Go away, silly one

Go away, silly one, that don’t know of loss,

dub yourself loser, leave joker, laughter not here,

wailed a lady in crowd, all noise did pause,

now clad colourful, old black dresses didn’t smear;

I spoke, I lost but a dream, not living, loving soul,

came not to mourn or share, yet I do care,

gone days of joy, nights of sleep, dreams stole,

gone thunder, rain, rainbow and lighting’s glare;

what desert, as gone the sand beneath my feet,

gone breeze, even mighty sea without time to see,

gone sweet home, now a thorn, my last retreat,

no refuge, no place known to shelter, nowhere to flee;

innocence lost, ignorance cost, spoilt forecast, time flew fast,

gone courage, morals, little laurels, tears and laughter,

gone stories, movies, idle banter, carefree canter of past,

know not where all went, my life spent, grew softer;

pride, confidence, dreams gone with skill and wisdom,

never lost any near and dear, just lost an empty dream,

not compare losses, my misery trifle, akin to boredom,

you lost forever, loved ones, to death, time’s stream;

music, song, poems and prose scribbles died long ago,

forgot drinks, dinners, friends with just cigarette in hand,

didn’t love a soul, lost none, yet your grief with me grow,

despite troubles and sorrow, your feet planted firm on land;

for you love and so live, I merely forgive, you strive, you give,

give your thought and action calmly to those that remain,

those gone, a strong memory, you forever mourn and grieve,

parent, sibling, child or friend, leave void, stain uncleared by strain;

but folks enshrined in history to pavement dweller has to leave,

all love, except vile like me that can’t, from terrorist to rapist,

even I can’t deny being loved, a love that can’t be worn on sleeve,

gone sun, stars, days and nights, not the memory in our midst;

cherish memory with tears or laughter,

dead find lease in your memories, yet how long,

perish with you, you a memory, ones in your’s, lost chapter,

no matter, unsought immortality, till lasts hear love’s song;

Go away confused one, come when know what you want, what to say,

let us in peace pray, why without clarity or purpose, you here stray?

(This is partly done and shall be continued in future posts)

 

 

 

 

Darkest winter

Darkest winter night as I fumbled blind for weeds,

spent scorching days in passion and lazy fashion,

now as poison gripped I fight to nourish my seeds,

manured these weeds I fight, lured by false vision;

end near but had to happen sometime, why not now,

for haphazard toil not given a single fruit of worth,

late now to grow new as unbending time’s bow,

bleeding hands work feverishly to clear field henceforth;

pained for weeds I grew, my only kids and legacy,

why persevere to grow other legacies over mine,

just for the visitors’ unkind valuations, what idiocy,

for though longed flowers these thorns now I pine;

weeds bled with me cruel, this night without sight,

chasing to right perceived wrongs decided by might.

 

 

Ate Soul, hunger for fame

Ate soul, hunger for fame, well known name,

pained yet jumped for it shameless low,

not anymore, calm without regret, quit the game,

gained peace, sweet release, normalcy show;

cyberworld eased need for sharing,

does it matter, one view or a million,

for there is skill daring in soul baring,

when giants given space who deny minion;

truly free now, not just me but writings too,

joys galore to be had scribbling in reckless abandon,

now, alone relish bizarrely tasty stew I brew,

gentler winds in my world where nothing undone;

won’t believe there is great joy withdrawing from success,

yet there’ll be a day the world slows from Tokyo to Texas.

Truth be told

I started rhyming when I was ten to fourteen years old. I wrote only for myself and kept it as a secret from others. But my mom chanced upon it and I shrieked at lack of privacy and abandoned writing altogether. My brother supported me on this. Then a couple of years back almost after fifteen years I started this blog. Then too I scribbled verses for myself and dropped blogging for almost a whole year. Now I have taken up blogging again seriously. I blog for myself as an extension of myself. But if that alone were the case, I wouldn’t be ranting and raving like this. I have an ulterior motive to my blogging. It is no secret that most bloggers are wannabe writers.

