I can't say to life:
This or that I choose
it has no heart nor tears
it has no duty to give or refuse

and I stand alone
as events come and go
each without question I accept
with the unknown tide I  quietly follow.

Stopping by in quest of wonder
is ever
a new experience
never
ceases
to delight
he who knocks on life's door
is granted entry--be it day or night

We are all stuck in time-
to such we have no remedy
life is a clinging-on---an endless waiting
hoping, desiring---what would the next moment be?

With time we wrestle
it's either too slow or too fast-
the present becomes the future
would it be as what had been in the past?

Even the weakest among us
will somehow survive
strength even thin as a straw is not to be scoffed at
it builds up to a critical mass with time--- to strive

and not to yield transforms
the most ordinary men into heroes
though unknown they thrive
and stand up to life's loneliest sorrows--

the strong have been too complacent
self-indulgence has weakened their spirit
they struggle to hold their own but sadly
they have lost their vigour and wit--

man is not born to despair
whatever the adversity be
amidst the ruins and misery
he rebuilds and triumphs in his fullest nobility.

This is the tapestry of my soul
sewed in  sweat, trials and tears
each stitch a reminder of the vanished past when every episode
stood as a testament of life's most tempestuous years

but  I've resurrected from the ruins
of time and every scene I survey  now with serenity
even in the darkest of night
the brightest of light illuminates from my treasured tapestry.

Even tears
    do not know
    the depth
    of their own sorrow-

    will each tear cause
    a flower to grow
    from the dusts and ashes
    of the heart - perhaps tomorrow?

Tears
they speak silently
over and again
of the pain
of past years

regrets
too many
broken dreams
love's fragility
joy's brevity

tears
they know
and feel more deeply
than the sufferer
they can write the full story

in the finest detail
of moments that caused misery
which the sufferer would remember but vaguely
they have a very long memory
and a heart filled with pity

tears
will anyone
show them
some sympathy
who, who would that be?

Courage speaks loudly
but patience is quiet and infinitely stronger

I read your letter
and couldn't hold back my tears

Don't say goodbye
say you will come back to me

The stars shine not only for me
but for all.

I can't abandon my tears
because each is my friend

The birdie asks its mother
what is our postal address?

My dog looks glum
as it can read my feelings

I walk in my garden
it seems to know me

'It must be true
as not everyone can be fooled'

I woke and recall
every word you said last night

Know when to speak
and when to refrain
think before words leave your mouth
lest you incur wrath and pain

Study the situation
is it timely to speak or refrain?
have you considered every angle
or should you think again?

You say you know
how do you know you know?
who are the people who say so?

but others know
you don't know
but don't want to let you know
that they know

while you don't know
others do know
that you don't know

thus, not knowing
you don't know
does (in the eyes of others) show
you are foolish and shallow

while they who know
that you don't know
will use what they know
to exploit your weakness
wherever you are or wherever you go

your life's battle is lost because
you don't know
that you don't know

and by the time you wake up
from your not-knowing
to knowing
the show is over
and you are left with
NOTHING!

I would not your teacher be
if you don't come in humility
learning is of no utility
unless you can acquire morality

Life is all about you, your values, family,
community, society and country
know yourself, know duty and one day you will be
a role-model, admired for now and all posterity.

I can only teach you what I know
if I don't know, I seek to know
and I'll tell you what I don't know
that's the only way I can grow

in understanding--to lie
to myself and to you is worst than to die
that is the reason why
I never cease to strive and  try

I live by the rules of nature and its rhythm I follow
I don't complain whether the weather is cold
or hot--I quietly do my day's job and find solace
in good deeds--I learn from masters of old

to whom I owe the greatest debt
in your diligence you knowledge will grow
I am but the planter of the seeds through my teaching
you will leave here with wisdom and set examples for others to follow

You my pupils asked
' Do you have doubts, Master?'
  My answer: 'They are my starting point
  Without which I could go no further

