Recognition

S/he broods on things for a short while, as s/he cannot refuse to.
Bridling will not be enough to get away with his possession of things.
Blinding the sight will keep us away from them, but not them from.
Undaunted s/he continues like a possessed being of surety. 
Those things are thoughts of possession, recognition and being's disposition.
Abrupt and abysmal this may sound. 
But, nobody is sound enough to go unnoticed, and
There is no solution as we are part of things.
That is our predicament.

Why does somebody strive for greatness?
Can it be with intrepidness in the face of adversity?
Or the fortune that gets bestowed from the mystery of chance?
How does it matter any more,
To be or not to be,
As I go back to uncivilised world.
What good can I aspire to reach?
and
Why should somebody aspire to be recognised?
To be human means nothing but void on the face of all creation, and
Even my own creation.

Love

I can't be me anymore,
Neither do I persist nor pretend to be.
It is the time when you hit my plane,
Like the small bird that stop me flying.
Wherever I go, your madness follow me;
Whenever I cry, your eyelashes can't be seen in the rain following.
However it is, I just know that,
I can't be me anymore.
Don't let this go with me,
Do let it have my heart,
Donning the cap of hope, I behold your each step,
At the arrival  of our new found love.

Tortoise not any more

Here, I go to live,
After the rain-drenched minds,  that
Stopped me with the story of 'the tortoise'.
They said: 'I am no more a tortoise'.
My blood was thick and cold,
After being booked for 'the break from the past story'.
A rabbit I am, innately,
Who was stupid and complacent.

Clamors made me deaf, while I warmed up;
Cheers pumped the adrenaline, to destroy the old-me;
Crackers showed the prologue of my story;
Unsettled me is about to amend.
Here, I go to live and let live.
 

Hope

When I went past the street of skepticism,
Leaving the lonesome pride behind that garbage of hopes,
I could sense the rushing blood inside me.
I did think of a heart attack, beyond the clasp of the age;
Glad to be alive among the mortals at the Cape of Good Hope. 

The descendants

I had a dream: of peaceful world,
Without the whirlwind of jets,
Sneezing around my neck,
Before the sun set of "quantum" world.

Deterrence, we call it, instead of sheer power,
When I  rub shoulder with enemy's foe,
Dragged my legs on negotiations.
Poignant speeches couldn't escape 'the correctness'  of its wisdom.

Values were neutral before the famous mushroom;
Devoured my boned and melted my dreams,
As it gone astray;
So far,  fictions deferred my hope.

They said: "We have done it for the mankind,
For us humans."
Still, none could eat that mushroom,
Since the reach was daunting.

Referred as neutral, it aroused the reasoned minds further.
Neither me nor you can hold it back,
To deter the descendants from asking question:
"Who  will eat the mushroom?"

Riddled with fuss

Feverish things riddled my thought;
The moderns can't think beyond binaries,
As if nothing make sense out of rival categories,
Of concepts, practice, and norms.

How does the dialectic of dialogue refine itself?
Who will moderate the unwarranted silence of polar bears?
"Dead cold" minds stop thinking, before loosing the sense of contemplation,
Only to end up in the rhetoric of material reality and utility.

Freedom of thought, to conceive and reproduce can't fix this anomaly,
The exception lost its meaning as the norm stopped making sense,
Repeating the perturbed and the non-existed syntax of reason;
Being Human is such a rehabilitation, beyond the jubilation of emancipation, 
With the capacity to forget the world outside.

Seeing off

I have to see off her, the cloudy faced,
Between the drapes of clouds;
I wish to be a bird without fetters.
Sending regards is killing me,
Brewed I got molten love.

Doffing  my hat to her is no more a fun,
It uncovers my face in the desert heat;
She will fly back in time,
The prelude is already written,
When I get my hat back.

Silence cornour'd the white-dark wall,
Can't call it black and white fencing my reach;
Boiled is the waterfall deep in the eye,
Hard to sense the snow outside,
Where 'the umbilical chord' cry aloud.

She smiled with a love-starved gaze,
Kid wondered the ubiquitous mother's face,
I can't take  the toll, rather will climb mount Everest.
The littered pieces of cake around, glittered dreams of hope in the spleen, and
The splinted doll in her hand dispersed my grief.

