THE POOR LOST CHILD
Benumbed are the feet
And weary, profuse and mild
As nature pours down rain and sleet
At the feet of the poor lost child
Life's run is short and brief
And tremulous yet impetuously wild
Is his expression of grief
As laments aggreived the poor lost child
Before wild storms he quakes
And a compendium of grievances compiled
Thirst remains suspended and unslakes
As runs perpetually athirst the poor lost child
Mewling with hunger and pain
His sense of injustice reviled
Yet finding in anger no gain
Finds himself alone the poor lost child
Sepulchral is the gloaming around
And fate to randomness beguiled
Yet god like a halo, spreads around
Like a mantle over the poor lost child.
SONNET ON SONNET
Orderly alignment of thoughts and line
Delicate filaments arranged intricate and fine
Within reason contain multitudes of forms
Deviate by adhering firmly to the norms
Different periods differently connote
The range of meaning you denote.
Your fixity, yet your evanescent shape
The underlying realms that around you drape
Pleasing in its contours and reams
Of thought in you encased in seams.
Circumnavigating the existent structure
Bursting with rebellious possibilities of rupture
In analyzing you thus i have a bee in my bonnet
And thus ends this paean to you, o sonnet.
EMERALD AND AQUAMARINE
The stone drips drops of green over the chequered floor. Everything seems bathed in the equable light of nature. The waves, sparkling subterraneously in dusk flash forth blobs of green . While all around lies the pellucidity of brightness the green demonstrates a certain opequeness and impermeability, resisting penetration. Because the enclosing foliage is self contained, self possessed and inviolate. It contains the shape it is meant to. The fibrous intricate pattern, the convoluted filaments bespeak an independence of existence. Like tremulous jelly the leaves waver and undulate and reconstitute themselves back to their primal shapes. The obtuseness is inclusive, inviting the onlooker in. The rustling sussuration of the leaves is rent by the fierce cry of the parakeet, mumbling something is a familiarly alien tongue. The sun rises, the waves advance and blue emerges.
The emergent solstice has not obliterated emerald but has decked out the aquamarine. Blue dwells underground at night, sprinkling the waves occasionally with daubs of color. But by day, it reposes indisputably. The sun rises, waves unravel and the sky gleams blue which refracts the blueness of the water and redoubles its iridiscence. The opalescent sun enhances the aquamarine and the phosphorescent undersea life surfaces in bits and pieces as one peers into the depths. An inscrutable impenetrability prevails but oddments resurface and their specks illumine unctuously in the light of the sun while their complex unfurling is like a film of water thrown over the eyes. This indistinguishability of space from place, the dishevellment of space from the waves, this inhabitation of place by the luminous sun permeates the sense of incandescence.The shrivelled sap oozes, the recumbent flowers uncover their petals and the light of life prevails.
ON DESTINY AND THE DEMON LOVER
Attenuates through osmosis
Our elliptical fate
While on trapezoid leaps
Richochets our fevered state
With subtle, unvarying inevitability
Syncopates the beat of life
And because love is predominant
There's a sense of surmounting strife
Destiny unfurls of its own accord
Slotting to man, his allotment of causality
Though different may be points of termination
Yet there is in the end, a uniformity.
The moment a microscopic examination is applied
Spontaneity is relinquished from existence
As it is only by living moment to moment
That importunate life replenishes by persistence
Exegesis becomes a lament for meaning
When reason exists in the very act
Pursuing endless vistas of analysis
Obliterates life, by itself a fact
If, to understand my love for you
You extricate my being from the whole
Then however loquaciously you proclaim love
You have robbed me of my soul.
Section 377- the prisoner
Folly, desecrated by law
Mounted in him like a wave
While he lay captive, subject
To inhuman laws a slave
He raised his enfeebled eyes
Which bespoke a spirit strong
Tremulous exigency may deny fruition
But something improper was wrong
The prisoner reposed, enchained
His head reclined on his breast
Symbolizing for those, who dwelt beneath
How noble is deviation from the rest
Suspended in time and age
He lived for sanguine hope
For ennobling his sense of self he
Was willing to traverse sisyphean slope
Dross will always be obliterated
Was the warden's riposte of scorn
As your moment of end approaches
You'll cease to see the morn
Yet insensate, the captive reparteed
The flame of love shall withstand travail
And all permutations nothwithstanding
The love of like for like will prevail.
