The night was dark, the sky was cast,
Now and then came a lightning blast,
The clouds flashed pink, and the ocean's drink,
Passed through many colors very fast.
The boat was quaky, my knees were shaky,
My eyes were red,
So far and far from bed,
And my fingernails were chipped and flaky.
The boat pulled to this way or that,
And underneath, the sea's swells came fat,
And the foam was salty, in my eyes,
And the very depths of the abyss seemed to rise,
And now and then would heave and knock me flat.
There was no other soul in sight,
As I fought on that unforgettable night,
Praying to heaven, praying to my God,
To leave me alive tomorrow to catch my cod,
And let providence lead me back to the shore's light.
I was foolish, I admitted in my prayers to Him,
And humility filled up my heart to the brim,
And I prayed for safety, or if not,
My family's welfare was the only other thought,
And while I prayed, the light seemed to dim.
I heard a voice, did really a voice I hear?
It must have been an illusion, but oh so clear,
I could hear a voice so heavenly and strong,
That prayed with me and carried along,
My words to those far off heavenly ears.
And as the prayer of two went on,
I could feel that the dread was gone,
The hope was clear,
Salvation seemed near,
And in two my fear was sawn.
The storm in due course, it died,
And then tears of joy I cried,
For like the very few, the some,
From atheist to believer I'd become,
And forever to spread the word I tried.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
An Old King's Musings
I think about all those bands, that in their heyday, had it all. And then slowly faded. Where are the rockstars of yesteryear? What do they think when they listen to their music on the radio when driving? Do they ever look back to the golden years, and relive them, thus keeping themselves alive, feeding only on memories? Here is my tribute to those who made it, and who had it all, if only for a while...
Often, when I'm feeling low,
I think back, to the years ago,
Just sit back and let the feelings flow,
Reminesce, about what my memories show.
Those great years, when we had it all,
Those nights after nights, when we had a ball,
Those well-lived months, when we used to say,
We loved life, and so we lived it everyday.
And so evertime I'm feeling lonely,
I think about all those past things,
Let my memories then take me,
Back, to when we were kings.
Love and hope lose their appeal,
When you deal with what life brings,
So sometimes I try to feel, (what we had)
Back, when we were kings.
And now its all gone, it'll never come again,
Cause we lost hope, we were broken men,
Each dying his own slow death,
Each tiring of one more breath.
I have lost the will, to even try,
Give up, or even just cry,
It doesn't matter, no not anymore,
It did once, but that was long before.
And all I do now, with my last days,
Is think about my six strings.
As I watch the raindrops play, (Think about)
Back, when we were kings.
Often, when I'm feeling low,
I think back, to the years ago,
Just sit back and let the feelings flow,
Reminesce, about what my memories show.
Those great years, when we had it all,
Those nights after nights, when we had a ball,
Those well-lived months, when we used to say,
We loved life, and so we lived it everyday.
And so evertime I'm feeling lonely,
I think about all those past things,
Let my memories then take me,
Back, to when we were kings.
Love and hope lose their appeal,
When you deal with what life brings,
So sometimes I try to feel, (what we had)
Back, when we were kings.
And now its all gone, it'll never come again,
Cause we lost hope, we were broken men,
Each dying his own slow death,
Each tiring of one more breath.
I have lost the will, to even try,
Give up, or even just cry,
It doesn't matter, no not anymore,
It did once, but that was long before.
And all I do now, with my last days,
Is think about my six strings.
As I watch the raindrops play, (Think about)
Back, when we were kings.
In the City
I seem to write a lot about this so-called city. But reading so much, so often about the cities of India, and how they are turning into pits of crime, I guess that's the stimulus my poetic license gets...
Alone in the city, with an iron heart,
Subdue mercy and pity, it's the only way to start.
Cause in the city, there ain't no flower garden.
Cause in the city, people are killed in lover's park.
Cause in the city, all soft hearts harden.
Cause in the city, a june afternoon is always dark.
Alone in the city, that's the only way to live,
Learn how to receive, forget how to give.
Cause in the city, girls are raped in daylight.
Cause in the city, men are shot at noon.
Cause in the city, only bloody streets shine bright.
Cause in the city, every corner has a goon.
Alone in the city, how long can you survive?
