One Day (Poem)

A humble dealer
of mortality
with a cool hat
and china flesh
begins the day.

With rioting moods
and tweeting feuds
he
sets the day in motion.

The high passion quotient
and neural feedbacks
asks a pulsating coffee.

Villainous fingers
skim through
the mass culture
in the Google News.

The Tie-man
takes the carbon spirited
engines
and
some brainy walks
with
some itchy talks
in the concrete lands
and
neatly settles before pixels.

Projector runs
for a while
depending on the fates
which are as messy as
the scribbling pad.

And the anaemic soul
finds a
new body
or
jumps out of the matrix.

whatever.

— Take the red pill
and the blue one.

— And sit tight in the duty.

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All in one evening (Poem)

Difference-less streets
and
all-round walkers
crossed me on the road.

The Monsoon potholes,
family scooters,
stilled trees,
tangoed to the rain.

Fat breezes
woke up the tadpoles
and the souls
dulled by the dusty fates.

None
there
to give
a kind shade
to my Samsung
and my young lungs.

So many
flammable stirrings
all
yearning
a mystical dance
under the 4G clouds.

— Drunken drops.

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As I climb (Poem)

Cricket on the granite steps
in
a Yoga asana
or a Kung fu move
hard to stop
in the spy-movie lights.

Folk music and dog barks
in the cosmic background
as the lizard near the light
is interrogating and shadowing
the migration of insects
like Sherlock along with its Watson.

Chinese clothes on the nylon rope
suspicious of getting dried
in the dark-American winds.

One crazy cat has loosened its fur anarchy
onto the world with night king eyes
and convicted paws.

The ice-chipped
winds and the shadows
of unknown lights
erect silent goosebumps
on deforested body
as the legs pass the stanzas
of concrete.

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India, Undefined. (Poem)

All scholarly tongues are silent,
And all the well-read pass the buck
if asked to define India.
Cultures are made anew every morning
Religions redefined again in the afternoon
And spirituality altered for every new moon.

Every street has a fresh social norm
and it’s own intricacies.
Every bystander a philosopher.
And every cow is holy in some sense.

Rivers, trees, stones,
snakes, eagles, dogs,
earth, water, soil, air
all worshipped and none left
in this land.

Snowy Himalayas try to offer truth,
Monasteries, a bit of solitude
and a Gandhi statue non-violence
amidst a billion-plus population.

Modern men and women
carry ancient tags of caste
and millennial identities
in the same bodies.

The threads of
Past, present and the future
bind together
to create a land of no time.

Fate aligned to karma.
Justice tied to power.
and liberty hand in glove
with money.

Politics performing sorcery.
Economy doing yoga.
Science flirting with customs.
Technology with Jugaad.

Administration to connections.
And sports — running between the wickets.
but this is just
one India,
in so many other Indias
in India.
A forever plural nation.

The
What-ness
Why-ness
Where-ness
How-ness
of it all
is breathtakingly
unusual.

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Is there nobility in suffering?

Definitely not. Being a Dostoevskyian is sick and saddening. Why should any suffering have meaning at all? And we never search for meaning while we are happy. Is it to accept the helplessness and then seek some pride in it?

Friedrich Nietzsche says that what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. But suffering rarely made any men stronger. Either they get used to it or become egotistical to accept that they too are weak and can weep.

Even after the Nth time, pain cripples us but humanity and so-called self-advertised strong men find it hard to swallow it.

This has a negative consequence—No one is seeking out help and is crushing their lives simply in the name of being stoic. This is a disease and a plague for us all.

They are dumping the waste into the subconscious and growing their Jungian “shadows” and society is raising sociopaths in the name of strong Spartans.

Acknowledging this can heal the sore souls and spoiled spirits. It’s time to stop searching for meaning in martyrdom and affection in affliction.

UdayLeave a comment