Mothers relate each other, communicate love better;
They translate morbidity of humanness to unforgotten bounty.
I am not one of them, rather a wilt in void;
I do have a mom like you and she,
Who consent the good without her will.

I am off to go, before she feels alone;
Handcuffed thoughts cannot breach her silence,
Have to break in to her wild dreams,
And my tossed gift of childhood,
After I see off her mother, should I go home.  

These 'words' are 'worth' remembering

"Jove—Venus—and the ruddy crest of Mars,
Amid his fellows, beauteously revealed
At happy distance from earth’s groaning field,

Where ruthless mortals wage incessant wars": wrote a man long ago.

These 'words' are 'worth' remembering,

While I read the master of "The Prelude".

Dark sky is no more dark,

The earth is no more a place for another Noah's arc.

Hence, these 'words' are 'worth' remembering.

Words replaced plenitude,

Accepting the earth as a cemetery.

God himself wondered what happened to his images- the mortals.

Skies are happy far east, but the lakes are full of teardrops far south.

World is seen divided, when mortals grieve 'divided we fall'.

Lives of His children are perturb'd, cover'd and appropriat'd.

It  no more a war between mortals, as the poet thought.

Heavens too fall down in the human redemption,

From pain and suffering.

Wonder ever how did it mooted?

When me and you forgot the prelude of human life.

Hence,  these 'words' are 'worth' remembering.

The quoted poem is from William Wordsworth titled “Eve’s lingering clouds extend in solid bars” (in p. 12, The Poems of William Wordsworth Collected Reading Texts from The Cornell Wordsworth, Curtis, J. (ed.), Volume III)

Licence to live

Agile is her character,
Who can beguile you;
She is hard to beat in a jiffy,
Skillful and fine armoured.

We do posses her,
Between the hasty schedule,
And can't loose at any moment.

Pertinence guides her way,
No-permit needed to rip you apart,
Culminate only in a heartbreak,
Or breaking the silence.

Hard to find a way out inside her,
Fair enough to try coming out.
The whirl wind of her anger can make you dead.
Just love that storm, beyond the borders of hate.  

Learn

Foregrounded  with attitude,
Prepared like a French salad,
Did I own some likeness to learn.

Prowling was never its nature,
In the benefited state of hunting.
Growl never came out of its mouth.

Harm is done,
In negligence to the child.
My child killed my harm principle.

He was adorable, lovely and flamboyant.
The rambunctiousness undid them when he grew up.
I became too old to learn, it is when I lost the key to wonderland.

No one can pity me,
For what I have done;
The habits never change for me, and you.
It is such a pity that we never learn this.

 

The woman

I had a trauma,
With sudden shudder on my shoulder,
To unlearn the ways
That I have come.

It went on orphaning me,
While she tried to pacify me
With soothing whispers: "everything will be alright"
It is only her whom I loved the most.
She is a woman after all.

Does she represent something?
The failure of myself,
To understand and be with her,
When she represented 'the other half of us men'.

She was lame, without lightning beauty,
Among the commoners.
And, dark among peacekeepers,
Hard among real steel,
Mad in the reasoned and the seasoned.
She was working.

Nobody noticed her much,
In the pursuit of happiness,
That was so difficult to unlearn.
Neither did she care in those days.

I happened to read the news.
Still, it bruise my thought.

I have seen her.
Yawning, she walked alone the streets,
The straight but narrow ones.
Pawned that all she had,
Tried to live her dream.

It wasn't easy at all,
For  the girl, who cannot even stand on her legs.
She never committed any sin,
To be left alone.

It was those stray dogs,
Accompanied her in lone walks,
With winged swords side by side,
And a dreamt bone piece in their stomach.

She screamed aloud.
Shakespeare did not hear it.
Meanwhile they thought it is better than
Beethovan's fifth symphony.

"She is brings smile in her beauty,
Even heavens do fall for her."
Poets got accolades,
Artists became immortal,
Musicians drew others envy,
And men became blind in the 're-creation'.

I have a trauma,
With sudden shudder on my shoulder,
To unlearn the ways
That I have come,
And the ways I admire the woman.

I'm home

Having lost another battle,
From the jaws of rattling boredom,
I'm home again.
 
It was a well set calculation, for them.
I lost to loss, due to my
Blundered planning.

It was like searching for old wine
Of ripe dark grape.
But, they stopped me from reaching it.