When your very right to live, depends on the right bribe...
Alone in the city, with an iron heart,
Subdue mercy and pity, it's the only way to start.
Cause in the city, there ain't no flower garden.
Cause in the city, people are killed in lover's park.
Cause in the city, all soft hearts harden.
Cause in the city, a june afternoon is always dark.
Alone in the city, that's the only way to live,
Learn how to receive, forget how to give.
Cause in the city, girls are raped in daylight.
Cause in the city, men are shot at noon.
Cause in the city, only bloody streets shine bright.
Cause in the city, every corner has a goon.
Alone in the city, how long can you survive?
When your very right to live, depends on the right bribe...
I Think of You
Another short one, written almost two years ago, discovered in an almost tattered writing pad. Probably written on the train to Nainital...
Up on the roof above,
Clambering on the tiles,
Remembering your smiles,
I think of you.
Down below as I go,
To see the river gentl flow,
Remembering you heavenly glow,
I think of you.
Walking by on the road,
Heading off to love's abode,
Striding in my lonesome mode,
I think of you.
Seeing the nearing gate,
Hoping I don't get late,
Dreaming of a merry fate,
I think of you.
Up on the roof above,
Clambering on the tiles,
Remembering your smiles,
I think of you.
Down below as I go,
To see the river gentl flow,
Remembering you heavenly glow,
I think of you.
Walking by on the road,
Heading off to love's abode,
Striding in my lonesome mode,
I think of you.
Seeing the nearing gate,
Hoping I don't get late,
Dreaming of a merry fate,
I think of you.
The Devil's Jest
Welcome to my city, said the devil to the soul,
Welcome to the jungle, to my pit, the hell-hole.
This city of sin,
Where the wicked always win,
Of the unbearable pain,
And scarring acid rain.
This city of darkness,
No roses here grow,
No pity just indifference,
No hearts here show.
Its the most wonderful place he said, atleast for me,
For you, find out, he laughed, you have eternity.
Welcome to the jungle, to my pit, the hell-hole.
This city of sin,
Where the wicked always win,
Of the unbearable pain,
And scarring acid rain.
This city of darkness,
No roses here grow,
No pity just indifference,
No hearts here show.
Its the most wonderful place he said, atleast for me,
For you, find out, he laughed, you have eternity.
Sad But True
Everybody cries, 'cause everybody hurts,
You need a shoulder sometimes, More than just words.
Like your best friend's wedding, for him you're glad,
But there's no one for you, and so for you, you're sad.
But it's not just the sadness, there's helplessness too,
Couples are made in heaven, but no one was made for you,
You take a walk in the rain, with your heart subdued,
And accept that its sad- Sad, but true.
Look at people all around, svelte bodies and pretty faces,
Blue liner beneath the eyes, skin showing at the right places,
Well they really got just a house of nines,
When they go around thinking they all got aces.
Then it hits the fan, and they're all broken-hearted,
And start to wonder, if they were wise to start it,
But you're spared such pain, and it makes you glad,
Except that the rest of the time, you're lonely and sad.
Lonely and sad, but mostly its just lonely,
And you wish it weren't so sad if only,
And anything you can think of you'd do,
If it weren't so sad, if it weren't so true.
You need a shoulder sometimes, More than just words.
Like your best friend's wedding, for him you're glad,
But there's no one for you, and so for you, you're sad.
But it's not just the sadness, there's helplessness too,
Couples are made in heaven, but no one was made for you,
You take a walk in the rain, with your heart subdued,
And accept that its sad- Sad, but true.
Look at people all around, svelte bodies and pretty faces,
Blue liner beneath the eyes, skin showing at the right places,
Well they really got just a house of nines,
When they go around thinking they all got aces.
Then it hits the fan, and they're all broken-hearted,
And start to wonder, if they were wise to start it,
But you're spared such pain, and it makes you glad,
Except that the rest of the time, you're lonely and sad.
Lonely and sad, but mostly its just lonely,
And you wish it weren't so sad if only,
And anything you can think of you'd do,
If it weren't so sad, if it weren't so true.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
A Limerick Un-Witty
There once was a girl so sweet,
That if she and you were to meet,
She'd take you for a ride,
Around the countryside,
And she'd sweep you off your feet.