I want to write and publish a novel and I have even experimented crafting the novel using the blog. It didn’t pan out or rather I shifted focus to other things that I can write a novel about. The latest effort has given two amazing chapters but I wait. I want to grow this blog to an extent they will be the primary consumers for my novel. I also want to compose publishing worthy poems.

In short I want this meaningless life to have some meaning and value with this blog. Bloggers tend to be impersonal and polite but I want to shatter all that. I want almost all my followers to buy and read my novel, something sometime in the next couple of years. I am working hard for it from now. Facebook and Twitter make no sense to me but I have to master it to promote this blog somehow.

I hurried up and posted a hastily crafted novel on Amazon kindle but did not promote it. For it was a genre fiction and run off the mill stuff. Now I realise that all stuff is in its way run off the mill and ordinary except for some rare gems. I aimed at producing that rarest of rare gem. But seeing the talent and quantity of the novels I quit that dream. It is a slugfest out there. My thirst for scribbling verses has been satiated by this blog. Similarly I want my thirst for writing novels to be satiated. I presume there must be places on the net where our novels can be showcased for free. But I want to earn not for the money but to call myself a serious writer.

I am too harsh when it comes to picking up a poem of mine for publication. I am too choosy to the extent of discluding all my works. Yet when I see other writers claiming published poems I desire it. The bug has bitten me too. I want to try and publish a poem. A site Vita Brevis even had a list of publications with high acceptance rates. But inertia takes hold of me when it comes to taking the next step. I convince myself that this blog is more than enough for all my ventures. I even had an young Adult fiction started and posted almost thirteen chapters in this blog before dropping it. That is why the completion of my rushed out novel meant much and I hurried the project in to obscurity.

I am thinking of taking out the novel from kindle and posting it here if I am sure that people would read it. But that isn’t the case and therefore I won’t do it. If there is a place where novel lovers come to read free books, I am sure there are such sites, I would post this novel in a jiffy. I also want to do book reviews in return for free books at least. But this is all plan and I would not act upon it easily. If I die today I would have left behind nothing in terms of work except this blog. This too doesn’t amount much as for as I am concerned. I want to make this blog at least mean something to me and others that I can die soon, hoping that a remnant of me that I can be proud of, lives in the form of this blog. I am not going to die that soon and I intend to publish a few poems and even a novel, all from the support and base of this blog.

I was an introvert turned extrovert who was pushed back in to being an introvert. I have literally nothing happening in my life. No relationships. Little to no friends, countable in fingers. I used to watch movies and read books before delving deep in to this blog. The blogging bug has bitten me that I am lost in it to the extent of not viewing movies or reading books. I hope it is for the better. Luckily not focused on my postings alone like when I started, I now immerse myself in the other people’s blogs that mesmerise me.

Happy blogging, I feel lighter for this share.

New Outlook

I, like the proverbial frog in a well, thought myself to be intelligent and good at writing, especially poems. Far too early I spied on other works and gleaned that they were far too superior. But I felt envy and rage and denial back then. Forgive me I am a child at heart, someone not grown in to an adult yet as my brother often pointed out. This time though when I came across brilliant verses I enjoyed it immensely. The aftermath was not envy or disappointment or self loathing instead it too was joy. I was overjoyed to have witnessed such beauty that springs from the human minds. I consider myself a novice or apprentice of sorts. For the new found joy some credit must go to the magic weavers who made me feel at home and welcome by their visits and encouragements to my humble verses.

It might not have anything to do with that at all. May be today I woke up on the right side of bed. What it was, was a new outlook on life.  I used to be the soul of a party. To us middle class Indians party means chugging a few drinks over the table or having a hearty dinner. Anyway friends loved me for I was an incredibly fun person. There was humorous banter and I didn’t mind and in fact did make myself intentionally the subject of simple minded laughter. But there must be people for there to be laughter. I was isolated except for limited company at odd times. In short I was alone. The school and college buses were gone. Gone the days of innumerable friends and endless joy. My friends now can be counted in my fingers. Life happened and made me lose touch with friends. I got down from the work bus after a very short time. That is about to change with the opening of my restaurant.

