......and soon enough
the voice will speak
in slower and gentler measure
time has reached its peak
for old age is no longer the treasure
of life--- the holding frame
doesn't support as it should
the hands shiver and the feet they falter
the eyes struggle,  the ears they hear
as  broken chords-- thereafter
the music fades away--never
will the flames of youth reignite
its past dreams and passions
nor tenderest love recapture

yet faintly does flicker the amber
and it's not the time for sleep
amidst the rush of hours
both joys and sorrows still inter-mingle
their currents still run deep.

If a word says it all
why use more?
if a sentence is the essence
a paragraph would surely bore.

Then
and now
the end
comes somehow

relativity
is time
eternity
has no outcome

every moment
a meeting-point only
each sentient
a mere spark of reality

sleeping and awakening
is rhythm and necessity
loving and hating
is but life's partial story

all that is
is limits and bounds
all around something's amiss
there are no perfect sounds

living is the beginning
of the route to the ending
futile is every clinging
unfulfilled is every longing

the best poem or the finest song
its essence is over  after the reading and hearing
life's every delight or dismay, right or wrong
will be buried in ruins, beyond remembering.

Though broken
nothing from the person
can be stolen
if himself he still does own

I know so well my heart
has broken pieces--many indeed-
much did I struggle to find
but never did succeed

Here there's a Brutus
which among us?

In the no-self
where's the fear?
Ex nihilo
no danger will appear

Let not ever yourself
         be that of someone's else
        this would calamitously be
        your total self-betrayal  

       you'd surely only be
      a bud-graft of another
      an unattractive carbon-copy
      and court the world's sinister laughter!

Buds we are--the poetic type
waiting for flowering
if the climate is not right
such might not be forthcoming

yet,  nothing shall hold back
the words and feelings overpowering
even if the sky were cast with darkest clouds
they would be pierced across through our writing.

The future is built
not by coercion or compulsion
the wise would know this-
only by persuasion and compassion

Download
upload
I'm at the end of the road-
UNLOAD!

Art of some sort
no doubt--it's the voice
of avant-garde creation
the posture
the body movement
the personality's articulation
the hip--twisting
the eyes -seducing
the lips' - inviting
the audience's kissing

the music all set
for crescendo
no missing this one
Ravel's Bolero
( no Bach, Mozart
or Beethoven
and Mahler--oh no!)

an exception
if among the audience
was eyeful Picasso
( he could paint anything
  he loved nudes--exceedingly so)

the dancers and musicians
had to be paid (it was strictly business)
and the wine and beer must ceaselessly flow

the best of the night
'soon to follow'
more fleshy postures
yet to show
' stay, you must stay
don't walk out
don't go'

the day was wearisome
the boss Mr Cockburn was a bore
the wife nagged too much
the kids were growing fast
attention they demanded
more and more
('but dough
doesn't on trees grow!)

tomorrow--hateful tomorrow
the same chagrin
the dreadfully slow
traffic flow

bills to settle
(tonight's bills would clog
up the credit-card
finance was sorrow!)

the show
was soon over
staggering
to the 25 year old wagon
'where's the key-hole?
can't see the **** thing!'

drove too fast
caught by
that fat and ugly cop
' Drunk and over-speeding
here's ticket--$500 fine!'

all for a night
at a burlesque
this wretched life
of mine!

The past is still
much business unfinished
buried but alive
it wouldn't be dismissed-

scores to settle, words unsaid
vengeance, anger and hate have not diminished
the present pales in comparison
living is diseased!

Busy all the time
nothing worthwhile done
to inane moments succumb
while precious time takes its run.

...but your best
anticipated thing
  is not likely
   to be happening

But for denial
how many
would survive?

an inner fortress
built from deception
self-sanctified

reality is enemy
sharp is its teeth
too deeply it does bite

fair haven embedded
beyond the world's sight
the safest place to hide.

