Category: Poems

How can you move forward
If you keep the embers of past fanned?
Forgetting the past enables man to sow -
A FRESH NEW seed with his hand.
You cannot undo what you have done;
You cannot turn back clock of time;
Is it not then sensible to completely douse
The embers you've inherited from past?

If you could turn back the clock of time;
Revisit the past and done things different;
If you won't have made the mistakes you did;
Would the outcome be different?
If not, what do you get out of scalding your palm
With the hot embers of past?
If yes, what is it that stops you
From doing things DIFFERENTLY now?

Choosing and sowing mediocre seeds;
Is what many a novice farmer does;
What you did was not anything novel;
Heartbreak was your inevitable destiny.
Now you have this beautiful new green sapling,
From a BETTER seed growing up under your care;
Are you sure stirring up those embers time and again
Won't burn this sapling down?

Douse the embers of past to see the present;
That's about the only way to move ahead.
You can use your palms
To turn that tiny sapling into a rich fruit bearing tree;
But you can't - if your palm is wounded by embers of past.
Making foolish mistakes in the past was not your fault;-
But using those mistakes
As excuses to ruin the present will surely be!

Up in the hilly resort,
I was traveling in an Uber.
We were blocked halfway through the journey;
We sat and watched… and did nothing.

The trees fell, one, two three;
I watched in dismay, as they were laughing and yelling;
I wanted to yell too, to stop them;
But then I saw axes in their hands…and did nothing.

We waited for half an hour straight,
Until the driver finally got out.
I thought he was going to stop them,
But he got out only to ask them to clear out…and nothing.

They cut the three trees into halves, put them on to big trucks;
It was not for business but for a huge Indian festival, they said;
The police station was not too far away but they did nothing;
I turned blind eye too; they were eight… could we do anything?

If only we stop getting so violent and defensive;
If only we stop pointing fingers at each other;
If only we stop generalizing by gender, religion or caste;
Then the world would be a better place.

If we start looking for a solution and not at the problem;
If we start looking at people as people and not their gender or religion;
If we start being more practical and less foolish when judging others;
Then the world would be a better place.

If we stop using people as scapegoats for political propaganda;
If we stop taking the media and politicians so seriously;
If we stop getting blinded by candle marches of extremists;
Then the world would be a better place.

Let the crime of a girl being violated be treated as heinous;
And that of a boy being assaulted be treated as equally serious;
Let not religious leaders, social media or politicians tell us what to do;
Then the world would be a better place.

How I Found Contentment in Gratitude

NOTE: This is a sequel to my previous poem: Questions For The Universe

This is not a poem at all;
This is one very ordinary story, one very small;
Of how I found contentment life at least;
It's easy folks, all you need to do is to change the TEXT.

If I used to crib about not having the love of a wife;
Now I am so grateful for not having to live a slave's life;
Not having to share all the expensive and tasty meals I order online;
Not having a spy at home, to ask for permission for meeting other women.

If I used crib about people calling me skinny;
Now I am so grateful for not being called 'fatty';
Being able to eat whatever I want without worrying about calorie count;
And save money that would have gone to some opportunistic 'weight loss expert.'

If I used to crib about being poor in means;
Now I am so grateful for being saved from income tax raids;
So grateful in not dealing with the stress of what to do with all the cash;
And grateful for not attracting golddiggers and parasites.

If I used to crib about being a bad writer;
Now I am grateful for being world's only twenty-page-article-blogger;
Grateful for writing better than what several other 'content writers' litter;
Being able to write poems like these devoid of any technical glitter.

The only thing I still crib about is not having many friends;
The only other thing I still crib about is not having social skills;
But lately I have discovered that even if I am a bore at parties,
There are special joys reserved for being Mr. Artist Anonymous.

My friends, if you ever find yourself comparing to others;
Feeling low, despondent and overburdened with stress;
Remember that they too are doing the same thing with yet others;
Find out the joys of not having what you don’t have, and feel joyous.

Why is this journey of life so ABSURD?
Why do we meet people we don’t want to meet?
And never or seldom meet those we so much yarn to?
Is life CONTROLLED by us or you?

What is HAPPINESS?
Is it being part of a happy gang because we have none of our own?
What is SADNESS?
Is it wailing alone locked up because we have no one to share it with?

Are the strings of our life in your hands?
Is life CONTROLLED by you and only you?
If so then why do we hold others responsible for our happiness or misery?
When any of it was never in their hands or ours?

If this be the meaning of life and the real essence of living;
If we are fated to walk or crash in this world only by YOUR will;
Then how is such a life worth living?
Then what is it worth at all even if the whole world lies at our feet?

P.S.: I found the answers here.

She is a dancer,
She will make you dance.
Whenever she is part of a troupe,
The other preened peacocks lose their sheen.
You watch her dance once,
You will know what I mean.

The way she shakes her slender waist,
So swift;
The motion she makes while twirling her arms,
Just effortless; her eyes hypnotic and clean.
You watch her dance once,
You will know what I mean.