There once was a boy so naive,
He'd stick his hand into a beehive,
And get stung and cry,
But would still get up and try
And say golly do i feel alive.
The boy and girl both met one day,
All was jolly, merry and laughter gay,
But the union was short,
The girl said with a snort,
I'd much rather you go away.
The boy was stung, and not by bees,
He cried, and begged, got down on his knees,
But the girl would not hear,
And the boy did fear,
That she'd cast him aside with ease.
The boy was struck, how easy it was,
For the girl to break his heart because,
He'd falled in love with the girl,
But she was merely looking for a twirl,
And left him without a pause.
The boy cried all day and night,
All his friend were struck with fright,
Cause the boy never laughed again,
He was just one of those broken men,
And shied away from daylight.
He locked himself in his cabin small,
Came out in neither sun not squall,
For seven years, till one spring,
Came a minstrel with tales to sing
And set up tent near the cabin wall.
The singer sang of joy and beauty,
He sang of what was right and of duty,
He sang of soap and dental floss,
But atlast he sand of love and loss,
And the boy peered out of a window sooty,
The boy had grieved for seven years,
His eyes no longer gave out tears,
And though he was now much older,
Inside he was no more bolder,
And was much afraid of the people's jeers.
But the minstrel sang of a boy's love,
And how a cruel girl killed that dove,
So the boy listened from his window,
So newly cleared of the winter snow,
And listened to the tale of a battered nub.
The nub was all that was left,
Of the heart the rest was cleft,
And he heard of the heart that cried,
Every day, till atlast the hero tried,
To again try to learn to be deft.
The boy in the song learnt to live,
Grew up to learn how to give,
And in giving know joy,
And so now the listening boy,
Tried hard to forget and forgive.
The boy opened the window to listen more,
Till atlast he had the courage to open the door,
And still trembling with self-pity and grief,
Decided to try just one soujourn brief,
And see if he could be what he was once before.
He came out into the spring sun,
And before long he began to run,
For he saw birds in the trees,
And felt again the cool breeze,
And felt his grief was finally done.
The boy never again locked himself in,
And slowly got back his innocent grin,
And though you could sometimes see the shade,
Of the wound the cruel girl once made,
It would hide mostly in his secret bin.
And one day many summers from the minstrel's song,
He saw a beautiful woman on the path come along,
And the talked and sang and ate and drank,
And with each other were honest and frank,
And agreed on what was right and wrong.
The fell in love, but not the kind,
Of first-sight nor blind,
The knew each other first and,
Decided it would be truly grand,
If they got into a wedding bind.
The feast was set, the guests were met,
And boy was in eternal debt,
Of his wonderful wife,
Who gave him another chance at life,
And at the alter, both their cheeks were wet.
They lived for a good many happy days,
Till all their hairs were either gone or grays,
And were truly happy as they could be,
And each morning were glad to see,
Each other with dawn's fresh new rays.
And what of the first girl you ask?
Well to tell of that is a sad task,
She went on her charming way,
Leading many innocent boys astray,
Living with each with an actor's mask.
But one day she was pretty no more,
And could not do what she had done before,
And so she tried to find,
What she had so often left behind,
But love no longer knocked on her door.
It is a sad tale and a happy one too,
For you shall suffer as you shall do,
And I now hope that you realise,
The truth dancing before your eyes,
Love back someone who truly loves you.
That if she and you were to meet,
She'd take you for a ride,
Around the countryside,
And she'd sweep you off your feet.
There once was a boy so naive,
He'd stick his hand into a beehive,
And get stung and cry,
But would still get up and try
And say golly do i feel alive.
The boy and girl both met one day,
All was jolly, merry and laughter gay,
But the union was short,
The girl said with a snort,
I'd much rather you go away.
The boy was stung, and not by bees,
He cried, and begged, got down on his knees,
But the girl would not hear,
And the boy did fear,
That she'd cast him aside with ease.
The boy was struck, how easy it was,
For the girl to break his heart because,
He'd falled in love with the girl,
But she was merely looking for a twirl,
And left him without a pause.
The boy cried all day and night,
All his friend were struck with fright,
Cause the boy never laughed again,
He was just one of those broken men,
And shied away from daylight.
