Electronic Fire

The strings hum,

if not the same note,

atleast one among seven

we already know.

The wine tastes the same,

if not better with age,

yet in essence it is the same pulp.

The chef brews the tasty stew,

that lacks a personal touch,

for it is the electronic fire that cooks it.

All seem the same,

nothing changed,

nothing missing,

except you.

For it was not the music

neither the wine,

nor the warm fire,

or the tasty flesh,

that made the moment,

but you.

I sit all alone,

just as i came in,

waiting for the hour,

to return yet alone.

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Time for a "GREEN LEGACY"

It's time to leave behind a "Green Legacy". We all always wanted to do something but never did anything except sign petitions and talk about it. Here is an opportunity to act on something. Something you could do as part of everyday task that could help put back some green in this planet.

Help recycle paper and plant a tree in your very own name in Dubai. Visit www.mytreeindubai.com

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Wake Up

It's been a year,

since i lost her to time,
without saying a word,
she bid her goodbye,
into the fading twilight,
leaving behind a haunting silence,
that is infinite.

Yet again, I lose her to time,
the memory i hold so dear,
as I go about quenching
my karmic desires,
in a refugee's attire,
thinking time is a healer,
not knowing the silence
still awaits me,
when it is all but over.

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ABYSS PATH

The path unwinds
into depths unknown.

A course never charted before,
a destination never heard before,
a land never seen before,
a doubt persists if it all exists,
for there are no witnesses to testify,
footprints to track, nor signposts to heed.

Darkness surrounds, gloom looms,
time churns a numerous luminous paths,
filled with good and bad,
blossomed with love and care,
name and fame,
glittered with duality of consciousness.

Yet, down this unknown hideous path
this birth or another,
a journey has to be made,
on a path paved with daggers,
into the dense cover,
a maddening wilderness,
solitude the only companion,
silence the only stir,
where it is not the test of stamina,
but the that of the will.
resolute and absolute.

i pace up and down,
not going beyond a mile,
frightened, am I, for not what lay ahead,
but what one has to leave behind.

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Mercenary of Wisdom

Amidst the ruins of time
of wrecked civilizations & chaotic science,
stood the mercenary of wisdom,
clad in armor of theories,
guarded by a shield of inferences,
swirling a sharp sword
cast of knowledge
he's read & heard before.

Years of hoarding and pursuit
while the wisdom gathered cobwebs,
now he stood braving a foe,
never read before.

Unlike any rehearsed character,
or defined in aged texts,
the abridged yet unabridged,
a simile very much a metaphor,
a verb inherent in a noun
without adjectives to qualify
stood its ground, poised.
Whose moves the mercenary couldn't counter
with his reflexes of intellect.
or with the agility of mind.

the blade of knowledge blunted,
theories tested, findings shredded,
all exhausted, unlearning the learning
did the mercenary of knowledge,
gasp for more to grasp the elusive illusion
of control.

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MYRIAD SILENCE

Can't be seen but heard.
Can't be touched but felt.
Can't be shed but said.
Can't be sensed but fed.
Can't be taught but known.
Can't be enslaved but mastered.
Can't be tied but freed.
Can't be emptied for there is nothing.

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EYES

Her eyes never left me,
even for a while,
even though i had mine
on the worldly delights.

Her eyes followed me,
where ever i did go,
in form of a call or a prayer,
i never heeded.

Her eyes were awake,
day and night,
so i could rest mine
without fear.

Her eyes closed on me,
forever, one fine day,
while i had mine elsewhere.

Her eyes, i do miss them now.


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Space

Stranded in an intergalactic causeway,
reclined on a signpost muddled by cosmic dust.

Amused by myriad stars that illuminate a perplexed gaze,
anchored to a organic dimension that propels inertia.

Gagged by the alien echoes that vibrate stillness,
limited by an expansive horizon that imparts ignorance.

Wrecked by hyperspeed that derails thoughts,
ostracized by a trajectory pattern that navigates adherence.

Fragmented by the destruction of mother ship,
the orphaned space wanderer, awaited.

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MINE

i shared her breath as one,
till i could find mine.

i sucked her energy,
so i could nurture mine.

i was in her arms,
till i could flex mine.

I didn't listen when she uttered,
a name that was mine

i never heard her prayers,
as i made noise of mine.

I didn't feel her pain when i was
lost in a world of mine.

I didn't see her sacrifice,
as i was busy with a life of mine,

i couldn't repay her when
the time was mine.

i thought she would stay forever
only to realize later,
she was never mine
and nothing is mine.


