~ದ್ವಂದ್ವ~

ರೌದ್ರ ತಾಂಡವದ ಭೈರವನಲ್ಲೇ

ಶಾಂತ ಯೋಗಿಯ ತಾಪಸ ಗುಣ...

ಬಂಡೆಯನ್ನೇ ಕರಗಿಸಬಲ್ಲ ದೈತ್ಯ ಅಲೆಗೆ

ಕ್ಷಣಾರ್ಧದಲ್ಲೇ ಹಿಂಜರಿಕೆಯ ಹಿನ್ನೆಡೆಯ ಬಯಕೆ...

ಗುಡುಗು ಸಿಡಿಲುಗಳಿಂದ ಬೆದರಿಸಿ ಅಬ್ಬರಿಸುವ ಆಗಸ

ಕಣ್ಣೀರ ಮಳೆಗರೆದು ಕರಗದೆ?

ದ್ವಂದ್ವ ಎಲ್ಲೆಲ್ಲೂ ಇದೆ...ಶಿವನೇನು ಅಲೆಯೇನು

ನಾನೇನು ನೀವೇನು ಹೊರತೆ?

Shrieks and Screams

With closed tight fists he hits;
I screech in pain, and he smiles...

He pulls me by my hair;
Tears run down my face, but I do not grimace!

I topple off as he kicks;
I scream in jolts and he hits me more..

The closet pulled down and torn apart;
The shuddering glass.. my neighbours enquire!

I tell them 'I am alright..'
'Its pranks of my little son, not a fight!'

Cloths of Heaven - WB Yeats

HAD I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Wings OR Roots

No explanations given for what inspired these lines ... take this one as a self-assessment :)

Should I be a colourful butterfly,
Or should I bear a bright flower?
Offer the sweet nectar to gratify,
Or cheerfully hover, near and over...

Should be an industrious honey bee,
Or provide a frame for his hive?
Work hard to see my queen in glee,
Or squeeze amber to help her thrive...

Should I be the free-flying sparrow,
Or house her homely cozy nest?
Am I good picking grains and a willow,
Or is my yeilding a branch the best...

Should I choose to find a hollow trunk,
Or be the trunk as a clueless care-taker?
Be jabbed at for a big wooden chunk,
Or harp on wood, tediously as a pecker...

Should I be like nomadic wanderers,
Or stay steady in my given space?
Explore new lands and new waters,
Or layer as rings, with years to trace...

Choices that often leave me betrayed-
Are a platter of meat or a basket of fruits
Thinking like a child, I'm always afraid -
Should I have wings or grow roots?

Ben Jonson (1572 – 1637) - To Celia

Drink to me, only, with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine;

Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I’ll not look for wine.

The thirst that from the soul doth rise

Doth ask for a drink divine;

But might I of Jove’s nectar sup,

I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,

Not so much honouring thee

As giving it a hope that there

It could not wither’d be;

But thou thereon didst only breathe,

And sent’st it back to me;

Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,

Not of itself, but Thee.

Doomed love

Doomed love
-------------

He felt it from the beginning, he had known it from the start,
This wouldn't go anywhere, but would only break his heart,
No matter how much he tried,how much his love was true,
This love was in a dead-end street,from the beginning he knew.

But hope springs eternal, oh what stupid notions !
The courtship started and went through all the motions,
But this would have no fairy tale ending, no happily lived forever,
He wondered why it started, sometimes wished it had never.

How can love flourish, in a world divided by classes,
By race and religion, the opiate of the masses,
How is it ever possible , for two different people to wed,
Rather than see you happy, the world would rather see you dead.

He'd no know more happiness,he'd know no more bliss,
Just memories of his love to treasure and taste of a parting kiss,
He blames himself in the end, the dark clouds always loomed,
Because he knew from the beginning, his love was always doomed.

-Prem

An 8 hour power-cut left me no choice but to write :-) . I've written about something that I've seen happen, unfortunately a little too often.

Incognito...

This poem has been left unnamed in my inability to find a suitable title :).

While most feelings have a name,
There're those that claimed fame,
With no defined ways to express
Leaving you lost and confused... and in a bit of a mess :?

Are you ecstatic, euphoric or blissful,
Blessed, delighted, happy or joyful?
Or intoxicated or exalted or gone !!
When you wear a smile you've never known or worn ?