In its crucible
Dissolves the dust and gold
Crystallises--those who think they
Know all---they fool themselves a thousand-fold'

THE ARTIST'S SOLILOQUY*

I reproduce the world
in pictures
man in himself
in life
and in the universe
this eternal inter-play
is the sanctum
of all my works

I am a visionary
(a humble one
but no less sensitive)
I cry more than I laugh
as the world is the place
where mankind's tears fall
without end
due to man's own making

the heart desires
what it should not
for things
that don't sanctify
but man is weak
and morally falls
too easily
and drowns
in the nameless sea

nature weeps
for the callousness and greed
of man
who has her beauty defiled
and marred

progress
what progress?
it's just the breeding-ground
of greed and indifference

bulldozers knock
down the trees
chemicals pollute the seas
grasslands and fields
are sacrificed for construction
land has turned into concrete--***** and ugly

as I paint
my heart
is heavy-laden
and I ask
over and over again
what has happened to man?

The best place
to be
is no place anywhere
it's within me

the space
that's within me
has no face
it's my invisible identity

Time doesn't exist
but for mankind's presence
it's amoral, heartless and nonchalant
though it doesn't utter a single sentence.

Wielding a whip over everyone's head
like a cattle-drover
none would it leave alone
it's a bully and a dictator.

The day is bleeding
men and women are in frenzy
work must be done--deals must go through-
everyone needs the money

too eager to push a competitor down
it's survival of the fittest
it's a jungle out there
pity the weakest.

Many would be the day's losers
hopes will be dashed,  tears will flow
hearts will be broken,  promises unfulfilled
that's the way the world does go.

This is the bleeding of day
and a heavy toll it has taken on so many
the evening and night offer little rest or comfort
while time is watching without the slightest sympathy.

From ourselves
we can't escape
desires and unrests lurk within us
they fester--each has its own theme and shape-

what
a great burden
it is
to be human

the self is imprisoned
and freedom loses its wings
thoughts multiply by the minute
life is just things after things

mostly senseless and inane
as though to ennui we are born
behind many a smile is repressed sadness
life is full of so many a thorn

that callously ****** the flesh
how painful is the cry
of self---how burdensome
are we unto ourselves--we live with sigh after sigh.

This call--mysteriously so
I scarcely know
from whence it does come.

It will not go
away
it insists that it must stay.

I can't make out
is this the voice of the past
or the future?  How deeply I doubt.

There are no words
in the call
more akin to faint chords of music--how they enthral

and I seem to be dangling
among the stars and the moon-  ----celestially--
(am I dreaming?).

Soon to sleep  succumb my weary eyes
and suddenly words dawn upon me
in my dream---you are your own call--there's no mystery.

Life-
the common river
but each sails alone
with none other

Life-
so many regard as the sorrowful river
it flows to the endless sea
to its past it returns never

Life-
isn't it an unknown river?
every life is ****** upon it
'why'?  one does wonder.

Life--
blessed if you find it a river
of splendour---harness then all your resources-
thus self-assured---you would never fall over.

Think not old age is about wisdom
rather it's about many an uncertainty
and doubts despite the myriad of experiences
life is not understood by years lived--it remains the deepest mystery.

Every day
is a new territory
what would it be?

terrain
not the same--never-
what should I endeavour?

my heart
with so many a string
what would it sing?

my hands
willing
doing what thing?

my words
many or few
am I saying something new?

among people
at home, in the streets and the work-place
would I act with warmth, sincerity and grace?

to myself
I must answer-truthfully
did I act dutifully and compassionately?

The day comes
and quickly goes
would it be joys?
no one knows

But be steadfast in hope
let love fill your heart--be strong-
evening sets in and night descends
the day is well-lived and is your cherished song

They, they--the young-
they whisper behind my back
it's all written in their faces
(the young never think they would ever grow old)
' Look at that old man in the corner
at the end of his days....'

