Poems

Whisper

2008-09-04T06:25:00.000-07:00

Do you hear that trickle trickle?

Trickle? Fickle – Sickled heat?

Bound in colors, hear them speak.

Empty and full are now the same.

Do you feel that bending shiver?

Swiveling up your shivering spine?

Like melted slivers, dew and wine,

In you they are my claim to fame.

Are you aware of the pass through you?

Yes you are, just haven’t realized what it means,

Just a feel that you glean,

As your name is caressed, again and again.

Want to breathe again?

Just hear those words and let them through,

Words truly known by but a few,

That bitter dark chocolate, so out of the blue.

Those merry little secrets from me to you.

Exalt, Mine.

2008-07-27T21:00:00.000-07:00

My hands are on you,
with every finger stroke,
I harbour only my most extreme -
for you to soak.

I wish to purge myself of you,
if it may only be,
for the unrestrained pleasure,
of seeing you outside me.

You are a frozen portrait of myself,
a momented sliver, if I may say,
and you're mine now, mine to last,
mine in every way.

You cannot feel yet, so I feel for you,
feel your contours, reflections and feel,
immerse myself in the near future,
of what you are to be.

My hands tremble as I release you,
as I hope to see truth shine,
before I give you your completion,
you unshackled part of mine.

Oh! - you - Mine!
Capsuled breath of life -
I release you!
so exalt in newfound existence!
Oh! - you - Mine!

Dedicated to the release any creator of anything gets right before he knows he's reached completion.

Riders of the Dawn - Spirits (and Spirit's, and Spirits') Call

2008-07-21T10:12:00.001-07:00

A candle is sparked in the dark,

Twin flames light up your eyes,

A surge of moralled power flows,

From flames of the deepest, sacred crevice.

For a moment, I ask you to put aside,

The daily vexes that break your stride,

To seep to the deepest oaths you’ve sworn –

And know –

This flame a’burn is our own.

I am your spirit,

The very heart of your unexplained,

Your fundamental desire to live,

Your endeavor, will and pain.

I tug at you from your inside,

I sparkle and crackle against inbuilt bonds,

I beg you to spread and to ignite,

In the truest form of your scarlet might.

I am your spirit, and I clarion this call,

At your horizon – a beacon of dawn.

Your dawn – ride to it now,

Hesitate not, the time is now!

I hold a candle to your eyes,

What do you see?

Open your eyes, self, and see your flame,

In me and you that are just the same,

Burning us to know and to believe,

That we shall forge our willed without reprieve.

Self, I ask you to realize and merge.

I hold a candle to my face,

I admire the fire in my eyes,

Embronzed, I ride to set alight,

Towards my dawn – to end the night.

Timelines

2008-05-17T10:55:00.001-07:00

Feel the glitter of stars upon your faces -
the sheen of timelines of distant races,
singing a tune cast in light,
millenia past when it does come in sight.

We are unknowingly swathed in their lore and legend,
bathed in their timelines' flow,
but need a sixth sense, an antenna maybe,
to decipher their crypt, decode their glow.

These races may now be extinct,
expired physically in their own space,
but their previous existence is cast upon us, in light,
though in time 'tis out of phase.

Maybe Mr. XYZ of far away,
looks through his scope and sees,
our own light, our own past,
of dinosaurs and now ancient trees?

O' Light - you giver of sight,
you've set our clocks to differ by such,
that you've partially blinded us in our sight's imperfection,
made our present and their past touch.

Maybe we shall conquer you one day,
and observe our done from far away,
maybe one day we shall truly see,
and unlock our timelines' mysteries?

To Mr. XYZ of far away, I say hi.

The placement of a show

2008-05-10T01:01:00.001-07:00

The lights blare, colours sing, sounds flash in my head,
as I make my way to a prime time show.

I am in the theatre, as the audience.

My ticket is a receptive mind,
which is my brain and heart combined.