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BEING

Naked in the hallway of thousand door frames
'the being' waited for the thought to enter.

Through the arch way the being traveled
into a cell which was a nucleus.
Weaving a membrane to conceal the core
the being formed a chromosome.

X and Y were plotted, to trace back
the origin in case the thought abandoned.

Building the blocks, the mutated being
took an alien form of pure fiber.

Crawling out of hibernation, the besieged being
progressed in a linear fashion.
On the threshold of a new doorway
transforming becoming the change.

In and out of every frame, until it became humane.
Having camouflaged its inherent gene,
the human being looks into the mirror
which does not reveal the real picture.

Accumulated layers of evolution,
aging and growing with every travel
the being bewildered, pondered.

Regressing the progress, the being
traveled in a cyclic fashion,
cracking the value of X&Y.

Without compasses or guiding force,
all alone, ceasing the duality,
singular in entity, creeping back,
in essence, progressing ahead
deciphering the tracks forgotten
navigating to a conclusion
stepping back and forth
through the unlocked doors
shedding, withering and shredding
every thought of awareness

deep into the abyss of statelessness
the stale being wandered, solving X&Y.
And much deeper to the lost base
before anything ever occurred.

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PATTERN PICKER

Grazing through the time ripple,
of events and incidents gone by.

Identifying a connection
for choices seem to be made in isolation
whose repercussions,
echoes in progression.

Occurrences like the tangram pieces,
random in nature,
piecing them together,
to structure a picture,
beyond human comprehension.

Decisions sewn, not taken
by thread of accumulation,
not woven in this piece of creation
but many before
whose patterns are forgotten.

The Pattern Picker gazes
into the clues of weaves
that has been churned
since measure immemorial.

Chalking out a direction,
mapping a course of action,
for he is lost in the pattern.

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CARNIVORE

A carnivore dwells in me,
whose hide can't be seen,
with hungry talons,
patient for innocent flesh.

A connoisseur's ego
sniffing for a scent,
of a prey, ripe in every sense,
the perennial claws itch,
to quench an enigmatic desire.

Circling the perimeter,
viewing the dynamics,
plotting, surrounding,
holding, sustaining
the hunt,
setting the trap,

in an instant flash,
plunging forward to kill,
after a day long chase
and a night long wait,
of which i lost count,
i find myself in the trap
i didn't spring!

Ambushed.
i am the hunted,
i am the prey,
i am not the one
top in the hierarchy,
of the life chain!

(e-snap : outskirts of Madurai Meenakshi Temple, 12/2007)

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MENDICANT'S RANT

I stood in the threshold of time, not this,
like a MENDICANT, seeing faces go by
a morphed reality, a diluted perspective
looking numb, not so dumb, yet clueless
as to where to set foot next.

William staged every known word,
Gautam besieged the world sans bloodshed,
Leo drew the code that shaped us,
Issac gave birth to the laws we go by,
Ludwig didn't need the senses to play his notes,
Albert took science beyond mortal inspiration,
Helen tore down the very thought of limitations,
Neil stamped the heavenly bodies with his print,
Mohan humbled the instinct of greed,
Agnes testified for love that was unconditional,
And many other who became history
for the future to be seen.

Here i stand, one among numerous,
not a star, not a sun,
nor a meteor or even an asteroid,
just a tiny speck of space dust,
not knowing my time in the universe,
or where my co-ordinates lay,
so i can label them mine,
exhausting my composition,
gaseous inheritance
yet i am weighed down,
in pursuit of a collider, to set a bang,
floating, drifting, the omnipresent darkness
consuming me.

Stranger in the oceans of galaxies,
like a thief looking for a role to steal.

