The Hourglass

The most profound ideas of the day come to mind in the toilet because they are worthy of being flushed out of the system at the earliest.

Why does the sands of time
drips so slowly, and then
the hourglass turns?
Why can’t time remain at
standstill as we mourn
the scores that departed
to the unknown shores?
do you hear the blood curdling
howls of the hyenas circling,
to rip the coffins before
the bodies are cold?
the vampires do not dread
the light anymore,
ready to suck the blood
as life goes out.
as we mourn, somewhere else
a life mortgaged to luxuries
while living, slowly ebbs,
and street dogs stand in
guard of honour
for the one who has no home.
the sands of time drips ever so slowly,
and the hourglass turns,
as we mourn.


featured image from pixabay

What Matters to Me – Random Ramblings

I was walking with my dog .Skooby, today morning.  It was a beautiful morning, a cool breeze blowing, a clear sunny California day.  It was not a long walk, about two miles.  As I was walking, the idea of a poem was sprouting in my mind.  I could clearly see the words floating in front of my eyes.  I decided to write the poem down as soon as I reached home.  Alas, once I reached home and sat down to write, I realized my beautifully arranged words were no longer lining up as beautifully and now all jumbled up. I opened my smartphone and was disappointed as it turned out not to be smart but dumb.  The dumb phone failed to record my thoughts.  What good is its smartness for?  Now I was forced to rely on my old, failing memory instead of the smart memory of my phone.  Well, to make a long story short, the poem did not turn out to be as beautiful as I envisioned.  But rest assured, though it may sound to be a rambling one, I did not have a single iota of malice in my mind towards anyone.  Not even to the one whose statue would never be erected to adorn any significant public square anywhere in the world to be toppled by future protesters.  In fact I am indebted to him for being the inspiration of the poem.

 

When did it come to this,

The choice of

Six feet apart, or

Six feet under

Became valid?

We became afraid

To cough in public,

But OK to fart,

Louder the better,

No infection danger.

When did it become the norm

To wear mask in public,

But wearing hijab is

Still wrong?

And those in denial

Justifying their refusal

To wear mask,

Proclaiming their freedom of choice,

When it become OK

To knowingly infect others?

And that’s not a crime?

Are these the same

Who indignantly proclaim

Their rights to bear arms?

Reasoning guns don’t kill

People do,

Now will they say

People do not infect,

Corona does?

We are all so scared of 

The truth,

And embrace

All the fake news.

As long as the 

Chief protagonist

Butters our toasts

It’s OK.

Toasts may get

Burnt black,

Who cares,

As all life matters

But it is difficult to say

Black life matters, because

All does not include black.

Sometimes I wonder,

Who created white and black,

Blue and brown?

Blue blood,

Never seen one.

If ever I see the almighty

I do plan to ask.

But which one?

All the children of the books

Profess only to their one.

If even I dare to say

I do pray,

But not to the one 

You or you do,

I shall be 

Consigned to hell.

Spokesperson who hijacked

The words of the

All merciful,

May say

Off with my head,

If I dare to doubt.

I prefer my neck

On my head.

Neither do I prefer

To go to hell,

Not that what they are making

This earth is

Any better.

Peace be on you all

If I dare say,

But whose peace? 

Oh, how I digress

For whatever it counts

To me,

Black lives matter,

Lives of the repressed matter,

Lives of the discriminated matter,

Lives of the oppressed matter,

Lives of the persecuted matter,

And yes, All lives matter.

Guns do kill,

As Covid kills,

As people kill,

As lies kill.

And I want my freedom

To cough in public,

Even hidden behind 

The mask.

No, not to infect.

I don’t relish the thought

To fake

And fart

To hide my cough.

 

Red is the color of blood

Four preachers came to the square today,
With followers in tow and scriptures in hands,
They came to spread the message of peace
Preaching peace but hearts full with venomous hate.

With unwavering faith in their scriptures and in supremacy of their creators,
They spoke of harmony but stuck to their own studied faiths,
The city was burning fueled by division, its citizens at risk,
Blind followers’ rants heat up the atmosphere, citizens afraid.

Suddenly what went wrong no one knew, chaos ensued,
Amid pushing and shoving, fisticuffs and stabbings, mayhem reigned,
When the preachers were thrown to the ground, no one saw,
Crushed under the feet of the crowd, they cried out for help, as the stampede grew. 

Nurtured back to health with expert treatment and needed blood transfusion,
The preachers prayed to the Lords of their faiths in humble submissions,
Taking the name of their creators constantly, they offered their salutations,
Praising the physicians for their dedication, inquired about those who gave them life with blood donations.