I see the thought forms of others,
whirling across the stage,
see is a misnomer - I experience them
and enjoy myself,
as they stare at me from the dias.

I am in the theatre, as the showman.

My backstage pass is an expressive mind,
which is my brain and heart combined.

I send my own thought forms,
flying across the stage,
jingled, encoded in my energy waves.
I know not whether I assault or please - but am simply at ease,
my work as a showman done.

I think at times, though,
I am both audience and artist -
in the same show
as I display and receive within myself, critique myself,
I realise, so many times, that I am my theatre.

Satiation

2008-05-10T00:57:00.000-07:00

Satiation

I want to freeze a moment,
not go back and change it,
just freeze it,
and satiate myself.

Moments happy, sad, good and bad,
I'm not asking for one alone,
I'm asking for them all, as may come,
only to realise them, as my own.

I wish to fully claim my parallel emotions,
fully take in these works of art,
drink deeply from this cup of occurrence,
to the bigger cipher to add a part.

Each 'pal' is unique in itself,
one of God's combinations of synthesis,
I want to recall perfectly, realize completely,
the treasure trove that each moment is.

I want to feel a moment,
not go back and change it,
just feel it,
and satiate myself.

The Monk, the Archer and My Sedative...

2008-03-30T11:40:00.001-07:00

The monk perches upon cold stone,
basking in sunlight and dew,
meditating upon nothing alone,
no thought does he pursue.

The archer stands in the field, upright,
his only target set in sight,
he draws, his muscles tense,
without a whimper, without pretense.

I am not so fortunate.

I stand between one and none,
my thoughts web about, oft undone,
by forays to frequent, clarity too rare,
so much to grab, so little to spare!

Ah yes, clarity.
'Tis what I meant to speak about.

Clarity for me is an elusive fix,
is often lost amidst the mix,
with my targets to hit, aims to fulfill,
"What am I to do?", I wonder still.

To know one has a hundred preys,
behind one's back, ahead in the day,
clarity promises a lot when it does strike,
to reveal but explain, be both heavy and light.

Realization arrives as a packaged gift,
filling the holes, bridging the drift,
bringing the greatest outlook of all -

I haven't done it yet,
but at least I have,
a problem to solve.

Two kinds of pain...

2008-01-28T08:29:00.000-08:00

There are two kinds of pain,

The first kind of pain,
is felt,

when a dear one is lost,
giving us despair and sorrow.

When an error proves its cost,
clouding hopes of tomorrow.

when bruised by an adversary's strike,
one slips, its gone - the will to fight.

The second kind of pain,
is felt,

when dear ones are lost,
but you know in peace they rest.

when mistakes prove their costs,
but only the learning do you attest.

When you reel from a blow, but somehow know,
you have it in you to go on.

When your muscles ache, from welcome strain,
spurred on from dusk to dawn.

When in your finest hour,
involved, intoxicated in your fight,
you know

victory, if not in hand,
will always be in sight.

Bathed

2007-12-30T22:44:00.000-08:00

Bathed

I toss and turn, eyes closed, sweating hard,
sleep eludes me.
My thoughts rush about,
mingled with dreams,
My eyes open with a jolt,
I look around.
I'm in a different world,
it seems.

I'm bathed in moonlight, starlight pure,
sparkles off diamonds in the sky azure,
a clean glow off the mother of pearl,
casting white shadows upon the world.*

A thought strikes, I sleepily think,
does life have a foreign link?
To whom our own sun comes in sight,
as a star to bathe in, in the night?

Notes:
*- There is complete darkness behind celestial bodies. They block the 'dark light', and hence cast fair shadows over us.

- To use, dreamily think, alien being, window to outside....

- Sun with a different perspective (one from outside our own world),

- Avalanche rhyming? None at first and then more as the momentum picks up? Must try more later.

- Emphasize power words, translation of ideas as I think them.