Each step she takes, each arm twist she makes,
Each smile she produces, is gonna put you in trance;
She possesses the most curvaceous bod I know,
Yet she is so nice to all and never mean.
You watch her dance once,
You will know what I mean.

If I had owned all time, I would do nothing,
But watch her dance;
Her dances are a treat for a gentleman,
Or even a rough philistine.
You watch her dance once,
You will know what I mean.

Her eyes lit up when she puts her limbs forward;
She seems happiest when she is belly shaking;
At other times she is just a quiet mystery,
With her eyes downcast like a shy teen.
You watch her dance once,
You will know what I mean.

She won't let you stay still,
She will make you dance.
Only time I feel low and itchy is when I see her,
Swinging happily in the arms of just another Big Dick;
If I could just lift her once with that ease, swing her around,
That would make me…one COMPLETE man.

Once you watch her dance,
You will agree with what I mean.

Confused Man and Empowered Woman
OR
How My Guruji Guided A Newly Made, Confused Dad

(Note: For the uninitiated, in India a spiritual leader is often called a 'Guru' or more venerably, 'Guruji')

She shrieked for forty eight hours straight
And it was equally painful for me;
Then they said a boy has been delivered,
That I may go inside and see.
Confused and uncertain of what to do next;
For I was not ready to be a dad yet;
I put my slow steps inside the labor room;
The wife had her eyes shut.

Gently I shook her up,
'Hey dear,' said I, with a fake happy smile;
She said that for all the time I had fun with her in bed,
It has been worthwhile.
'You'll be a good mom, you'll take good care of him,'
Said I to make her happy;
Said she, 'No time to be mom, going gym to get my curves back;
You change the baby's nappy.'

Had I ever changed my own nappy to do it now for baby?
Maybe Guruji can help;
Bought some gutkha to chew and hurried off to ashram;
Guruji got up with a loud yelp.
I asked, 'He pulls my chest hair and my ear;
How can I teach him to respect me?'
'What to speak of innocent babies;
Even I don't respect gutkha chewers,' snarked Guruji.

'I have never been a parent,' rued I,
'Can you teach me how to be one?'
'The way you learned to procreate,' said he,
'You will also learn to be a dad soon;
But anxious and worried as you seem,
You'd teach him nothing but anxiety,' he fumed.
He paused to take a sniff from his snuffbox,
Exclaimed a deep sense of thrill, then resumed.

'So you say you are a new dad;
Have you thought about how to bring him up?'
'I will give him good education Guruji;
Make him what I couldn't be: a man of medicine.'
Guruji looked at me with some vexation
And inhaled a heavier dose of snuff;
Then he smiled, 'With a dad like you around,
Bringing up a child is really tough.'

Then he uttered it all in one breath:
A feat only Guruji can be capable of;
'Hear o friend, you came before him,
So you could teach, protect and guide him thereof;
The child is not your property,
So you have no right to force or dominate him;
Stop seeking respect and learn to love him,
While your wife goes away to gym.'

I saunter the streets with swagger all night;
Even give in to cockblockers without a fight;
Looking at the half-skirts is so much a delight;
But who is THE one, I don't know.

Bars and tables I don't ever skip;
They say, 'Yay sir, do you want a sip?';
And they say, 'Can't sit here, 'tis reserved for the hip';
Who's THE one meant for me, I don't know.

Skirts with hairy arms around are regular;
Skirts sitting alone on table but very rare;
I can only get a singles' table and a chair;
For if I will ever have THE one, I don't know.

Is she the 'soulmate', is she 'true love';
Will I find her online or in mangrove;
Friendzone has been my only ladylove;
Who's THE one who won't do that to me, I don't know.

Heaven knows who might be those who get to cum;
Hey still you can count on swiggy and a bottle of rum;
Will I get to enjoy such treats when I get the bum?
That's something well, I certainly don't know.

Leaves fall in autumn, does the tree ever count its fallen leaves?
But the humans do.
You want to turn a new leaf, grow a new skin, promise to live a better life,
Yet your past catches up with you.

It is the real world, they will complain, condemn, want to be your master,
Yet you must look beyond the horizon, conquer your fear.
The sun rises every day after it sets and you have another day to live,
You choose whether to live in fear or wonder.

When flowers bloom in spring, butterflies judge a flower by its color;
Just as the humans do.
You had blood on your hands, battled your demons, you won the war,
Yet your past catches up with you.

It is an insane world, they will want to point fingers at you loud and clear,
Yet you must look beyond the horizon, conquer your fear.
The sun rises every day after it sets and you have another day to live,
You choose whether to live in fear or wonder.

Few good thoughts and a few good friends, what else is needed for satisfaction?
But we the humans do.
You had your happy castle and it crumbled, you thought you could build a new one,
Still your past catches up with you.

It is a sorry world, they will pick your past from where you have left it;
Still you must look beyond the horizon, conquer your fear.
The sun rises every day after it sets and you still have another day to live,
Your choice: whether to live in fear or wonder.

A clean state, a blank canvas is what you need to build your new future;
Let them count your past mistakes, try to paint your life with their chosen color;
Who else but only you have a say of how you must live life from now on,
The past will always try to catch up with you, yet you can still run faster.