pinch of salt, a sprinkle of sugar!

And as stories unfold, and moments reel,

What's life like, is for you to figure!

It's your voices amongst a few

That tell if your happy or sad,

It's your own choices, that make you,

That help you pick the joy you've had!

What a caterpillar calls the end,

The Master calls "a butterfly",

What you hope to see as a "happy new year",

Will show you glimpses of the year gone by!

The Man in the Mirror

Let me start on my friend Prem's birthday...w ith a poem I read in the recent times that I loved and that I think he'd love reading too...

Man in the Mirror

When you get what you want in your struggles for self

And the world makes you king for a day:

Then go to the mirror and look at yourself,

And see what that man has to say.

For it isn’t a man’s father, mother or wife

Whose judgement upon him must pass?

The fellow whose verdict counts most in his life,

Is the man staring back from the glass?

He’s the fellow to please: never mind all the rest,

For he’s with you clear up to the end:

And you’ve passed your most dangerous, difficult test

If the man in the glass is your Friend.

You can fool the whole world down the pathway of years,

And get pats on the back as you pass:

But your final reward will be heartache and tears

If you’ve cheated the Man in the Glass

-poet unknown