The Mystique of Rain

2006-11-30T07:14:00.000-08:00

This is a poem I had written for a competition in college... I hope I get the prize :-/

The Mystique of Rain

The Monsoons arrived, earthy, scented,
gently pattering against my window pane,
I fought, I tried, succumbed, relented,
and fell victim, to the mystique of rain.

Diamonds, showered from the heavens above,
is it not strange we search for others underground?
the ones descending are the tears of god,
but the buried ones do us humans hound.

The very essence, spirit of rain charms me,
ensnares me, with its seasonal fall,
its overpowering aroma of earth and sea,
its unique way of purging all.

O' Rain! Oh Mystery of Life!
Subject it is to its whims and pauses,
one year it destroys, bringing hopeless strife,
the very next it blesses, erasing the pain it causes.

God's tears? They may be so,
but are bound with flashes and thunder,
tears of God they are, as they flow,
but of joy or sorrow? I wonder.

The Clock...

2006-11-11T21:51:00.000-08:00

Tick Tock Tick Tock,
merrily runs the clock,
heralding, the flow of time,
master of us puppets, in its power sublime.

Tick Tock Tick Tock...

Its control over us, one cannot sway,
tries of dreamers and cowards ended in dismay,
but most, stare at it for a moment, as if to see,
whether the sand still trickles down, ever so free?

In this world,

a few are to be joyful, a few to be glum,
as ordained by the lord, in the times to come,
but WE, of our future know not a sound,
hidden as it is by hands three and a face round...

Tick Tock Tick Tock...

Common folk, genii, and Mighty Kings,
are all occupied by the joys life brings,
but offer them to have whatever they may,
observe, as they shall ask, for more hours in a day...

Tick Tock Tick Tock...

Get on with your work, as the hour bell does chime
but take a glance at the powerful window, clock,
as it shows you the flow of river time.

Two

2006-10-23T22:04:00.000-07:00

Two pigeons, on my window sill,
shying away from the monsoon rains,
gently cooing, with life afill,
seeing me, they risked the clouds again.

Back they came, fleeing those dreary, wet pains,
but I, covert in a corner, did blunder,
at their confused, affectionate fluttering- I laughed without refrain;
scared, they fled, wits asunder.

They were, two hearts, each shielding the other,
made wet by a person's blunder,

sticking together through varied times,
and by fate. Ah, Fate! What a wonder!

And I am one, with two eyes,
taking it all in,
hoping to be knowing and wise,
amidst the wide world's din.

The Flute Seller...

2006-10-23T22:02:00.000-07:00

The Flute Seller

On Sunday Mornings,

I sit and eagerly wait,
by my Window, for that soothing gait,
of distant melodies,
to flit past.

Played on a flute, unseen,
by an invisible basuriwalla, a fluteseller, I mean,
who strolls, (I think) with his pipes and reeds,
playing his salutes, his thoughts, his pleas.

His yet unseen flutes I never do buy,
but look for him every seventh day,
hoping that he passes me by,
as he goes about his blessed way.

On a Sunday Morning, I do awake,
I do sit, and break my fast,
but my mind does only wait,
for those distant, distant, so distant,

sweet melodies to flit past.

For them...

2006-05-14T05:06:00.000-07:00

For them...

My pens dipped before, I do not refute,
dipped to show love, to tribute,
that special one, those special ones,
those whom we call mothers, us daughters and sons.

But times have changed, the sand's falling,
and a new salutes in the calling,
one to our mothers, the givers of life,
gods incarnate, removers of strife.

Mature as have over the years,
you still allay all of our fears,
jewels of the minds, hearts of our souls,
dear mother it is us whom you do control.

Yes, as children we may fight and disobey,
and in these rhymes do we pray,
whatever rigours may come by us,
we forever get to do so thus...

Simply thinking of you fulfills,
our hungry stomachs; and those sudden spills
of emotion, are gently caressed,
as if your hands, loving and unstressed.