I took  it for granted,
For I was too bored with restrictions,
While glimpses of underdog stared me wild.

When thought, in my bed,
Did realize the 'form' of my form.
It said: "Limits deformed me".

So quest resumed again,
For the holy grail of old wine,
Of happiness, success, and joy.

That ordeal erased the complacency,
To vomit those limits,
For tasting the wine.  

Having won another battle,
From the claws of dazzling mirages,
I'm home again.

 

  

Is it time?

When do you know it is time to wake up?
I would say, after a sound sleep.

Is that so simple.
I guess not.

Banishment, from the promised land,
Could stop this slumber.
The land of your dreams, hope and happiness,
Had written it,
In your heart before you prayed: 'Bring me the sleep'

What will you do to get away from that slavery,
Of your mind, body and soul.
It is not to argue about the Platonic metaphor,
But to inform you: how hard it is to get up,
When you cannot even fulfill your dreamt exploits.

It is painful to be loved!

Is there a wind that waves forever?
Is there any rain that doesn't stop?
Is there any sight, taste, and touch that has eternity?
Tell me somebody.

Gone are those thoughts,
Had bewildered with fuss.
Here comes the moon of hope,
Garlanded with olive leaves.

Why did they come to me?
To punish me for being born.
Did I sin to be atone?
But, I lost the guilt.

"Happy forever" was a mundane stop,
That was thwarted by a 'heart-in-eye'.
The blood was pumping onto me,
And was full wet.

Then, being a bowl of owe
Was not meant for me.
I wanted to go back to her,
For a countryside ride,
With my little world.
 
Resistance meant something else,
Reiteration of love was painful.
It mediates and escalate the pain.
She became my teacher,
for this thought: being in love is no more romantic.

 

Let me be

I wonder 'how can I be'?
It can't be put off, for another location and time.

As I am lost to the question itself,
All I hope is to pray: 'Let me be'.

'Let me be as I am.
Even though the eyes are blind,
The skin is dark and dry,
And with,
The heart that is void,
The blood that is black,
And the sight that wavers'.

'Let me be as I am.
When friends reject the good,
The world read me wrong,
Reviews rate me low,
Skepticism linger on me'.

'Let me be as I am.
Since, I can't change my past,
Neither my present nor the future.
Everything was there,
Before I came: innate and intimate.
The higher times will look down upon me,
While I am drenched in this world.
Errors are not made, but conditions for the right.
All that defines my humanness, and the capacity to forget and forgive,
Forever and ever'.

'Let me be once again'.

Facebook

Did you know how to read face?
I do now, from this moment.

Why?
I expected a question.
It is not a million dollar answer: it's facebook.

Read a face you befriend,
Isn't it like reading a book?
(I guess, you like reading books).

Foundations are recreated:
those of humanity and recognition.
That will be perceived in fb.

Haven't you got a clue?

Humanity mediates recognition;
and recognition creates uniqueness of identity.

No need to go back to Hegel, or Taylor.
But, just read face like a book.
From 'wallposts' till 'likes',
We make sense of 'I', 'You', and 'We' via the art of reciprocity of recognition.

Hence, "there is something in a name".

Liberty

"Life is good"
Does it sound familiar?
I'm reminded of it while watching TV.

Alas, not even a breath is enough to say that,
My well-wishers brim with curiosity,
To know 'why is he so skeptical?'

'Ohhh....I am circled by consumers', who enmesh me in net of questions.
I wanted to cry out "LIFE IS NOT GOOD WHEN YOU SAY IT".

With a sudden shudder, I returned;
And saw my child 'washing' my shirt.
An ad flashed that said "life is good".
Even my daughter defied my freedom 'to be and not to be'.

Finally, I have to say "life is good" with a grin.
Backdrop of my mind fumbled for clarity,
With a riddle:

'Why do they say it to me?'
Alas, I have lost freedom of thought too.

p. s. Please let me know if you find liberty roaming around!

 

That you is love

I asked myself, 'who am I?'
Unintended is what I heard;
'You are not human!'

Did you loose something while reading (this)?
I know you have,
It is patience.
But, I am sorry, you cannot kill me out of anger.
I killed myself to let you live.

Let me hope, you will call me 'human',
Have mercy, and stop disturbing my silent journey for the generations to come.