Category: Poem

Word Salad

Fresh, raw and undiluted,
each bite tastier than the one before.
He custom-made it to fit, like a hand in a glove,
into all situations and circumstances I find myself.

With each mouthful, it penetrates my heart;
enjoyable, fearsome and fierce,
it always strikes a chord or two within my essence-
the treasured gold hidden in the earthen vessel.

I’m left uncomfortable with the status quo,
so there’s a yearning, and a rattling too,
a rumbling that exudes with zeal never before found.

The weak are strengthened, and
the runners motivated to race committedly.
On the long run, Desire pants
but the coolness of the taste revives again.

Ever complete, ever nutritous,
Ever powerful, ever beneficial,
the inner one which was once merely existing,
now lives.

The Aftermath

A sickness to my marrows, a sorrow to my soul,
Initially sweetness in my mouth, now bitterness in my bellies.
It’s a struggle and I’m not alone in it, but
the company I keep, I’m better off without.
‘I must get out of this rigmarole’, I cry, challenging myself with my self-induced pep talk

I try climbing out, ever slowly, never surely, clinging desperately
to the slippery borders of the Valley of Despair I find myself in.
By sheer exertion and willpower, I fool myself into believing
that I’m making net progress, no matter how little, but
I soon lose my footing, for the umpteenth time and I come
crashing down, hitting rock bottom, again.

Suddenly, it dawns on me, the sun’s countenance smiles on me.
With a flash of discretion, I discover that it is not in me to deliver myself.

I’m now tired- with the situation, and with myself
I’m tired, bleeding all over, but even in my full strength,
on a good day, I’d still be found wanting

I am down to my knees in my ultimately lowest point, and
I shout- Your Name

There is silence.
I consider throwing in the towel,
thinking, at least, it was worth the try, then
Thunders come crashing like cymbals hit by a drummer in a frenzy,
Lightnings come striking in a beautiful wonder,
The earth is quaking and out of the skies, The Ladder descends to me.

The choice is mine: with my last ounce of strength, I touch
the first rung of The Ladder.
Nothing happens.
Then I blink and everything happens
I see myself translate from Darkness into unfathomable Light,
I wallowed in self-pity in the company of strugglers,
Now, I’m in a wide, spacious open place, where
the grasses are carefully manicured, the evergreen trees evenly spaced,
A picturesque backdrop of mountain and hills mingling with
the graceful showering of dew, Gentle rivers meander through
their course like a ballet dancer, before cascading down the
magnificient waterfalls.
With hot tears streaming down my face, I mutter, ‘I’m free!’

Found!

The emptiness is all gone,
taking a French leave like Darkness at the scent of light,
which shines so brightly, such that
Purpose cannot cover her nakedness no more

Let Nothing weigh me down, ’cause I’m buoyant now
Upwards in the sky, I float, my head above the waters
Gloating over all my fears that are no more, flushed
away in the Sewers of Nought.
I can touch the skies, I can touch the earth
Like the hands of the clock when it’s on the hour of six

Moving hills, moving mountains,
Moving stars, moving galaxies
It’s in me, I’m just waiting,
waiting to bring it all out.

v 2.0

‘Good, Better, Best,
I will never rest
until my Good is Better
and then my Better Best’

With time, personal records are broken, explosively
shattered into pieces as though they were China glasswares.
Awards and trophies are thrashed, nonchalantly
dumped on the ashheaps of life, existent only in memories.
That is Life, in its characteristically illogical fairness,
stubbornly unrepentant in its dealings with one and all.
Rewarding all: the discipline, the dedications and the pains
that reaching the unbroken and untouched took.

With time, the top of the game is attained and made one’s own.
At the pinnacle, the last rung of the ladder, it is heard in hushed tones
‘Nothing left to conquer’, the mind sadly mutters, finding it difficult
to accept that the taskmaster is now content with zero returns.
Left alone, the hero becomes seduced by success, who turns
his head, till he sees eye to eye with failure.

With time, the Best would eventually be bettered
‘By who?’- The timeless question that continually echoes
through the very essence of time itself:
the Best bettering himself;
or others giving a helping hand.
But the initial drive is no longer on seat and in exile,
the glowing coals of passion are finally extinguished.
Gain, and maybe greed, pokes the intuitive inner third eye.
Unemotionally cold and savagely inhuman,
they grin at the ensuing darkness within.

With time, the forgotten, like shadows in the early morning sun,
are remembered to be forgotten.
But when none except one is forgotten, in blind justice
why shouldn’t all be forgotten?
Like hitting on the reset button and kicking hard against the milestones,
Restarting the missions all over, so refreshing for the vision of old.
Update, and upgrade the drive, so passion burns unhindered within
As a beacon for posterity-
The Grammy winning swansong…

‘Good, Better, Best,
I will never rest,
until my Good is Better
and then my Better Best’

Crosswords Remix – Another Poem.

Marks, unremovable and permanently etched in gold,
On my heart they lay,
despite the years of experience
Serving as reminders of what was, what is
Or maybe what should have been –
the Dream you don’t remember.

Peering into the future, I see it,
yet not as you do.
Eyes turned inside out,
closely examining what my mind has missed

Far away, however,
something else might have clicked within
Only that it was totally expected,
never for once out of character

Life is full of choices,
and no one has to remain the doormat
Unless, of course,
it is the ultimate test for faithfulness

Whichever way, whatever is yours,
would always come back to you.
A word, they say,
is enough for the wise

Crossword – A Poem

Yet again, as I continually
discover myself to be, always
Aware that I’m lost again
for the exact words to express my thoughts
Now they flutter,
sometimes in my head, sometimes in my heart
Maybe if I’m patient enough, I’d get
to taste and feel the flow
In the surreal, however,
they are quite vivid and real
Fair enough, I must struggle within myself,
searching with the light of hope, thinking,
‘Even if the words are few,
once found, they would amount to much’