Like the north star, always guiding are you
but alas! Thoughts are many and words are few,
and long overdue are these ones, to remind,
more unique gems you cannot find.

We love you, to put it straight,
and will always be there at any rate,
for our greatest treasures, givers of life,
gods incarnate, removers of strife.

- A.C.

Growing Up

2006-05-13T10:38:00.001-07:00

Growing Up

There comes a stage in everyone's life,
when at times alls euphoria, at others all is strife,
and coming off the blessed ignorance of babehood...
one must speak and think to understand, to be understood...

What is this strange occurence,
Explainable to all but us?
When a single word can spell interference,
and the very same gifts relief and trust?

They warn us against body changes,
to heed advice, to listen to them,
to use constraint, looking at our hormone ranges,
constraint? adolescence? all Ad Nauseam!

My heads spinning, for a sudden moment of clarity,
is often replaced with confusion or void,
why this unnatural disparity?
Meaningful? Or just to make me paranoid?

My goals are set; My rhythm? Not yet.
but I realize I must move on, ahead,
and that its just a matter of time, before my rhythm does begin to rhyme,
and in place of being adviced, I advise instead.

This puzzle right now, tightly coded,
the key seemingly with all but me,
old ways of younger days may be outmoded,
and will I crack it? We shall see.

I have faith that triumph I will,
with help from those who'll see my alm-box to fill,
and walk whichever way, I may , I know,
that the final things that have to be done, are mine to do so....

-A.C.

A talisman for the unsure...

My Two Dolls

2005-09-21T06:31:00.000-07:00

My Two Dolls

I'm a fit, manly young lad,
athletic, sharp, strong,
but am touched with a very feminine fad,
to play with dolls, but don't get me wrong.

Two dolls to me are very close,
enough to lift me when I get morose,
enough to liven me up with a cheer,
enough to laugh with me, or to together shed a tear.

Close enough due to fate and time,
without those, this would be a different rhyme,
but to lighten this verse, teasing them is a pleasure,
their loving retorts I greatly treasure.

My mother being the first doll, among other things, of course,
thinking, working, usually in sweet repose,
as I support myself on her small shoulders, smilingly does she sigh,
to tease back, to counter riposte, under dignity does she try.

The second being mother's eldest sister, but wait,
teasing her is not easy, so smart and childlike is her gait.
Every time, without fail, she gives me a hard run for my money,
as funny as life, as true as love, her words, ginger and honey.

As I play around today with these two dolls, all mine,
doing what I used to consider below my years,
playing, poking, laughing, learning, still manly fit and fine,
I'm filled with pity with people who don't play with dolls, my peers.

A Game Of Chess

2005-08-27T10:08:00.000-07:00

A Game Of Chess

Two old men set up the checked field,
a great battle is to ensue,
each side choices colour and victory, never to yield,
but strange, the soldiers are but few.

Fighters placed in a square alone,
all ever ready to save their king,
faceless in black and white, and set in stone,
the glories of these armies do I sing.

The King, paralysed, can move but a pace,
honest rooks, crooked bishops, the strong queen, never jest,
yet in cunning the knight none can race,
that said, the hardy pawns bring up the rest.

The White army makes the first attack,
the black ever defiant, reply,
the two generals, their wits demurely intact,
to trap the other king, do they try.

On and on the battle rages,
but the white general errs, panics, scrambles at large,
alert throughout all stages,
the sharp black knights, charge!!

The white vanuguards, citadel, shatter
but are unimportant now,
for the knights jump over former and latter,
as sweat drips from the white marshall's prow.

The poor white King, beleagured, trapped,
his defenses tricked, as his masters head wrings,
even in danger he can't move, options sapped,
its called checkmate friend, and the black side wins.

For My Sisters Dear

2005-08-21T08:52:00.000-07:00

For My Sisters Dear

As I gaze out in the sky so blue,
with a slash of orange, of pink a hue,
I'm sad to say this present is long overdue,
for my sisters, my precious few.

