Title of the Book: UNKNOWN HORIZONS
Name of the Author: PRAVEEN KUMAR
Address: GB, HAYES HALL, HAYES ROAD,
BANGALORE-560 025 (Karnataka, INDIA)
E-Mail: pryveen@yahoo.com
pryveen@gmail.com
Phone: 080-41125309
Mobiles: 9901979567 / 9945336849
Click Here For E-Mail
Year of Publication: 1991
Subject: MY POEMS
Esteemed Dedication To JAYASHREE, My Wife
Praveen Kumar is a senior Police Officer
with the Kamataka Police. Apart from
Unknown Horizons, he has also authored and published
four volumes of verse – Portraits Of Passion, and
Love And Pride in English, Divya Belaku
and Bhavana in Kannada, and Policing The Police, and
Policing For The New Age, two treatises on
the Police and Policing.
Born in Mangalore, Praveen Kumar
graduated in Science from St. Aloysius College,
Mangalore, going on to obtain a
post-graduate degree in Literature from Mysore
University. He also holds post-graduate
diplomas in Business Management and
Cooperation. In his student days he was also a
prize-winning orator and writer and shares an
active interest in interior decoration with his
wife, Smt. Jayashree. He has also appeared on
literary programmes on Doordarshan - Kavi
Sammelana and Sanchaya and interviewed several
times by different TV channels as a Poet and Police
Officer.
Stemming from his varied academic
background, are the lively far-ranging Interests
that have impelled him to write on subjects as
diverse as police procedure and poetry, striking
the perfect balance between the pursuance of
vocation and avocation.
UNKNOWN HORIZONS
(Poems In English)
THERE IS AN ELEMENT OF DELIGHT AND SURPRISE
THROUGHOUT. THE POET IS AWARE OF THE WONDERFUL
WORLD OF NATURE AND OF MAN. SO HE IS ABLE TO EMPLOY
TELLING IMAGES TO PORTRAY HIS INNER FEELINGS OF
BEAUTY AND LOVE.
DR. M. GOPALAKRISHNA ADIGA
PORTRAITS OF PASSION
(Poems In English)
PRAVEEN KUMAR IS A POET, A PROLIFIC WRITER
AND A SENIOR POLICE OFFICER IN ONE.THE GENTLE
PASSIONS OF A POET, INTELLECTUAL ATTRIBUTES
OF A CREATIVE WRITER AND HARDIHOOD OF A
POLICE ADMINISTRATOR HAVE SPLICED TOGETHER
IN HIS LITERARY CREATIONS.
BHAVANA
(Poems In Kannada)
THE WORK IS A BUNCH OF LILTING POEMS IN EASY, INTIMATE
AND COSY KANNADA. THEY ARE THE REVERIES OF A TRAINED
AND CRITICAL MIND OF A MATURE POET WITH AN OBSERVING
AND PENETRATING EYE AND SHARP SENSITIVITY TO THE
WORLD AROUND.......THE CANVAS FOR HIS 62 SHORT PIECES
/OF POETRY IS THE WHOLE GAMUT OF HUMAN LIFE, ITS
CHARMS AND BEAUTY..... AND IS HIGHLY ENJOYABLE.....
THERE IS ALSO A BOUQUET OF THE ECSTATIC WORLD OF
LOVERS AND ROMANCE.
THE HINDU
DIVYA BELAKU
(Poems In Kannada)
METAPHORS AND WORLD IMAGERIES, REPLETE WITH RHYME
AND RHYTHMIC FELICITY HERE FILL AND SPILL IN ALL
DIRECTIONS; THEY FLY, FLOAT AND DANCE AND ULTIMATELY
GO STILL TO ECHO WITHIN TIME AND AGAIN (Translated from
Kannada).
DR. SHIVARAMA KARANTHA
POLICING FOR THE NEW AGE
(Essays on Police)
THE LANGUAGE IS FLOWERY.....THERE IS A NEED TO
APPRECIATE HIS RUTHLESS EXPOSURE OF THE
CRIMINALISATION OF POLITICS AND THE POLITICISATION OF
THE POLICE... HIS TREATISES ON DOWRY DEATHS AND
THEIR INVESTIGATION AND ON POLICE DOGS ARE
CHARACTERISTICALLY THOROUGH AND SOUND MERITING
UNIVERSAL ATTENTION.....THERE IS NO DOUBT THAT THE
AUTHOR WHO HAS ALREADY ACQUIRED A REPUTATION AS
A POET IS A HIGHLY SENSITIVE AND CULTURED PERSON.