He locked himself in his cabin small,
Came out in neither sun not squall,
For seven years, till one spring,
Came a minstrel with tales to sing
And set up tent near the cabin wall.
The singer sang of joy and beauty,
He sang of what was right and of duty,
He sang of soap and dental floss,
But atlast he sand of love and loss,
And the boy peered out of a window sooty,
The boy had grieved for seven years,
His eyes no longer gave out tears,
And though he was now much older,
Inside he was no more bolder,
And was much afraid of the people's jeers.
But the minstrel sang of a boy's love,
And how a cruel girl killed that dove,
So the boy listened from his window,
So newly cleared of the winter snow,
And listened to the tale of a battered nub.
The nub was all that was left,
Of the heart the rest was cleft,
And he heard of the heart that cried,
Every day, till atlast the hero tried,
To again try to learn to be deft.
The boy in the song learnt to live,
Grew up to learn how to give,
And in giving know joy,
And so now the listening boy,
Tried hard to forget and forgive.
The boy opened the window to listen more,
Till atlast he had the courage to open the door,
And still trembling with self-pity and grief,
Decided to try just one soujourn brief,
And see if he could be what he was once before.
He came out into the spring sun,
And before long he began to run,
For he saw birds in the trees,
And felt again the cool breeze,
And felt his grief was finally done.
The boy never again locked himself in,
And slowly got back his innocent grin,
And though you could sometimes see the shade,
Of the wound the cruel girl once made,
It would hide mostly in his secret bin.
And one day many summers from the minstrel's song,
He saw a beautiful woman on the path come along,
And the talked and sang and ate and drank,
And with each other were honest and frank,
And agreed on what was right and wrong.
The fell in love, but not the kind,
Of first-sight nor blind,
The knew each other first and,
Decided it would be truly grand,
If they got into a wedding bind.
The feast was set, the guests were met,
And boy was in eternal debt,
Of his wonderful wife,
Who gave him another chance at life,
And at the alter, both their cheeks were wet.
They lived for a good many happy days,
Till all their hairs were either gone or grays,
And were truly happy as they could be,
And each morning were glad to see,
Each other with dawn's fresh new rays.
And what of the first girl you ask?
Well to tell of that is a sad task,
She went on her charming way,
Leading many innocent boys astray,
Living with each with an actor's mask.
But one day she was pretty no more,
And could not do what she had done before,
And so she tried to find,
What she had so often left behind,
But love no longer knocked on her door.
It is a sad tale and a happy one too,
For you shall suffer as you shall do,
And I now hope that you realise,
The truth dancing before your eyes,
Love back someone who truly loves you.
I too have a dream.
what makes us human? Is it the ability to make our own way, without regard to the environment we exist in? Is it our power to shape our world around us to fit our needs? Is the feelings we possess, the things called emotions? Is it that we can come to care for other human beings, not of our own family?
Animals do all of that. In recent years, experiments and more importantly, unbiased observations have shown that animals can also possess languages, instincts, emotions, urges, those basic indicators of sentience.
But surely there is more. We can't simply be another species, living our way from birth to death, from emergence, to domination, to evolutionary death or transformation, can we? There has to be more to this life and humanity business than meets the eye, something inside us insists.
Some use the tool of religious beliefs and spirituality to further their postulates of the argument, saying that indeed, humanity is better, or atleast somehow MORE, than the countless other species cohabiting the planet with us.
Yet my question is exactly that - why does it have to be? Why do we think that human beings as a species are fundamentally different from other species? Sure, we have chainsaws to cut down the trees, harvesters and tractors to help us grow our food, and computers to help us with our species-special traits of communication, administration and justice. But in the end, we create our tools from those forests and the earth, we grow our food from the soil, we make those computers from plastics made nature and its gifts.
So then how are we fundamentally different from the others? I would rest my argument if we had special powers that let us create out of nothing, that let us alter the world in ways that other species possibly could not, even if they evolved to higher ratings on the scale of sentience.
Still, can we clap our hands and create lightning? Can we sing rain into a drought? Can we concentrate and change the shape of a mountain? Can we even lift a pebble in ways that a monkey cannot, if he learns to?