As I hasten on my machine to write,
thinking fast in the evening light,
upon myself I'm filled with spite,
as I hope this is adequate, hopefully quite.

My heartless critic writers,
my opponents, punishers, fighters,
yet bosom close ye far and short sighters,
to have you I'm a lucky blighter.

Your eyes filled with rage,joy, or with many a tear,
your word can be a petal, or a sharp spear,
yet this one thing I fear,
I couldn't love you more, my sisters dear.

Something To Cling On To

2005-08-01T13:11:00.000-07:00

Something To Cling On To

Time drags by, seconds seem hours,
and your heart beats utterly slow,
your breathings fine, but memory chars,
as spontaneous times seem so long ago.

When you struggle to find that vibe,
that electric spark with you,
know this my friend (and this is no jibe)
that you need something to cling on to.

Now to me this question you might bring,
What is this wonderful thing?
That fills our hearts with desire?
Sets our minds on fire?

My answer, ever unchanging, remains,
through fire, dirt, and monsoon rains,
through every realm of time and space,
a PASSION, to set your soul ablaze.

A passion, a spark, an idea,
an immersion, a desire, a skill,
It is whatever you may name,
but sets your heart afill,
with a calming breath, a new flame.

Use it, nurture it, feel it,
it will fill you anew with life,
care for it, know it, think of it,
and gone are your vexation, emptiness and strife.

There is always, always, that thing for you,
that something to cling on to,
in boredom and in fear,
that something ever so dear.

Patriot

2005-08-01T13:06:00.000-07:00

Patriot

A heart of gold, eyes bold,
with blood as hot as fire, or as calm as ice,
the patriot ever stands tall,
to make every sacrifice.

A sacrifice for the nation's flag,
ever proud and high,
a sacrifice, for the nation's folk
without uttering a single sigh.

A sacrifice for the green dales,
with their rushing rivers,
a sacrifice for the glassy vales,
their peaks filled with glimmer.

A heart of gold, eyes bold,
they come in every shape and size,
only in their nation's name do they fall,
after giving the ultimate sacrifice.

Man or woman, boy or girl,
be they short or tall, dark or fair,
bravely does their tale unfurl,
to keep free the nation's air.

Maybe they are kind healers,
their hearts filled with pity,
or clever, shrewd architects,
to a build a noble city.

Or the brave soldier on the battle field,
some strong, some hurt, and some not but confused,
but never do their hearts and weapons yield,
those hearts, filled with patriotic hues.

A heart of gold, eyes bold,
never do they seek a prize,
their nation's wound is their own,
until their very demise.

My heart belong to these great people,
and I hope to become one too,
but I fear I lack the needed qualities,
now tell me, what am I to do?

Let their bodies be set ablaze,
or their house burnt down to splinters,
in all times would they be unfazed
as they guide their loved nation through the winters

They don't know (but really hope),
that spring shall return, with birds
and flowers fine,
for they are pariots, and in the eyes of all,
forever do they shine.

The Wearied Wanderer

2005-08-01T13:05:00.000-07:00

The Wearied Wanderer

I, the wearied wanderer, wish for nothing but rest,
But when I have to move, I'm compelled to do my best
When at last I stop, danger is around
And I cannot stop and rest, rest safe and sound.

How I wish for a haven
But it never seems to come by,
and I am stuck in the dreaded lands,
where I am a slave and can do naught but comply.

Wearied do I travel, I travel here and there,
longing, longing, for a good friend in despair
and many such friends I found, but at times out of reach
and thus many a time the dread struck,
and all my defenses were breached

Wearied do I travel, in many a wonderful land
of beauty beyond compare,
but there is still that dread,
and is at times more than I can bear.

But I cannot lose heart,
When it is time to part
From my friends in lands so fair
For my life is in hands of others,
And I cannot give up in despair.