THE HINDU
POLICING THE POLICE
(Essays on Police)
A POLICE officer and a prolific writer, Praveen Kumar, has published
another anthology ……….in the form of this book.……… "Policing the police" acquires more relevance today in the context of the criminalisation of not just politics, but of the services as well……….Coming as a sequel to his earlier book Policing for the New Age, the author chooses to describe policemen as "social doctors" and policing as a "surgical operation to systematically remove cancerous growths from the body of society”.
THE HINDU
Praveen Kumar is not only an upright police officer but also a poet and a prolific writer.……..Policing the Police—an analytical Study of the philosophy and field dynamics of the policing in practice highlight various problem areas including defective selection and recruitment,unsound training and unhealthy job culture and identifies likely solutions for its redemption.
DECCAN HERALD
Praveen Kumar gives an insight into the Indian police set-up and analyses the problems of the department, with interesting illustrations from the field.
Mr Kumar's book is a departure from the routine, where he not only analyses
the problems, but also suggests solutions.
THE ASIAN AGE
The author expresses concern over sycophants climbing the ladder and reaching the top to hold the reins and guide the destiny of the police. The result — a spiritless culture created by incompetent leaders…….Policing the police involves self-policing. Through the book, the author has made an honest effort to throw some light on the state of affairs of Indian police.
THE TIMES OF INDIA
A police officer unravels his profession.
INDIA TODAY
Policing with a cause. Policing The Police by Praveen Kumar.…….delves deeply on this core aspect of policing and lays bare the Indian Police setup, sheath by sheath………He interprets police and policing through the prism of a poet’s sensibilities.
THE HINDUSTAN TIMES
PUBLISHED WORKS OF PRAVEEN KUMAR
Books
a) English writings 1) POLICING FOR THE NEW AGE (MAY 1992)
2) POLICING THE POLICE (JANUARY 2000)
b) English poems 1) UNKNOWN HORIZONS (JULY 1991)
2) PORTRAITS OF PASSION (MARCH 1997)
3) LOVE AND PRIDE (2002 IN WEB)
c) Kannada poems 1) DIVYA BELAKU (JULY 1991)
2) BHAVANA (DECEMBER 1993)
Articles
a) The Hindu (Open Page)
1) INDIAN POLICE AT A CROSSROADS (6-6-1995)
2) INTERNAL SECURITY- CHALLENGES AND APPROACH (8-8-1995)
3) INDIAN POLICE: TIME TO TAKE TOUGH DECISIONS (19-9-1995)
4) WHAT AILS PROFESSIONAL POLICING IN INDIA? (2-1-1996)
5) NEED TO LIBERATE LAW ENFORCERS FROM UNHOLY ALLIANCES (2-4- 1996)
6) ROLE OF POLICE IN THE RECONSTRUCTION OF INDIA (18-6-1996)
7) WHERE THEIR LOYALTIES LIE… (27-8-1996)
8) CAUGHT IN THE VICIOUS CIRCLE OF CORRUPTION (15-10-1996)
9) POLICE STRUCTURE NEEDS THE MANAGEMENT TOUCH (31-12-1996)
10) POLICE & HUMAN RIGHTS – DOES END JUSTIFY MEANS? (18-3-1997)
11) RESTORING CREDIBILITY TO CRIME INVESTIGATION (24-6-1997)
12) WHAT AILS THE INDIAN SECRET POLICE (9-9-1997)
13) POLICE UNPROFESSIONAL (20-1-1998)
14) LAW AND JUSTICE (23-6-1998)
15) POLICE MORALE ERODED BY POOR ADMINISTRATION (8-9-1998)
16) TIME TO IMPROVE THE QUALITY OF CIVIL SERVICE (2-3-1999)
QUALITY OF CIVIL SERVICE (19-3-1999) : letter to the Editor
as answer to UPSC response in THE HINDU dated 16-3-1999.
