Sunday, June 12, 2011

Peek-a-boo life

Arms up, in full guard;
this the peek-a-boo way.

Looking through the gorge
between the two, the only
brothers you can depend on;
not to wait for that flinch,
or a twitch to land a jab,
or a hook in good taste.

It is just to save the
'kind eyes' from turning black;
only the relentless gloves I see,
already red from many a spots.

Pure plain peek-a-boo style,
sans the knock-out drills.

(A lesson for life from boxing: It worked well even for Iron Mike Tyson in the ring before he forgot his coach Cuz’s "fail-proof" tactic and was knocked out, in life! But Peek-a-boo style does keep one away from a lot of complications...)

Friday, June 10, 2011


Hope in!
The missing links maketh your day,
filling your hours with hope.
And hope drives the universe.

Father figure
The going was tough, but,
the tough was falling around him,
and they Baptized him Father!

Vain blood
An old man at the frontier;
where are the young n brave?
Oh, they bled Blue to death in vain!

Armful Cancer!
Armed rebellion against cancer!
We can't let you amputate
our mother, ye modern sage...

Hold on
Intriguing, the air is still;
for the whole nation holds its breath,
Democracy is in labour tonight.

A nation built on hope, blood and sweat. The fluttering tri-colour -- a dream of the Father of the Nation and the thousands who laid down their lives and the millions who made sacrifices -- is in danger of becoming a nightmare.
A man from that long-lost “age of national pride” has come forward though, to keep the Indian dream alive. But the young are lost in their own little world of self importance, while the nation bleeds and rots. And another “Saviour” tries to cut our Mother to pieces – Armed rebellion!
I see my brothers and sister doubting Democracy and doubting our constitution, the backbone of our nation. These are dangerous times. It’s time we acted and acted boldly.

Friday, June 03, 2011

Morning Raga

She begins her worship
of the holy cradle, her hearth
and the source of manna,
in the only way she knows.

Her limited access-key to the
vocal chambers is enough for her
fresh soul to render flawless emotions
in a flowing, free-versed Raga
that tickles a mother
- smiling with pride and joy.

She leans on her plush throne,
while morning glows in her sunshine song.

(My neighbour’s baby's song I wake up to these days...)