Hardly do they know
it's but my beginning
my glorious and sublime beginning
(time has its duty performed
with its too impatient brush
painting rough wrinkles and lines
all over my sunken and pallid face

yet it can't unseat me
here I am
still standing
on firm and unshakeable ground
never stronger
never more durable
never so resolute
never so sure
and secure
as I'm now
at the road's divide
where I walk in freedom
alone
on my own
heaving not a single sigh
nor would you ever hear
my moan

ah, it's the depth of winter
(I'm used to its harshness
and its frost doesn't bite anymore)
let the snow-flakes fall
one by one
in their selected time
each taking its turn
as a note in a rapturous song
follows another in sequence
in perfect rhythm and rhyme-
there is a sweet melody
in every motion of nature
only if one would lend one's ears
to the majesty of its music)

as I watch
from my worn-out curtain
I've time --- more than ever before
to count them
as they gently drop
on the silent garden floor

(am I a child again
in my purest innocence?)

how faithful, steadfast and robust has that tree
in the garden stood over so many years
(under its shade I happily rested as a child)
despite the wildest winds and storms
and the harshest winter
its branches still hold out
though more bristle and weaker-
thousands upon thousands of leaves
have grown old and now scatter
all around the last few drooping flowers

yet I know
come next winter
it will still greet me
as we are not
at the end of days

every moment
every season
is just
a new beginning.

THE ETERNAL ENIGMA OF SELF

Does the self
truly does its own self understand?
does the owner's experience
a helping hand does lend?

Search in the vast firmament
delve into the deepest sea
explore every dark cave of the mind
traverse the coldest Arctic-the mystery

remains and shall never
its secrets unfold
the self is a lone wanderer
its true story can't be ever told.

And an old weary man here I am
only this path I must follow-
the self must perish to be reborn
to be free it must embrace The Tao of 'letting go'.

Too long have I lived
in the wilderness
I find it hard now to speak
the human tongue
nay, even basic words
I've forgotten

the winds and the trees
the moon and the stars
the clouds and the night
the dust blown in the air
even shadows and silhouettes
they've given me a new vocabulary
I am an exile
in another trajectory
but I've chosen this as my home
and am free
and how could one be happy
amidst noisy crowds
in so-called civilised society?

In losing myself
I've at last
found my true identity

The flute is mute
it's half-broken
the flautist leaves it alone
old age has spoken

once he was the pride
of the musical world--he brought tears
to his listeners - now in the silence
of his sick-bed--he wants to forget all his past years

The world is no morality ground and holds no rule
        for me but despair;  my hope is in choosing to be a fool

None  does care about the fool
no enemies come his way
he wears contentment and a self-satisfied smile
ye wise philosophers--what have you to say?

The fool walks alone
     stripped of falsehood, envy and hypocrisy
     he finds happiness along the way
     though mocked and frowned upon by society

In the corridors of knowledge
the scholars and the smart loudly argue and proudly sit
I tremble when I walk by and don't dare raise an eye
as I know I've none of their wit

Marriage is fine
for some
but I had no education nor money
and far from being handsome

Forget high-flung
philosophy
only four words you need to know
to live life well and happily-

here are the four pillars of wisdom:
(hold them in your mind and in every activity)
they are so easy to remember-- surely-
'perhaps, 'maybe',  'probably' and 'possibly'.

The heart is the beginning
and the end
the world would forget us
but the heart never ceases to be a friend.

Where else in a troubled and sad life
could I bend
but only towards this sanctuary
whose comfort in my every sorrow ever does lend?

Too often the heart can do what the brain can't and puts the grey matter to sleep---it has no limits and is free as the wind, it is spaceless and encircles the whole universe.  It is a mystery beyond the brain's finiteness.

THE HEART OR THE BRAIN?

In my youth I held
the brain to be superior to all
the seat of all wisdom
and the university dons said: 'the call

of genius lies
in grey matter-
nowhere else--you students should know
lest you academically falter'.

