Each Man...

Each man is an empire,

Each insult is an attack.

Laughs many thee takes,

Diverse arts thou appreciates.

Sobre conversations thee loves,

as thee welcomes the wisdom.

Such an empire thee rules,

Befriends which, nations alike,

To rejoice with, in happy times.

Rage thee takes only from within,

Advice though, from courtisans able,

as thee promptly corrects thou's errs.

Stones many the walls may take,

superficial and miniscule,

For thou practices forgiveness.

However, the imminent challenge when comes,

Thee might forget the skill to calmen,

For the empire, thee holds dear.

War must ensue, defend thee must,

Save the state, he holds at stake.

Win each, validates thou's supremacy,

Teaching, each loss does, only to resurrect.

For, Each man is an empire,

And, Each insult is an attack.

(6.12.11)

Such is Life!

What is inflicted, shall be healed.

What is shed in tears, shall be regained in smiles.

What is snatched away, shall be gifted in perfect wrappings.

C'est La Vie...

A few lines I wrote as a reply to a comment.

Like them.

A word about the Image: The Celtic Tree Of Life.
Wikipedia Says:

Their branches reach high into the heavens. 

Their roots dig deep into the Earth. 

Yet all are woven together, 

signifying the connection between 

all things in the Heavens and the Earth.

The symbolism of the Celtic Tree vividly comes to life in (this) design by Celtic artist, Jen Delyth. 

(Image Courtesy: Google Images)

The Last Dance

When lights go dim, and the stage is deserted,

When claps go distant, and praises go scanty,

When music fades, and attire gets old,

When feet get torn, and heart gets tired...

Your arms I'll house,

Your beats I'll hear...

Silently, sitting next to you, holding your hand into mine...

I'll breathe my last, 

I'll read my last words in a poem...

I'll dance my last, 

I'll kiss you last on your eyes -

which were my constant audience, and

my source of motivation for delivering performances,

Not good or great, but always exemplary...

For the one who made me a superstar,

....I'll dance the last dance of my life!!

(Written: 17.11.11)

Image Courtesy: Google Images

Blessed Release

We advance, He moves a step farther.

We solve, He raises the level.

We try, He shows a bright light.

We fight but finally, He calls it 'Over'.

He's the puzzle maker, the ruler, the refree.
The Hindu mythology puts it aptly, He's the Creator, the Manipulator and the Destroyer.

Mute Puppet mankind is, in His hands.

He's the one above religion, above spirituality.

Pleomorphic, Powerful and Omnipotent.

He's no 'Named God', no faith; yet the supreme authority.

For people he's called The Almighty, for me he's The Theory of Natural Selection, personified.

Everything is temporary...Life, Health, Happiness, Pain. The only thing certain is the end. The end of pain, the end of illness, the end of morbidity.


Context: One of my cousins, who had long been suffering from a progressive pulmonary disease succumbed to it, today.

We diagnosed it, symptomatically treated her, for there is no cure to the disease, yet. (As a Doctor, I feel crippled and worthless in such situations. And the very next moment, even more determined to do something to help alleviate such disability in the face of the 'unknown')

We prayed, optimized, put our faith into Gods. But, it was not in their hands too. The end was inevitable, under the control of the one who balances the universe.

For us, this is a loss, a heartbreak.
For her two sweet small primary-school going kids, this is a tsunami wreckage.
For the Nature, this is the daily routine.
And, for her soul, this is a blessed release...

R.I.P. Nidhi Didi

(12.12.11)

Barren

Barren lands I lay on, desolete, devastated;

Drenched in the puddle, had famine stricken eyes-

Closed, illusioning happiness still blanketed me;

blinding self to the shreds that now lay scattered,

where once lived my house of love.

Uprooted was the climber, we together had cultivated;

Clock had ceased it hands, called time;

The very foundation was no where to be found;

Deep in the heart, the rubbles had clotted-

refused to let it drain; eyes had come to rescue,

to sympathize with the crumbled backbone.

What if we had sown a tree, instead of a climber?

What if I had nurtured it with water, not blood?

What if I had not failed to sense it was coming?

Questions many I ask and answer,

Wounds many I harbour and bandage,

Prayers many I make and curse,

Hopes many I bead and live by

In the barren lands, lonely.

Accross the horizon, the sun shines bright;

It calls for me, promises me a new day;

Lending its hand, it wants me to stand;

Giving me sand, with architechture it helps;

Skies clear studded with stars are beautiful;

Night breeze wriggles and calms, it says;

Each dew drop on the flower is a magic;

Each shy smile on the lips is therapeutic;

New moon it makes me appreciate;

Only to be hurt, as the curves go down

with the remembrances of one such moon.

I go back to the pitch black nights,

the polar cold winds drag me back

to the barren desolete depressing lands.

Angry dark clouds hovered,

Loud lightening struck.

Scared, scarred, folded I weep

with the rains, in the rains.

Storms swelled, torrential rains washed

with hails that lashed and drops that caressed...

All within, the clots, the rubbles

it dissolved, drove and discarded.

Spring- it finally took me away;

With it, in its fragnant embrace;

Far, from the lands barren...

Far...into the castles on clouds...

(Written: 17.11.11)