....but for you

life would be a mere vacuum

   every day I'd wither in thirst-

happiness would have no room-



   in the wasteland of my heart

  flowers would gladly bloom

  as its sterile surface you generously water

and a new life I'd miraculously assume

You said
'But surely'
I'll be out
all I know is uncertainty

You keep your
'but surely'
all I know
is uncertainty

Our home-party
ran short of cups
rushed to our garden
to gather butter-cups!

Butterfly said
to moth:
we can both fly
but you I'd rather be not!




NB:
How do butterflies and moths fly? Butterflies and moths have strong muscles in their thorax which force their wings up and down on a fulcrum basis. They actually go in a slanted figure 8 motion that propels them forward through the air in the same principle as an airplane (Quote)

It's not the spring season yet
the winter-ending snow
still falls though in slow
and weak tiny droplets
each like a gentle reminder
nature has its own course
to follow
(there's no cause for rush
winter's story is not over)--

the night somehow
seems longer, and weaker
are the moon and stars-
the leaves they quiver
and the trees by the deserted shore
by the winds are tossed
forward and backward
frantically to and fro
while the tides
they intermittently roar-

the heart is restless and anxious
in waiting--each moment seems
longer than years, so cruel and vexatious
but patience and faith is tested and called for-

love should not question
it must stay strong
whatever the season
however sad its drawn-out song-

amidst life's turbulent throng
the heart should rest steadfast
love should overcome every storm
through all episodes of tears outlast-

but the time shall come
when winter its last leaves
will have been cast
the grass will revive
flowers will begin to bud
branches will stretch out
in vigour to reach the sun
frost will melt away
from the stream which will rush
to welcome thirsty birds around
all nature will be a-flush
with the brightness
of light and colour
with warm- spreading glades
and dance with the musical sound
of life born anew--all in consonance
with the heart blessed in contentment-

the time has come
spring has blossomed
love has waited
but such glory
it has won.

But those were the days
when all of us wrote
love-letters. Week-ends
were thus consumed
never mind the school homework
it could wait. How to choose
the words that would win her over?
- I quoted Shakespeare's
  Shall I compare thee to a summer day?...
  that red letter-box was symbol
  of my boyish hope. She would reply or most likely I can't say for sure. Who knows a pretty girl 's heart when all the boys in school were trying to attract her attention? Lily was crowned the Beauty Queen this year and her dad is rich. They live in a mansion with a swimming-pool, have three cars and four servants and she wears a Rolex. The boys say she's playing the game of hard-to-get.

I met her once after a school-concert during which I performed Tossellis's Serenata on the violin. She approached me and said I love that song very much. I play it on the piano often at home. One day we should do a duet. A brief meeting and since I've fallen in love with her I think.

I've just written this letter suggesting we meet. Have read it six times and can memorise every word. Have been having sleepless nights.

Will she reply?

But time I'll bend
it would have no say
when it knocks on my door-
I'll shove it away--

I'm a free man, never at the behest
of minutes or hours of the day
life is not for mechanical calibration
I'm my own master, I'll hold time at bay.

You asked me
the water to enter
but never said
there it was terror
with crocs and sharks
a fool I was in error
you I saw from the river
whistling and singing
as though my act
to you was great humour!

You asked me
what I bought into
my simple reply-
myself---only

When you have
to buy time
it's likely
you'd face
some undesirable outcome

Every flower, even the humblest
has its own charm and beauty
call it by any name
you can't diminish its glory

By myself I stand
despite what others say
whatever the event
of the very day-

I look up to no ally
aloneness is my unfailing strength
on my resilience I faithfully rely
through life's utmost breadth and length

By then, my friend
you wouldn't remember my name
but both of us would readily admit
we are no longer the same

By then
the wonder
would have
come to an end

time has spoken

the rose
greeted you
you ignored
soon enough
it was dead

love wooed you
you turned away
giving the excuse
you weren't ready
(as though you heart
had been stitched)
it wept and visited
never again

by now
the sun has set
the daylight waited
but you were wrapped
within yourself
(in rumination)
sad, how really sad!