I wore my degree
on my sleeve
I could talk my way through
it only brought grief.

I found through the years and tears
reasoning and logic was dry as leaves in decay
I learnt to laugh and smile, I smelled the flowers
I talked to kids, I tried to write poetry and in every way

my childish innocence and wonder
returned and I was transformed and born again
I began to feel and understand life's mysteries
its wondrous  joys and its every deep pain

and how profound was peace and contentment
(who ever dared say ' Knowledge is the end-
the door to bliss?'   Trust not lofty philosophy
it's a cynic, a joy-destroyer and not a friend).

My heart is with me every moment
and with it I converse and only in it I place all my trust
my brain is arrogant, without warmth and obtrusive
garrulous and obtrusive---say goodbye to it I must.

World-focused and-world-rich,  heart-poor
    plethora of words--void of  content-
    slogans---speakers' delusions
    kindness--a weak word
   power--the deadly kiss
  (but those who wield can't see this)
   peace---it has gone to the bin
   war---the death of conscience
  love---has gone asleep
  ( often bottled up with the tightest cork)
  lies---survival tools
  (they bring rewards)
   friendship---size no bigger
    than a flower
   (can't compare with the size of any ship)
    wisdom--'wish-dom?'
    courtesy--everyone wants to be
    first in the line--can't you see I am busy?
   the ego--no boundaries does it know
   money---to have more is healthy
  (you with none--what a pity!)
   tomorrow--what tomorrow?
   ( today is the reward--the next day is too late)

     like the flower
     forgotten and neglected
     deprived of sunlight
     it begins to shrivel
    then it withers
    and dies

    man has lost his heart
    morally and sadly he dies-
    death of the worst kind

Those guys--the intellectuals-
are bashers----they are bashing
words, ideas and philosophy to death
with their endless quibbling and quarrelling

but for me an uneducated peasant
all that I know and need to know is farming--
planting,  sowing,  tendering, nurturing and harvesting
the sun rising and setting--for a good season is all I'm hoping.

I am a little child still
in life's kindergarten
learning my ABCs, how to talk
to communicate--every lesson

I cherish--I am so eager to know more
I love the sound of words-their beauty
each is like music to me
above all, I love poetry

But you say to me:
' Your learning is well over--you are too old'
my reply: 'I can't help it--it grows within me
I must move forward before time turns me cold'.

I am a child still
my heart beats wildly
when the sky, the stars, the roses,
the clouds, the ocean and the fields I see.

The last bird-song has faded from the hill
The first stars  are awake, serene and still
I'm waiting by the silent lake
You must come to me for love's sake.

Here far away from the human race
None will see us as we embrace
Billions of lovers the moon and stars have seen
They know what love is and what it has always been.

THE LAST LOVE LETTER OF TCHAIKOVSKY*

My angel,  life of my life
Fate would never allow me to meet thee
Only in thy letters to me
Do I feel the touch of love’s ecstasy.

Would but that upon thy sweet face
I would  just once behold
All my sixth symphonies I would gladly exchange
In love’s name and in its wondrous beauty untold.

Here with all my rapturous kisses
I send thee the music of ‘Love’s Sorrow’
Every note swims in the sea of my restless heart
None would such grievous pain of mine ever know.

Let history judge
All that is between thee and me
Even the deluge that drowns the whole world
Would never obliterate every melody I dedicate to thee.

• Tchaikovsky’s benefactress was Madame Von Meck  (Nadezhda) who exchanged 260 love- letters (1876—1887)with him and endowed him with a regular income on the understanding that they should never meet.
Her late  husband was a millionaire whose fortune was derived from  his railway business.
Finally, she broke up the relationship leaving the composer in complete  devastation.
This is one of the most poignant love-stories of all time.

How I long for those teenage days
patiently I did write and post
my letters and postcards -
replies received---times happier than most.

But the Internet
has dampened our hearts and sentiments
the cold piece of machine faces and mocks us
forever lost our halcyon moments