Entombed within a labyrinthine psyche
Growls of torment and grief
Desiring a sacrophagus to reside
He swabbed himself clear of morality.
Recompense he sought, to counteract
Visitations of childhood traumas
Yet dehumanized himself in the prospect
And unswaddled his vestiges of good
Sheathed in the interstices of death
He is a living, breathing corpse
Inflamed by a passion that negates
And imperils the will to life
At the thought of reprieve
His immortal soul rejoices
Yet devious morality encroaches
And leaves him with no choices.
Panoply of deception and deceit, emblem of illusion's potent force
Traced back to evolution's beginning, right up to its source
Sheathed in incandescence and jade, yet concealing the inner dark
Spewing out subterfuge and dissembling, the false spark of lark
Burning with its destructive lustre, illumining its existence and need
Expedient and exigent as strategy,paying to consequences no heed
Analysed by shrinks and moralists, yet defying essential human grasp
Tirelessly pursued in myriad aspects,like opal held in clasp
An incontrovertible truth of life, an undeniable reality in man
Taking small forms individually indulged,becomes pogrom in a clan.
POISE AND FLIGHT
The eagle flaps his wings, dishevelling air and space. His intent, searching eyes absorb , in this state of equipoise all that lies around. From his vantage point suburban life quivers and undulates. Buses conglomerate confusedly, footsteps syncopate on asphalt paths, quadrangles waver in the light of the sun. Quotidian oblations unfurl and the busy traffic of scurrying, hastened mankind pitter patters like drops of rain. From his perspective the eagle discerns a subterraneous underground processes of thought and modes of being. Because his searing gaze penetrates obfuscations and unravels the distilled essences of man. All this hovers, like a shadow in the eagle's line of vision as he spreads out his plumage and takes to flight.
The eagle cuts and slices the air and like a chopper on a mallet, swoops in readiness to descend on his prey. Tufts of feathers unjoint themselves in this swift flight. The surface of the sky is grazed seamlessly and pinpricks of the life below flash, suspend and obliterate themselves. Unreality and evanescent becomes mankind and its caprices, deceptions and prevarications become phantoms. Centuries of evolution and survival instinct assail the eagle which extricates from its consciousness all that had inundated it in its moment of poise.
Centuries roll on, Generations progress and the unceasing,immitigable spray of life splashes and splashes.
DIARY OF A MODERN LOVER
An uneventful day. Sunlight illuminating speckled flowers whose tassels gleam luridly. A day of inadequacy and inner tumult. While without there seem undulant oblations within is all chaos and confusion. The light of my being wavers and quivers and my usually constant filaments, opalescent and affirmative are today null. Because the crises to which i allude is immeasurably ambivalent, emanating as it does from my core, yet belonging irrevocably to the nature of the times, the curious and conflicting contemporaneity, in which i am plunged.
Penumbra predominates. Memories jostle with each other for ascendancy. Sometimes, something surfaces, at other times, something completely contradictory. Should i succumb to this chaos and unfurl randomly or should i try to locate a fulcrum, a point of fixity which would place my incessantly ebbing consciousness in some direction. Because inside me is eddying a sense of uncertainty which is threatening to imperil my whole identity. But i must endeavor to extract from these meanderings, my central train of thought and by analyzing rationally than evading try to arrive at some conclusion.
Yet the whole thing is shrouded and all i have been able to do so far is to enwreathe a misgiving which is essentially gossamer, a tendril which a sudden stream of water wavers and yet whose roots remain threaded deep into the recesses of earth. I have done everything that lay in my power. I have been adaptable, tractable and yielding. I have unsheathed my impenetrability and done all i could to allot her the share, which is a space larger than what she deserves, to her. Yet the inevitable query arises; is she the man of the house or me?