I weep like the fishes

I weep like the fishes my tears invisible in the multitude of water drops,

I swim underwater, even when near, the shore invisible in warps.

I am shy and introverted. I fret over any mistakes by me in natural discourse with others.  Having been a couch potato for more than a decade I can’t do things that others do with ease.

I am lost in the presence of others,

unable to fly dead weight my feathers.

I can’t interact in meaningful dialogues with others. My talents remain hidden. I am banished to ignominy. I shall languish in emptiness and mediocrity for all of eternity.

times good and bad have come and gone,

yet that one true work of beauty is beyond reach torn.

The clocks chime, the puppeteers mime, the sailors sizzle in water and peasants furrow the land and yet I find them not alluring as they fail to inspire my words. Deep from my underbelly and from somewhere near my gut flow words but they are my own and not cause any ripple with others. Yet I scribble along to release the pressure that builds deep within me.

I write for me yet seek to find you and share thoughts

a beauty made from pains that you might enjoy of sorts. 

[ This short mixture of prose and poetry was inspired from the style of Shreya Vikram’s Blog ]

 

At times – haibun

At times I am one with the world. 

I’ve wondered what is it with nature and poets. Yet in the midst of trees short and tall or in the gentle caress of the waves I’ve felt at peace and an unusual calm and contentment. Our garden is an untamed green of trees and bushes. I cross it daily without a second glance. Even the fleeting gaze is beautiful. I can’t linger for if I am lost in nature folks would think I’ve gone crazy.

My Garden ever fine

why do you shy away from me thus

blushing like a bride. 

Familiar strangers

(All poems in school days’ Rhymes section were written in school days. This one is close to heart, reminiscent of that shy boy. Boys or girls, the shy have it hard. This poem was inspired by my reality, yet social consciousness and international Amity are underlying. )

Mysterious is the lure of the past,
though all early memories were lost,
when saw her the other day,
memories long forgotten held sway;

knew each other, yet none seemed to bother,
been together, seldom spoken,
this one of my dream wing’s many feather,
so many then, to rule heart no single Queen;

a heart wide as sky, needs many to lean,
when together under same roof,
learning lessons of life, was aloof,
wall between, to break, not too keen;

being shy, unheard went heart’s cry,
takes time to open wings and fly,
in full flight my magnificence seen,
yet what girl has patience to be so keen;

inhibitions posed many an obstacle,
which together might have been a tackle,
crushes last long than love, in end all lost,
forgotten such passion of the past;

at horizon, the sky and the sea,
so close they seem, yet so far apart,
so is the case of people’s heart,
of same roots, yet towards war glee;

like blades of same scissors,
cause each other pain and tears,
unwanted are these brothers,
for humanity and love who cares;

to deal with unknown strangers,
may possess several dangers,
but confusing the presence,
of familiar strangers;

heart yearns unity to go to past glory,
who knows what ends the sad story.

Selfish Giant

What weird puzzle to try,
a stone or a heart ran dry,
self possessed, deaf to others’ cry,
in a selfish world thoughts fly;

suspicious, self piteous, stupid, shy,
revolting civilization and society’s pry,
frustrated by routine and common fry,
still the need to share strongly weigh;

unheard is the heart’s stammer,
unseen the glow of the new moon,
giggling at the thoughtless murmur,
fun filled invisible shadow at noon;

unable to learn world’s grammar,
is giant’s thoughts thorns in dune.

Brave Heart

(All poems in the school day’s rhymes were written between the age of 13 and 16 and were meant to be a secret, a secret which later came to light. The following was written at 13 and isn’t exactly a poem, but the guilty confusions of the shy child about its nature and societal values as recorded by the child at that age. In fact poetry to the child was a code language it used to keep its secret safe from the prying eyes of others.)

The childish heart so tame,
the innocence, ignorance became;
a chink when grown to make lame
once bright enough to play life’s game;

broke all rules, none to blame,
then nothing was ever the same,
grew selfish, evil thoughts came,
conscience gone, never feel shame;

too much evil to frankly proclaim,
sinking in the flood like a dame,
even after death, sins too harsh to name,
not in fear of losing, if so, any fame;

but to prevent falsify love, life’s true claim,
betraying trust of loved one’s sublime,
yielding to pressures, pleasures of crime,
the guilty feeling unhealed by time;

confused possessive feelings, affection to slime,
unique morals and ethics its frame,
chasing mad impossible dream,
yet a brave heart to defy world’s scream;

the romantic ideas about crime,
to the flesh of my blood the flame,
the morals lost in the flooded stream,
alone, solitude, what pain and flame;

cunning and subconscious team,
to defeat nobility for sinister scheme,
to pull others my kind, kill them, affections gleam,
the motions of mind to actions beam;

till then no harm done, proper all seem,
but after that, its ethic couldn’t justify or redeem,
the irresistible evil sweetness of the cream,
when fed up grew bitter like neem;

cowardice,hypocrisy and villainy stem,
from need for love and devil’s whim,
and available true beauty near him,
bleeding heart is with sins to brim;

drowning heart, unable destination, stops swim,
murderous mind with glamour of crime, slim;
loving heart, source of happy and sad days dim,
angry, final march, crime revealed, shame;

strange message, heart more sad, agony’s prime,
felt need to pacify likes of them,
resolved none shall be helpless,
will hedge myself to help them climb.

Laughter’s Son

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Resources of mind, soul and body drain,
mental laziness renders the creative pond dry,
I find no drop to fill however hard I try,
no spark of lightning, no hope for rain;

I move dead slow with tortoise brain,
never I come out of shell, I am shy,
but at times I let inhibitions fly,
I lie low, never serious, ever in playful vein;

I enjoy life and all is fun,
and I seem so to those around,
away from the pond I run,
to escape the ridicule of the hound;

I’ve chosen to be laughter’s son,
so I silence the inner sound.