b) The Indian Express (Editorial Page)
1) QUOTA SYSTEM CAN WEAKEN CIVIL SERVICE (6-6-1995)
2) EMPOWERING THE CBI (10-7-1997)
c) Deccan Herald (Sunday Supplementary)
1) TOWARDS SANE SERVICE (2-7-1995)
2) LACKING VIGOUR (6-7-1997)
3) PROFESSIONAL PRIDE OF THE POLICE (28-9-1997)
4) NEED TO REVITALISE THE POLICE (23-11-1997)
5) FOR GOOD GOVERNANCE (11-11-2001)
d) The Times Of India
1) THE GUN STILL SPEAKS (21-10-1995)
e) Alive (Focus)
1) CRIME, POLITICS AND POLICE (FEBRUARY 1996)
2) CRIMINALISATION OF POLICE (JANUARY 1997)
3) THE INDIAN POLICE : MALADIES AND REMEDIES (SEPTEMBER 1998)
4) THE CRUMBLING STEELFRAME OF INDIA (NOVEMBER 1998)
5) KASHMIR: THE CORE ISSUE OF NATIONHOOD (FEBRUARY 2002)
f) IJCC
1) INVESTIGATION OF DOWRY DEATH CASES (1996 – 3)
2) INDIAN INTERNAL SECURITY BUILDUP (1998 – 4)
TV appearances
a) Interviewed
1) Sanchaya (Bangalore DD) on 8-6-1992
2) Sanchaya (Bangalore DD) on 22-8-1994
3) Parichaya (Udaya TV) on 16-3-2000
b) Presenting Poems
1) Sanchaya (Bangalore DD) on 12-9-1989
2) Kavi Sammelana (Bangalore DD) on 17-10-1990
National Events
a) National Seminar
1) Political Reforms in India (centre for Policy Research & BU) on
20-3-2002
FOREWORD
It has been a wonderful experience reading through the
one hundred and eight poems of Shri Praveen Kumar Urva. The
first reaction of mine to his request that I should write a fore-
word for the collection was one of surprise at my being chosen
for the task. My pretensions to literary skills being next to
nothing, I even wondered, if a healthy young man in a very
responsible job should permit himself this profligacy or the
indulgence of writing poetry. But knowing him. as I do, to be
unique, in a sense, I ventured to accept the challenge-if only
to probe the psyche of the author. I can straight away say
that 1 have been rewarded.
A quick run through of the titles of the poems would
convince anyone that the author's interests are as wide-
ranging as life itself. His verbal skill and felicity of expression
are admirable. With a rich vocabulary which includes freque-
ntly words and phrases not in general currency he is able to
weave patterns of evocative thoughts and impressions with
sweet cleverness. Free verse though it might be, it has all
the charm and engaging character of the best of traditional
poetry. Though the author denies inspiration from elsewhere,
particularly from other well known authors-one can discern
echoes of some of the best in the field.
Greatness, they say, does not consist in experience, but
the capacity for experience. What a blessing will it be if it
were to be topped by the ability to verbalise that experience !
The author is verily blessed, in this sense. I might quote a
portion of one of his poems in illustration :
"What brings those hues to youthful glows,
What brings those shapes to enchanting slopes,
What brings gentleness to graceful love,
What brings that beauty to the width of the sky,
To the height of hills and depth of seas,
To the shapes of clouds, to the moods of men
In liquid ease and endless abundance
That no more the world is what it is made of,
But, a celestial charm of unknown depth."
(From 'Who Created This Beautiful World ?')
I have enjoyed reliving the variegated moods and experi-
ences of the author in all the poems. What started as a quest,
in my case, to grasp the core of the author's being-exhilarating
though it was, did not end in my fully understanding the
author, who still remains an enigma.
Shri Praveen Kumar Urva has arrived. 1 am confident the
literary world cannot afford to ignore him any longer.
A. R. SRIDHARAN
Director General of Police
and Member, Karnataka
Administrative Tribunal,
Bangalore
INTRODUCTION
The great poet Robert Frost while talking about
poetry, said that poetry 'takes life by the throat'. Poetry
is the art of capturing life in words. It is not just the ken
of life. but a direct realisation of the life. It is an exercise
of subconscious, concinnous interpretations of the life that
intensely surface through the conscious awareness. Ergo,
readers must experience poems through subconscious
exercises to capture the intensity of the life, hotting up in a
poetry. No conscious nisus and analyses can lead one any-
where in fully realising the inner arcane treasure of beauty
and meanings hidden in the poetry. Nor any other person can
do the work for a reader of poerty. Appreciation of poetry
involves the reader tuning his subconscious perceptions to
receive the poet's subconscious signals through the juste
milieu of the poetry. A poet can transmit his experience
of shock of pleasure or grief directly to his reader sans its
conscious awareness in both. The incantation is cast through
the selection and articulation of words, not only in their word
meanings, but also in the synergy of word rhythms, word
musics, word pictures, word forms and oblique word hues and
shades in the poetry. No avizefull efforts can do the magic
either in writing poetry or in appreciating it to the level of
a well-trained subconscious exercise in the Unknown Hori-
zons of the mind. All avizefull exercises of poetic criticism
are for this reason, badly limited.