Alone
forlorn
you're left
to the darkness
and know
no rest

My eyes follow
  the drift of the sea
   it's the hottest summer
   the memory of you
   suddenly flashes back to me
   but too well I know
   you'd no longer remember
   those days of innocent gaiety

   we sat then under the same tree
  where we shared Keats's poetry
  my hand you held tenderly
  and kissed me so passionately :

   'Do not ever leave me
   I'll die for you---surely
   if you were to walk away..'
   your spoke tearfully-

   a decade hence--how time did flee!
  to Cambridge you went to study
  you promised to return after your degree
  but there you stayed on permanently

a telegram reached me before long:
'  Love is a strange thing--I met Henry
    he scored double- first--he promised
    next week to marry me!
    I wish you every happiness
   you'll learn to forget me..'

     A tiny boat is gliding by
     a bird is chirping merrily
      as I watch the slow-moving sea

By the way
I can't buy
my way
through life

all I know
is I am just
a passerby

just to
keep an eye
whatever
the way

I'll dance
laugh and sing
and will happily
say some day
'Good-bye!'

..by which time
  the river has run its course

  by which time
  winter has smothered
  the last autumn rose

  by which time
  all leaves have turned grey
  the barren garden has nothing to pose

by which time
the stars have grown weary
not a single light--beam glows

by which time
love has its farewell bade
all feelings wither and close

..by which time

the river has run its course



by which time

winter has smothered

the last autumn rose



by which time

all leaves have turned grey

the barren garden has nothing to pose



by which time

the stars have grown weary

not a single light-beam glows



by which time

love has its farewell bade

all feelings wither and tearfully close

That which can be counted
does not for anything count
the intangible of love and kindness
how can such be calibrated?

I don't have time to dream
too much to do on hand
a moment lost I can't redeem
towards the call of duty I should bend

Impatient male driver
shot the traffic light
caught by the policeman:
dad, I've to do what's right !

Call to duty?
whose call?
the law?
who made the law?
to war?
who created the war?
die for country's honour?
what about mine
my family's?  Don't sober
us with words of national grandeur--

I'll only answer
to one call
that of my conscience-
talking and walking tall
taking arms to see the enemy fall?
why don't you legislators
walk with us through the battle-mall
instead of smoking your cigars
and drinking whisky or brandy
mindless of the horrors
that haunt and plague us
night and day, careless of the sorrows
of our loved ones we left behind?
will we who are here live
to see the morrows?
where's the solace that we would find?

In Flanders Fields we are stranded
with the hard stones as our bed

will you remember us
when the war is won?
but by then we would have been dead.

In every heart
there's a candle
waiting to be lighted
by the individual

Why would I wish
  to argue with you?
  I've so many important things
  indeed to do!

Too much candour
could land you in dolour

It doesn't talk---the dog-
but much wisdom it has got!

Can love be divided
      as it's so often written and said?
      How? Among loved ones
      relatives, friends, causes
      according to what measure?
    
     Love isn't mathematics
      thus, the argument
      can't stand on solid ground-

      I'll love spontaneously
     and generously
      without any  scientific formula !

What I can't
to others I leave
I'd cause myself
and others no grief

what I can
on I'll stay
to contribute
something for the day

Can you smell
the life that you live?
What sort of sense
does it give?

Are you easy
or difficult to live with?
Please tell me-
honestly!

Capitalism is a leaking septic tank
corporations its foul odour imbibe
when Wall Street suffers from diarhorrea
its illness infects worldwide.

The hours are late
for some, early for others
they don't suit everyone
a whole bag of bothers--

whoever and wherever we are
we are never the true winners
held to ransom with impunity
and scattered all over as feathers

Heiress in Line
  sweet Caroline
  but dad was stingy
Oh! won't buy her a CAR
unless she turned forty!