Felicity, mirth, gladness, glee..
Is that what this emotion could be?
To use the right word might well be an art,
But what do you say when there's a song in your heart ?

A bit buoyant yet downtrodden,
On cloud nine but crestfallen,
Greatly gratified yet melancholic,
Often felt as a duo, making the right word a difficult pick !!

But these feelings are best left abstract than articulate,
As they transpire in the moments of the years you'd await ...
They are a gift of God to the evolving and thoughtful kind,
A way to bridge the differences, from one's own to another mind !

Robert Frost's "Fire and Ice"

Some say the world will end in fire;
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Auto man !!

I wrote for a lot of people.... How can I not write for them? These guys take me to around, make me think along the way ... about this thing I have to say

Call this an Ode or call this a satire,
To the three-wheeling community,
Who stir the traffic-al quagmire...
Every new day in Bangalore city.

The first mile costs a mere Ten buck,
But it takes grit to ensure a recount.
For every client is high-muck-a-muck
To be on the deadly auto-man's mount...

Once paid for, they promise you a ride,
A journey through roads less travelled.
But the destination is for him to decide,
However much you may seem hassled...

Sometimes they rate you, by the face,
Seeking their preys, in the morning rush,
You'll be nailed, if, of the High Tech race...
Your pockets barren.. his meadows plush !

It's better to be with him, than around,
It's better to take the rock with the roll...
He'll be behind with nasty horn to sound
If not on the side, edging out of control !

Blaring new songs, boastful of movie stars,
At least a thousand of them can be found,
With jarring noise, and a silencer farce...
How is it hard to break the barrier to sound?

A mouthful of swear-words are his stakes,
All day long in the gambling with his wrists,
Clutching the gear and holding his brakes,
On crazy maneuvers along bends and twists .

And yet he's here, seeking opportunities,
And yet his is an endearing tale to tell,
Of a small town man, bewildered by the cities,
Who's brought along his dreams to sell !

He is a cheat only as much as me,
His is a story only as much as mine ...
He maybe lost in the future we foresee ...
With his departure as a metropolis' sign !

ಬಳಸಿ - ಉಳಿಸಿ - ಬೆಳೆಸಿ

ಕನ್ನಡ ಬಳಸಿ-ಉಳಿಸಿ
ಅಂತ ಅದೆಷ್ಟು ಚಳುವಳಿ!
ಹಾಗೆ ಸದ್ದು ಮಾಡದೆ ಬಳಸಿ-ಉಳಿಸಿದಷ್ಟೇ
ನಾವು ಬೆಳೆಸಿದ್ದೆಷ್ಟು ನೀವೇ ನೋಡಿ -

School ಇಸ್ಕೂಲ್ಲಾಗಿ,
Master ಮಾಸ್ತರರಾಗಿ,
Fees ಫೀಜಾಗಿ, ತದ್ಭವವಾದ್ದು
ಹಳೆಯ ವಿಷಯ ಬಿಡಿ...

ಆದರೆ ಪೋರಾಪೊಟಾಣಿ,
ಅರ್ಗೆಂಟು - aka ಗೆಂಟು,
ಸೆಪ್-ಸೆಪರೇಟು
ಇವೆಲ್ಲಾ ಏನು ಗೊತ್ತೇನ್ರಿ?

ಇವೆಲ್ಲಾ ಕಬ್ಬಿಣದ ಕಡ್ಲೆ ಇಂಗ್ಲಿಷಿನ
Power-of-attorney, arrogant, separate,
ಇವನ್ನೇ ಬಗ್ಗಿ, ಬಾಗಿಸಿ, ನಾದಿಸಿದಾಗ
ಅರಳಿದ ಕನ್ನಡ ಕುಸುಮ ಕಣ್ರೀ!

ಇನ್ನು ನಮ್ಮ head(ಹೆಡ್ಡು ?) ಮಾಸ್ತರರ ಬಾಯಿಗೆ ಸಿಕ್ಕಿ
machine~mission , apparatus~operators
asterisk~ostrich ಆಗಿದ್ದೆಲ್ಲಾ
ರೂಪಾಂತರವಲ್ಲ ಅವಾಂತರವಷ್ಟೇ ಬಿಡಿ!

Least ಮಾಡ್ತಾ ಹೋದ್ರೆ
ತುಂಬಾ ಇದೆ ಬಿಡಿ
Tame ಇಲ್ಲ ನೋಡಿ; ಇದ್ದಿದ್ರೆ
ಹರಟ ಬಹುದು ಇದೇನು ಮಹಾ ಬಿಡಿ!