Maybe a peddler to sell a ware,
maybe a gleeman to treat a trick or tale,
maybe a trader looking for a bargain,
maybe a warrior proud of his clan,
maybe a singer who could shy every bird,
maybe a medicine man who can't cure himself,
maybe a seer who carries the baggage of focus,
maybe a fortune-teller looking for that elusive treasure,
maybe a vagabond who is thirsty for new lands,
maybe a orator who opens hearts like a surgeon's hand,
maybe a poet who personifies illusive emotions,
maybe a story-teller lost in one of his characters,
maybe a artist with the devil's hand of creation,
maybe a farmer who plunders the virgin earth,
maybe a banker who juggles stones and metals,
maybe a writer who scripts his own end,
maybe a cleaner who ends up with all the dirt,
maybe a rider who knows when to take the turn,
maybe a philosopher who harbours thoughts of lust,
maybe a butcher who isn't interested in blood,
maybe a astronomer blinded by the shiny stars,
maybe a seeker who knows what he is looking for,
maybe a mechanic who tinkers the wheel of time,
maybe a soldier whose real foe is death,
maybe a king who rules what is not his,
maybe a alchemist who is lost in luster,
maybe a builder who can't find his own space,
maybe a lover who can't remember his virgin kiss,
maybe a nomad navigating to settle everywhere,
maybe a sailor who charts a course with no rudder,
maybe a gypsy who isn't fed up of tattered colours,
maybe a creator who can't stop becoming a voyeur,
maybe myself, a empty me,
a mendicant rattling a gimcrack rant

i stare as faces go by,
like pages that turn when time flies by,
into those raven black eyes,
lit by a golden ball of fire.

i the dot
that is clustered together
with many others
form the trail of a star
whose blaze tries to
offset the omnipresent darkness.

(e-snap : Meenakshi Bhavan, Thiruthangal Highway, 12/2007)

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WARMONGER

The sheen of his armour was blemished
with blots of crimson, magenta and ruby red.
He rode with the void to cross
the warm steel with a frozen resolve.

He was
one with the battle cry that shivered a thousand nerves
one with the foe's eye, tracing every bodily stir
one with the swift steps like the formless wind
one with the aroma of chopped beasts that became a scavenger's feast
one with the rhythm of the blade, that swayed to an unheard melody
one with the whirlpool of time, sucked by its force full spell
one with the warmth not from the sun blaze but from the gushed blood
one with the silence unseen that overshadowed the chaos that reigned
one with the icy chill emotion that held no remorse
one with the fraction second, to escape for a life, gone by a split second
one with the hunger for flesh like the unappeased bodily lust
one with the thought of survival that blinded the cause of sides taken
one with the aching flame that charred his hide from a duel long forgotten
one with the iron grip on the tender scalped leather that surrounded the aged hilt
one with the sense of despair as sweat drenched him everywhere
one with the drunken intellect with no reason to kill
one with the butcher's heart that mechanically ripped anyone apart
one with the baggage that he bore from many a heartless acts
one with the memory of faceless beings whose spirit he set free
one with the million curses that were spitted by those he rendered homeless
one with the warlord who whipped the herd
one with the battle angel that shielded every blow
one with the sharpness of steel that imposed pain and more
one with the fly infested earth that saw the gore
one with the dance of death
one with the battle of no return
one with the one he was
a WARMONGER

(e-snap : Garuda, Malaiarasan Temple, Arrupukottai, 11/2008)

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The Gardener's Acres

The umber virgin terrain,
that spread across acres,
cut open by a plough,
oozed to birth numerous saplings
that sprouted from seeds,
planted unseen.

The young ones spiral higher
into the uncharted skies,
propelled by the forces of nature
that acts all in vice,
making them mature with every
shine, gush and pour.

The roots dig deeper
parting the soft wet soil,
withering away the innocence
to come into existence.
Having shed the inhibition
and growing stronger
with the changing seasons,
the once tender sapling blossoms,
emitting fragrance that arouses lust
even among the blind's bosom.

Gently swaying to the unheard rhythm
the hue that adorn the acres
paint a ode to a vibrant creation.

Lost among this cacophony of
orchestrated perfection
are a few called 'imperfections'.

Stripped naked
of a fertile creation,
these 'imperfections' stagger
along trying to dance
with a all too flattered perfection.

In a random cycle, does the Gardener
grace upon His manifestation.
The acres busy in an enigmatic trance,
fail to acknowledge the Gardener
who nurtured them into existence.

Shunned away from the dance,
are the 'imperfections' who seek
the Gardener who sees through
their imperfections.

A new lease of existence springs
upon these 'imperfections'
whose constant lease of drought
find the Gardener's touch
a resurrection.

The Gardener walks silently past
His infinite acres of creation
to tend another set of 'imperfections'.
Not all of the acres witness this
moment of revelation,
except for the 'imperfections'.

The cycle turns, the shadows enlarge,
the acres age to become trees,
cracked and hard upon whose
outstretched arms rest other creations.

And they erode
with every ring being added
to sow back into the barren land
the seeds of future acres.

(e-snap : Outside Viscomm Department, Loyola College, 1998)

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