People especially my friends envy me for the carefree life I led devoid of a wife and family baggage. I too enjoyed even in my idleness using amazon prime and netflix for movies and libgen to get the fiction books I need. My writings though tend to cling on the sadness, spite and sufferings in my so called jolly life. For solitude and idleness took a toll. Yet all that might change from today. I might be moving slowly to my old chipper self. I might turn out to be the protagonist of the novel Goodbye Mr.Chips instead of becoming a grumpy old man.

All this positivity from the new outlook or rather gaining back my old self. Oh, to think that I of all people had turned in to a sort of a whiner even in the context of my writings. I still shall write sad verses but hope to do jollily so. If T.S Elliot’s take on the suffering mind and the creative self is true then let my writings be mediocre but I shall be happy. That was said to make a point but I intend to pursue writing and mastering the craft especially of poetry slowly but steadily. I don’t know what started my writing may be my shy nature and inability to be popular like my brother, may be was the reason I wrote for my eyes only, in the first place. Now I write, for I have to write. I write for writing’s sake. Like doing a crossword or  a sudoko puzzle for some. Writing verses gives me joy. But I also want the joy of sharing to encourage me more. That is why the blog has rekindled my writing after almost a couple of decades. I am just thirty seven but God I really feel old but not tired with the new outlook.

I am happy now and wishing the same for you guys. A new outlook was all that it took. Happy blogging.

 

Popular Novels to Read

Most of the novels mentioned here would have been read by a majority of folks. Yet you might have missed a few and the new and upcoming readers can benefit from this blog.

The God Father‘ by Mario Puzo is a cult classic. It is about the underworld or the American Mafia and a Don of old codes and values in a seemingly value less society.

The Sicilian’ another novel by Mario Puzo is about an Italian bandit in modern times.

The Fortunate Pilgrim’ by Mario Puzo is about a matriarch who steers her family in tough times.

Ayn Rand calls the philosophy objectivism and yet it is nothing varied from capitalism. Her two novels ‘The Fountain Head’ and ‘Atlas Shrugged’ are eye openers and transform you in to very strong advocates of Capitalism, Individualism and the other tenets like liberty that America stands for.

Jeffrey Archer novels can be picked up with confidence. They not only entertain but are definitive works on certain spheres. They inspire you to reach heights as reached by characters in his novels. ‘Kane and Abel’, ‘Fourth Estate’, ‘First among Equals’ and ‘Shall we tell the President’ are some of his engrossing works.

Sidney Sheldon is another popular author whom we can enjoy with ease. His ‘If tomorrow comes’ and ‘Rage of the Angels’ are some of his noteworthy novels.

Arthur Haley does meticulous research and doesn’t fail to add them all in his novels. His novels can be a means to get useful insider insights in to some niche areas. His ‘Hotel’, ‘Final Diagnosis’, ‘Wheels’, ‘Airport’ and ‘Evening News’ are all capable of transferring us in to the worlds of the businesses.

Irving Wallace writes novels with sensuality and his ‘Seven Minutes’ novel is the definitive novel against censorship.

‘The Prophet’ by Kahlil Gibran though a non-fiction work is a classic work with poetic language that delves on life in general.

I’ve made a post Classics Adored earlier that delves on English classic books one should read.

I’ll try to put book reviews of each of these novels in future blog posts. Please add your suggestions in the comments section.

Happy reading.

 

The Hum of the air conditioner

The hum of the air conditioner as it chilled,

the glow of the bright lengthy tube lights,

on my desk, clutter of things, mostly books spilled,

as I try conjure fake images of nature in my sights;

is it not what poets do? admire nature’s beauty,

I float in dream space directed by my inner nature,

a pile of work not done, for what is a poet’s duty,

to dream and write and dream above one’s stature;

does a poet add value to any, apart from himself,    

a true magician though, what trickery, what devices,

what worlds won and with what words he engulf,

what chasms bridged and a taste beyond the spices;

is rhyming verses a job and why poets live in penury, 

he is starving poor but not his dreams, rich in imagery.