Though poetry is about what affected the poet most inte-
nsely, it is possible that he may not algate be consciously
aware of all meanings and their oblique hues in his poem
although his subconscious mind excercised on all aspects ol
the poetry in its parts and in its entirety. The poet. T.S.
Eliot was once asked by a student to explain the meaning of
one of his poems. The great poet responded to the student by
reading the poem and said no more. The same student made
the request encore to which T. S. Eliot read the poem encore
and fell silent, ipso facto delivering the vital message of
a true poetry that poetry cannot be restated in a form other
than more suo without poetic distortions.
The raison d'etre of poetry is the pleasure of the shocks
of discovery about the life. It is the fraicheur of thoughts
in poetry that endears it to its readers; it is the intensity,
the undivided attention with which the poet experiences the
deja vu that warms up a poetry to its readers; it is the
concentration of thought and feelings which brood to beauty
and rich shades of meaning in poetry. The art of writing
poetry is the process of gradual release of the shocks of
coalesced thought and feelings in relaxed contemplative leisure
of a reflective mood. Those who attempt the release through
the carefully chosen language are poets and their expressions,
poetry. The development of poetic impulses helps such
releases to be streamlined to carefully chosen language as an
assuetude to prevent wastes by dissipation. The true pleasure
of reading a poetry is in having an arcane keek to the subtle
Unknown Horizons of the poet's mind, thought and
personality.
The one hundred and eight poems of this collection
imprimis deal with the joie de vivre in its variegated hues-
pleasures, sorrows, hopes, despairs, romances, idealogies and
their concrete surroundings. These poems have concentrated
thoughts and feelings as their roots. How far the intensity
succeeded to release itself in relaxed contemplative leisure of
the reflective mood and how far the intensity of the experience
coalesced to the shocks of discovery about the quotidian life
and thing's for the direct perception of the reader are the
measures of success of my nisus to be appraised by the public.
I leave at it.
A coup d' oeil over the poems in this volume makes it
abundantly perspicacious that the one hundred and eight
poems running through two hundred and twenty-four pages
of this work cover various aspects of human experience ranging
from the beautiful world of love and romance to the inane
world of sad human predicament with divergent impressions
, of the life and its surroundings, spread in the spectrum of
experience in-between.
The poem, Winnocks of Beauty is tout court
aesthetic in sense and intends to uncover irrepressible
feminine charm in its full glory :
Every inch and curve, a masterly work;
Every hue and shade, an artistic stroke;
The gleam in eyes, the smile in face,
The youthful warmth on all her parts,
The subtle rich rays of love in heart,
Each shocks the heart with irresistible thirsts
To drink her charm and drown in daydreams
And deliquiesce to oblivion in ceaseless pleasure;
She is joy, the ultimate beauty,
The divine light that man seeks to reach."
The topic of beauty on a larger scale with wonderment
at its ubiquitous nature is dealt in poem. Who Created This
Beautiful World ? There are strains of soft passion of
beautiful romance in poem. Young Romance where,
In unreserved joy, she uncovered her breasts
For the feast of her love's glowing eyes.
In the next stanza, the young lovers consummate in their
passion for each:
"They rolled in pleasure, they heaved in joy ;
They were drugged in mad desires for each;
She lived in his joy and he, in her,
They shed their selves to reach each other;
She found her world in him and he in her,
The eager loves sought to dissolve in the other;"
The eternity of beauty does not lie in attaining it. It is,
distance and longing that make beauty and love more beauti-
ful and more desirble. This aspect of aesthetics is dealt in
eighteen poems in this work. The poem. Eternal Search
in a stanza, reads as follows as the praxis :
When the Self stills and sky clears,
When you peep through winnocks of time,
New wings sprout, old resolves shout
And I shoot to open sky
To find a door from where I reach you.
The nisus to build a temple of words to the far away
love proves to be infructuous in poem, Temple of Words in
following lines :
No metaphors, no similies equal your height,
No meanings penetrate enough your depths;
The breadth of colours, your image shows up,
Leaks through weak, porous words of songs.
The yearning for the past perforce end one day and the
reality of the present should be encountered face to face, in
8pite of the incony declarations in the poem. timeless Song
about the sempiternal bridge between the hearts of loves.
This subject is obsigned in poem. Bygones are Bygones
while it preconises as follows:
Healer, a great, indeed is time
While past is past and present sits on the neck,
Yet, some pasts, too real to be past;
Dealer, a great, indeed is time
Who strikes steadily in subtle strokes
And blunts sharp edges of the painful past.