The Leela of Sheela ...

This one was written in a bus, on our way back from a team trip, for a colleague of mine (and his imaginary girl friend Sheela)... a little more than 2 years back !! Hope he's found his Sheela now :) !

Make do ...until creativity resurges :)

To the man that I found in you,
I'll tell you a story of Love, Untrue,
It started on the day you were looking at me,
Your piercing eyes just set my spirits free,
And when you walked with your manly stance in my direction,
My heart skipped a beat, in deep fascination,
You pulled out a red rose in that magical moment.
To think of you on your knees, sent my blood into a torrent,
My heart beat grew faster as you came close,
And all of a sudden, Life had a million questions to pose,
When I was in this ecstasy of my dream finally come true,
You walked past me and said, "Sheela, I Love you!"

Little Johnny in Phillie

I wrote this for a friend who went to Philadelphia
Censor Rating - 'A' ... :-)

Little Johnny is in Phillie
Jerking off with his willie
And all he wants to do is get laid
With the colleague,neighbor or the maid

He went to the US giving a bunch of reasons
But actually he wanted to mate in all seasons
And if he doesn't get his way,
I'm afraid he might just turn gay.

That might be a catastrophe for his family and all,
Although he might be just having a ball,
And so I wish him, as I lift up my glass of booze,
And hope somehow his virginity he will loose.

Rangaswamy and the Tiger

Rangaswamy and the Tiger... HILARIOUS...

Deep in jungle I am went
On shooting Tiger I am bent
Bugger Tiger has eaten wife
No doubt I avenge poor darling's life
Too much quiet, snakes and leeches
But am not feared these sons of beeches
Hearing loud noise I am jump with start
But noise is coming from damn fool heart
Taking care not to be fright
I am clutching rifle with eye to sight
Should Tiger come I will fall him down
Then like hero return to native town
Then through trees I am espying one cave
I am telling self - "Rangaswamy be brave"
I now proceed with too much care
From nonsense smell this Tiger's lair
My leg is shake, I start to pray
I think I shoot Tiger some other day
Turning round I am going to go
But Tiger giving bloody roar
He bounding from cave like shooting star
I commend my soul to Kali Ma
Through the jungle I am went
Like bullet with Tiger hot on scent
Mighty Tiger rave and rant
Rangaswamy shit in pant!
Must to therefore leave the jungle
Killing Tiger one big bungle!!
I am telling that never in life
I will risk again for damn fool wife

My mother's hands

I wrote this for my mother for mother's day.....

They held me when I was born
Caressed me when I slept
When I cried from night to morn
They wiped my tears as I wept

They played with me as a child,
Holding my fingers,showed me to write
Fought off everything mean and wild
And cradled me through the night

They washed,bathed and clothed me,
And many thousand different things,
And whenever her I used to see,
I wondered why this angel had no wings

They carried me everywhere I went,
Through roads,parks and beach sands,
If you're wondering what 'they' meant,
They're nothing but my mother's beautiful hands

Old and weak they maybe now,
But one think i'm sure most of all
If I ever lose my way or miss my step,
They'll be waiting to catch me as I fall.

A rain drop... and Life

Fishing in an Ocean

It's hard to explain why I wrote this one ... If you ask.. you'll get a *shrug*, a *smile* and a *wink*. Some of my friends may know what I mean...some of my work colleagues may also understand something out of this... but maybe none completely. See... I never literally swam in the ocean :)

Really, whoever says the Ocean is a safe place to be,
Must either be wanderer or a prisoner set free!

Deep at the abyss, are the colours and corals
But beneath the pressure, we justify the laurels...

At the surface, float the green algae and weeds
But do we stay afloat, for their parasitic needs?

The little fish stick together, family calling
Stubbornly en route, with inflexibility appalling !

The big fish are out to kill, with a tooth or tail
Quick to bite, quick to win the death of the frail.

A whale does survive, by his mere might and size,
Yet men hunt to spear through a Moby who tries.

The oysters and clams hide themselves bashfully,
Claiming of a pearly glow, that we seek so hopefully.

The Octopus and Squid swish their limbs around,
Slimy and dark, suckers on a prey that they found!

The sting ray or a jelly fish with an umbrella wide,
If sought shelter under, poisons pinch your inside!