Humbly replied the doctors, serving humanity without division is our religion,
Neither Christians nor Jews, nor Hindus nor Muslims here,
Knew not who donated blood, nor whose blood flow in veins of yours,
Black, white or brown, American, African, Asian or Mexican, unknown were the donors.

Only one thing is certain, an absolute truth, blood has no religion,
The blood that flows in your veins, same flows in everyone’s, that you also know.
It’s neither white nor brown nor black,
Red is the only color of blood.

The Hidden Pain

the pain drips slowly

as the words flow smooth
deep down is solace
things will change
may be for the better
while remaining same
serenly flows the river
hiding pent up frustration
till the banks overflow
mayhem ensues
words do not soothe anymore
alter of greed
to be cleansed
by blood of the innocents
while Nero fiddles
everything burns
sychophants out in hordes
looking for scapegoats
years change as do
place and time
alas, everything remains
the same
the river flows serene
carrying in its bossom
the hidden pain
Till it erupts

Divide Artificial – “One-Liner Wednesday”

This post is in response to Linda’s  #1OneLinerWednesday.

As I was walking my dog Skooby today morning, a few lines of a poem was churning in my head.  Normally I will sit down at my PC or jot down in my mobile whenever such things happen but I did not have recourse to any one of those today.  Can’t rely on old memory too much now a days. By the time I sat on my PC, what remained is just one line of the poem. So before I forget, here is to One Liner Wednesday

Race is the cement,
color of skin sand,
language aggregates,
concrete to nationality steel,
building the dividing wall of religion
keeping us apart
while the river of love
from time immemorial
flows with the color of blood,
RED.

Earth, neither Hell nor Heaven

Neither afraid of hell,
Nor enamored of heaven,
I am that fallen angel
Whose wings were cut,
Sent down as punishment
To mend,
To break my free spirit,
Make me toe the line.

Oh, how I love
Where I am!
I soar with the eagles,
Hunt with the hawks,
Roam with lions,
Go where angles
Fear to go.

For ages they have tried
In vain to throttle my voice,
Maimed, tortured, killed,
Took out my tongue,
Broke my hand.

But my spirit,
That free spirit
Remained free.
Not afraid to dream,
Not afraid to soar.

For every drop of blood that fell,
Thousands of free spirits were born.
Shut down one and another would roar.
Neither fear of hell,
Nor indebtness to heaven
Will keep us shackled,
Afraid we are not,
For we are the free spirits
Born to soar.

Neither hell nor heaven
Can take away our love.
This earth is the one we have,
This earth is the one we dearly hold,
Will fight for her with all we have.
Succeed we will, perish we will not.

Blood on their Hands

Behind the hearty laughter
Lurked depression sinister
As everyone looks for an answer
After the terrible disaster
What were the missed signs
Was this part of a design
There would be a moment of silence
As authorities practice the ritual dance
Debating where to put the blame
As if this one, like others, just a game
Do not blame the weapons, it’s the person
Weapons are fine, even in hands of little one
They need to learn how to shoot a gun
Hunting deer or duck with AR15 is fun
Looking for a way to curb automatic weapons
Stooges and lackeys are afraid of NRA’s venom
Lip service aplenty they will provide
As another group of kids lose their lives
All hail to second amendment, constitution is sacrosanct
Money talks, as politicians hide with blood on their hands

Crimson Crown

The streets are empty now, mourners have gone home
Lonely flower bouquets keeping each other company
Street lamps casting their lights as shadows roam
Here and there a few walk around drunkenly

What a lovely day it was full of laughter and hope
People milling around happily, sun shining through
A few shady characters trying to sell some dope
As I saw her coming down the street, my hope grew

She came with open arms and thousand roses bloomed
Her rosy cheeks and radiant smile filled my heart with joy
Never did I realized my love was to be short lived and doomed
In my imagination, she was more beautiful than Helen of Troy

Single red rose I offered she accepted with glee
Hand in hand we walked enjoying the day
Oblivious to the world around us, our spirits free
Ready to face the unknown future, come what may

When it came it came with a bang, no one expected
Peace was shattered, sun hid its face, the street exploded
Loud bang followed by deadly silence was all that remained
Blood and bones scattered everywhere, as chaos reigned

Amidst the ruins I looked for my love, where my joy has gone
Stem of the red rose bereft of its petals was the only memento I found
Heart filled with grief, bracing myself to a pole, looked up at the setting sun
Red rose petals mixed with gold blazed like a crimson crown


This poem is in response to Jane Dougherty’s A Month (November) with Yeats Challenge day Seven