poetry

at night, she shudders.
the crimson echo harbors the wind.
somewhere a grave is being robbed
and henchmen are wrenching the doors.
at night, the frivolous happens.
all beings are in the dark
as winter forms a playground of timid flakes.
somewhere the money is piling up.
the stock exchange is rising, falling.
night becomes our safe harbor
and the winds escalate to protect the interest rate.
if I had a hunch, I would know someone is watching.
over the city, the birds are crapping

We all have our crosses to bear,
our wars to wage,
our crusades to mount,
our paths to tread.
We all have our sins to absolve,
our forgiveness to seek,
our faith to keep,
our dreams to chase.
We all have our hearts to mend,
our regrets to release,
our prayers to ask,
our charity to give.
We all have our days to forget,
our promises to make,
our hopes to hold,
our futures to embrace.
We all have our debts to pay,
our karma to balance,
our love to offer,
our journeys to live.

As I look at the world
I see pain and heartache,
and dismay presses down,
it’s not the visible cuts that worry,
it’s the wounds we don’t see,
the ones we cannot lick,
that drag us down.
It’s the scars within,
the broken and misshapen
that corrupt the soul most,
these are the greatest sin,
though some may deny it,
we all have flaws,
it’s the invisible defects,
the cracks inside,
the world neglects,
when we swerve to deflect
untold sorrow and pain.
Some portray a polished facade,

Acrostically we ploughed the vineyard
And found
The taxman ingesting spleen.
Cautiously we then exported the ox
But the billabong
Rose like twin-tides.
Without… alms
We hit
Bed-rock.
In the Metropolis
It’s believed
‘People such as these’
Beg with wrists
Already
Severed.

It would seem, that, humans,
Too sensitive to deal with the harshness of life
Prefer to fly on clouds, even if temporarily
To make themselves believe
That existing can be made of goodness!
Opiates, making of them zombies,
Accrue! And selling lords, depending on these
Turn into millionaires, selfishly patting their stomachs
After each meal they pay themselves with the dependency of
These frail souls!
Why, would it be too much to see humans self-imbibed with faith
Regardless of however such may be presented, but,

Then Obama..
Now Trump
Empty rhetoric
War mongering
Any change in attitude?
The Whigs and Tories in UK
The UPA and NDA in India
The Awami league and BNP
Similar governments
Corruption! Scandals
No change in political system
West colonialism
Aggressive imperialism
And now, neo-feudalism
Are engulfing poorer nations!
No change in oppressions!
But, peoples struggles changed …
The Paris commune
The Chicago Haymarket struggle
The October Russian revolution

A poem for Lorca, Gauri, Santanu and all the other disappearing fireflies

(Sent to me tonight by my daughter.  The Saker) The Rhythm Of Time There’s an inner thing in every man, Do you know this thing my friend? It has withstood

Let's not extend it to an 'end'; your lips, thirty two barricades for my fleet
I once had whiskeys of your sigh, I had laughed off the ice
Beyond the border, two hundred lovers in order
Your desire for the garment martyred mine, my gun shot your soul thrice

She explained softly, quietly
to the Stranger listening patiently
upon the other end of the telephone line.
“I became a Ghost, trapped,
and destined to roam around,
inside the ruins of what my life had now become.
At first, I searched the horizon,
in every direction,
for a Beacon,
a Lighthouse to help steer my desolate course
away from the jagged rocks
which I had become soul-shipwrecked upon.
A distant Sail of Rescue did not come…
and as the weeks ground into months,