A Token Of Love To All Mothers

2005-08-01T13:02:00.000-07:00

A TOKEN OF LOVE FROM YOUR CHILDREN

I am an experienced traveler,
quite a lot have I already seen...
and now that I look back at what I saw,
I see how wonderful and unique my life thus far has been.

I have beheld tall, mighty mountains,
and many a tropical forest have I seen,
I have swam in huge oceans,
and have experienced many an eye pleasing scene.

To count my various experiences is impossible,
but I can tell you this...
some sights made me so happy , you couldn't afford to miss
and yet some filled me with dread,
and these too are emblazed in my head.

All of this has gone past ,
and though there have been moments of sadness,
I feel that happy times are here to last.

And how can they not come now,
for I am in a ship, with you at the prow,
so for all the waves that may come by,
I know hard shall we try,
to overcome them with dignity and grace,
and its quite a thing to know,
that I'll always have your smiling face,
to comfort me when things are out of place.

You are the best, mom,
and not only on this day, but on all days,
let me tell you how much I love you,
can't be expressed with letters starting from A-Z.

And all those you've done for me,
are clear for all to see,
and all that you've done for me I can't express,
for you've stayed by my side in both delight and distress.

Mother for me this and every other day is a,

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY!!!!

Posted on Saturday, May 15, 2004 at 08:08AM

Paper, Pen And Ink... And Boredom

2005-08-01T12:56:00.000-07:00

The room was dusty and bare,
leaving me to ponder
upon something beyond
every limitation imposed,

I wanted to break free,
and jump into the sea of creativity,
brave, strong and filled with might,
but I was left pondering upon what to write .

FAILURE

I set out again,
to write something that'd fill me with joy
I wanted to guide my reader on an adventure
but I failed as a guide
and I was left with a heavy heart, and a
heavy stride.

And all my will to write,
was all but destroyed

But on and on I had to go,
for that little fighting spirit inside me told me to do so,

I had to plough through everything in my way,
but the challenge was too hard I have to say...
And this time my will to write,
was really destroyed.

I had set out to write something,
that'd give me something about which to think,
but all I achieved,
was a blank paper and a pen full of ink.

Posted on Tuesday, May 18, 2004 at 05:36AM

The Rhythm Of Life

2005-08-01T12:30:00.000-07:00

The Rhythm Of Life

Life, with its many ups and downs,
Takes me (and you) on a journey,
To many a different town;

At times one of happiness
Where people laugh and share,
But at times to a town of sadness
Where miseries and fears are exposed, all raw and bare.

You can't help it, you'll just be dragged along,
The rhythm of life will place you, wherever you belong,

It's the Rhythm of Life
I say to myself, and it never ceases to astound me,
Sometimes with happiness, and at times with strife,
Does the rhythm of life surround me.

You can't help it, you'll just be dragged along,
The Rhythm of life will place you,
Wherever you belong.

The Rhythm of Life will take you,
To the place of your utmost desire,
But at times to the place you fear,
Where all is danger and fire.

You just can't help it, for you'll just be dragged along,
The rhythm of life will place you, wherever you belong.

You have to ride the rhythm,
To be a success,
Not go against the rhythm,
For it has much power in excess,

Make the best of whatever comes by,
And if you don't, you'll be left alone, simply forlon (ha ha)
You just can't help it, for you'll just be dragged along,
The rhythm of life will place you, wherever you belong.

Be the Rhythm's friend,
And it will be yours in return,
It will teach you good lessons
Lessons really valuable to learn

AND IF YOU TRY TO STOP IT...

Well, you can't for you'll just be dragged along
The Rhythm of Life will place you, wherever you belong.

So my friends, I have told you all that I had pent up,
In the nooks and crannies of my heart,
Please do remember it,
For you shall need every part

And one last thing, remember,
You can't help it, for you'll just be dragged along,
The rhythm of life will place you,
Wherever you belong.

Posted on Wednesday, November 24, 2004 at 03:00PM