Insignificant in comparison, to it's vastness I bond
I started out here finding my Nemo, my darling, my pride,
And whoever says there are other fish in the pond,
May take a cruise in this darkness or go take a ride!

Nominated poem....

This poem was nominated poem of 2005 for the best poem, written by an
African kid.........amazing thought!!!



When I born, I Black, When I grow up, I Black,
When I go in Sun, I Black, When I scared, I Black,
When I sick, I Black, And when I die, I still black..
And you White fella,
When you born, you Pink, When you grow up, you White,
When you go in Sun, you Red, When you cold, you Blue,
When you scared, you Yellow, When you sick, you Green,
And when you die, you Gray..
And you calling me Colored ?

ನನನ್ ಪ್ರಿಯತಮ

ಒಮ್ಮೆ ನನ್ನ ಮನಸ್ಸನ್ನು ಉಕ್ಕಿಸುವ
Omme nanna manassannu ukkisuva
ತುಮ್ಬು ನಗೆಯ ಪೂರ್ನ ಚನ್ದ್ರಮನಾದ್ರೆ
thumbu nageya poorna chandramanaadhare

ಮತೊಮ್ಮೆ ದಿಕ್ಕೆಡಿಸಿ ಕನ್ಗಾಲು ಮಾಡುವ
Mathomme dhikkedisi kangaalu maaduva
ಅವಿತು ಕೂತ ಅಮಾವಾಸ್ಯಯ ಚನ್ದ್ರ
avithu kootha amavasyaya cnahdra

ಕೆಲವೊಮ್ಮೆ ಒಲವ ಸೂಸುವ
Kelovomme olva soosuva
ಮ್ರುದು ನಗೆಯ ಅರ್ಧ ಚನ್ದ್ರನಾದ್ರೆ
mrudhu nageya ardha chandra

ಮತೊಮ್ಮೆ ನನ್ನನ್ನೆ ಅಣ್ಕಿಸುವ
Mathomme nanna anakisuva
ತುನ್ಟ್ತನದ ವಕ್ರಮುಖಿ ಚನ್ದ್ರ
thuntathanadha vakramukhi chandra

ಅನ್ಗಳದ ನೀರಿನಲಿಲ್ ನಿನ್ನ ಬಿಮ್ಬವನ್ನೀ
Angaladha neerinalli ninna bimbavanne
ಹುಡುಕಿ ದಿಟ್ಟಿಸುತಿರುವ,.. ನಿನ್ನ ಉತತ್ರಕ್ಕೆ ಕಾದಿರುವ ...
huduki dhittisuthiruva,.. ninna utharakke kaadhiruve

ನಿನ್ನ ಈ ರೂಪಾನ್ತರಗಳೆಲಾಲ್ ಮಿಥ್ಯವೀ?
Ninna ee roopanthagalella mithyave?
ನನ್ನ ಹುಚ್ಚು ಮನ್ಸ್ಸಿನ ಭಾನ್ತಿಯೀ ??
ninna huchchu manassina bhraanthiye ??

- for Spoorthy

Red Ribbons...

March 8th is women's day. To some of us it means lunches , dinners, greeting friends and colleagues in the spirit of being special.

But to most women in our country, it's just another day...

As India's poised ... here's a message,

Waking up today, to the early sun rays,
To a new day and a brand new phase !
To the brightness hurting my eye,
While on my luxurious stretch, I lie.
A face comes up, against the light,
Not quite to my laziness' delight.
As I try and focus on the figuration,
I see a little girl, in the formation,
As a softly calling halo-ed silhouette,
Unkempt hair shining and hands held out.
Overcoming the lethargy and slumber,
Careful not to scare,I stand behind her.
I Kneel down till our shoulders align,
And turn her around, her face to mine.
And how the sun rays spark up her eyes,
Compelling us to strengthen our ties...
I feel, the brilliance needs to strike,
And tread the paths to happiness alike,
A boy, a brother, another who plays free,
I want her to see what she is meant to be!
I wash her up, fresh like the day begun,
Make two braids each held by a red ribbon.
On her white top, drape the blue pinafore,
As she wears one, hand her a second slipper.
And give her a bag, a pencil and a book,
I show her a path that few girls ever took...
Heading towards the sun and the glowing beams
On a runway of knowledge to a flight of dreams !

How do I love thee? ---Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints!---I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life!---and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.