We cannot. So is there really a difference? I sincerely hope so, even if I fear there might be none in the end. Maybe someday, when we have left wars and pettiness behind, when we have learn to see others as human, and not as Caucasians, or Mongloids or Aryans and Dravidians. Maybe someday when communities as a whole in Southern California and the eastern Gangetic plains save food and wastage to help feed the poor in Nigeria and the Congo, not as a measure of pity, but as a realization of neccessity for keeping the human race human.
Maybe when we have left behind the material plane to the management of machines, along with distrustfulness, envy, greed, and insecurity of our identities. Maybe then we will find the true purpose of being human. But I fear not. I fear that we will never reach that goal. And I fear that even if someday we do, it will remain just that - a goal, not a path to the true destination. I fear that there will be no destination. I fear that when we reach our station on the subway, we will find that there is no way to get out of the underground, because there is no home to go to, just the subway to live in.
But if we never get to that state, if we never reach that subway station, we will never be able to know if that gate to the outer world is there or not.
So prove me wrong, prove my fears groundless. Show that I am being naive, when I fear that the Shias and the Sunnis, and the Catholics and the Protestants, and the governments and the Naxals, and the "terrorists/freedom fighters" and the security agencies, and the admnistrations and the people will not be able to put aside their differences.
Like Martin Luther King, I too have a dream, that the turn of the next millenium will not only see us still living on this planet, but also living together, not fighting together.
Humanity has had a long, long adolescence. I hope we don't shoot each other before we graduate from high school.
Animals do all of that. In recent years, experiments and more importantly, unbiased observations have shown that animals can also possess languages, instincts, emotions, urges, those basic indicators of sentience.
But surely there is more. We can't simply be another species, living our way from birth to death, from emergence, to domination, to evolutionary death or transformation, can we? There has to be more to this life and humanity business than meets the eye, something inside us insists.
Some use the tool of religious beliefs and spirituality to further their postulates of the argument, saying that indeed, humanity is better, or atleast somehow MORE, than the countless other species cohabiting the planet with us.
Yet my question is exactly that - why does it have to be? Why do we think that human beings as a species are fundamentally different from other species? Sure, we have chainsaws to cut down the trees, harvesters and tractors to help us grow our food, and computers to help us with our species-special traits of communication, administration and justice. But in the end, we create our tools from those forests and the earth, we grow our food from the soil, we make those computers from plastics made nature and its gifts.
So then how are we fundamentally different from the others? I would rest my argument if we had special powers that let us create out of nothing, that let us alter the world in ways that other species possibly could not, even if they evolved to higher ratings on the scale of sentience.
Still, can we clap our hands and create lightning? Can we sing rain into a drought? Can we concentrate and change the shape of a mountain? Can we even lift a pebble in ways that a monkey cannot, if he learns to?
We cannot. So is there really a difference? I sincerely hope so, even if I fear there might be none in the end. Maybe someday, when we have left wars and pettiness behind, when we have learn to see others as human, and not as Caucasians, or Mongloids or Aryans and Dravidians. Maybe someday when communities as a whole in Southern California and the eastern Gangetic plains save food and wastage to help feed the poor in Nigeria and the Congo, not as a measure of pity, but as a realization of neccessity for keeping the human race human.
Maybe when we have left behind the material plane to the management of machines, along with distrustfulness, envy, greed, and insecurity of our identities. Maybe then we will find the true purpose of being human. But I fear not. I fear that we will never reach that goal. And I fear that even if someday we do, it will remain just that - a goal, not a path to the true destination. I fear that there will be no destination. I fear that when we reach our station on the subway, we will find that there is no way to get out of the underground, because there is no home to go to, just the subway to live in.
But if we never get to that state, if we never reach that subway station, we will never be able to know if that gate to the outer world is there or not.
So prove me wrong, prove my fears groundless. Show that I am being naive, when I fear that the Shias and the Sunnis, and the Catholics and the Protestants, and the governments and the Naxals, and the "terrorists/freedom fighters" and the security agencies, and the admnistrations and the people will not be able to put aside their differences.
Like Martin Luther King, I too have a dream, that the turn of the next millenium will not only see us still living on this planet, but also living together, not fighting together.
Humanity has had a long, long adolescence. I hope we don't shoot each other before we graduate from high school.
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