There are a host of poems on divergent subjects of life
and its surroundings including some with philosophic connot-
ations and others with naked realities of life. There are poems
on Communism and Existentialism; there are poems on survival,
freewill, being, self and justice. There are poems written on
beauty, distress, destiny, mind, void, nature, love, thoughts.
charm, bond, desire, devolution and such myriad subjects.
The poem on Tufu Nadu may be found a refreshing break
in this work. I have tried to infuse the distinct cultural
identity of Tuluvas to this poem. The poem ends with follo-
wing valiant lines.
They fight like tigers and win or die,
But, come not down to meet in the middle;
Forces may seize them, but never capture,
Strengths may break them. but never bend;
For they breathe Tulu air and live on Tulu earth
And Tulu warmth and passions stream in their veins.
Iraq and its leadership, without their names being men-
tioned anywhere, are used as symbol of invincible spirit In
the poem. An Invincible Spirit which was written prior
to the eruption of war in Iraq in the middle of January, 1991.
The coup de fond of the poem is a tribute to invincible spirits
anywhere on the Earth, who are pitted by the choice
of nature against black, degenerate elements whom I
endeavoured to impale as and in poem, Superior Dogs
which ends in following lines as well as in poem, Thugs:
The conditioned response is a learnt trait ;
They pursue while flee and flee while pursue
And cannot say a horse from an ass.
I have tried to perficiently portray the invincible spirit in
poem. The Sun in Clouds which pirlicues the retrate ut
infra :
The sun, so hot, none endeavour to reach;
The sun, so bright, none open their eyes;
The sun, the tough, proud, lonely splendour
Reigns over Heaven in imperial grace;
None reach his height, none withstand his might;
But, win his heart or avoid his sight.
I tried to be a realist and honest in assessment in above
poems. My impressions as an insider in above poems is as
stark naked as in poem Thugs in which following few lines
give triste taste of the things.
They live in ignorant holes of complacence
Like rotten rats,
Oblivious of heights and depths outside
And strengths of sprite;
But, ready to shun sunshine anywhere.
The same cimmerian pictures are drawn on a wider canvas
in poems like Age in Ruins and Where Are we Heading ?
while man's confounded predicament in this compital age is
tried to be enlivened in poems like Man in Transition and
Unknown Horizons.
The poems in this collection are about random chance
rencontre in life. a probe into the subtleties in the' Unknown
Horizons of the life. Carl Sandburg in his "Ten Definitions
of Poetry''calls poetry as a search for syllables to shoot at
the barriers of the Unknown' and the unknowable and as a
series of explanations of life fading off into horizons too
swift for explanations. The Unknown Horizons makes sense
in re poetry.
I fondly remember the encouragement I received from
my father Sri R. D. Suvarna and mother Smt. B. Sarojini to
venture into the lush field of poetry. But for their incipient
support, I would have never been anywhere in the morass of
literature today. The backing I received from my wife,
Smt. Jayashree in keeping alive my interests in literature
in general and in poetry in particular is immense. Without
her silent springe support, I would not have continued writing
poems at all and this work of poetry could not have been a
reality at all. I acknowledge with gratitude her indefatigable
help in preparing the proof of this work.
The Hon'able Shri A. R. Sridharan. Member, Karnataka
Administrative Tribunal, by his gainly foreword to this work,
brought honour to this book. I thank him for his analytic
and masterly foreword. Rev. Fr. Terence Colaco. SJ, my
English professor during college days, showed keen interest
in bringing out the best out of me in the field of poetry and
provided lots of encouragement to write poems during college
days. The poetry Friendship dates from this period.
PRAVEEN KUMAR
About the Poet
Other books of the Poet
Foreword
Introduction
UNKNOWN HORIZONS
SHE SMILES TO ME FROM DISTANT MYSTIC LAND
WHO ON THE EARTH SENT YOU HERE?
WHO CREATED THIS BEAUTIFUL WORLD?
JUSTICE
TEMPLE OF WORDS
A BEAUTIFUL WORLD
AGE IN RUINS
MAN IN TRANSITION
YOUR WORLD
THE SUN SETS IN THE WEST TO RISE AGAIN IN THE WEST
YOUNG ROMANCE
ETERNAL SEARCH
TIMELESS SONG
WITH LOVE
WHERE ARE WE HEADING?
SAD MEMORIES
SWEET MEMORIES
BYGONES ARE BYGONES
SUPERIOR DOGS
KNOW YOUR HEIGHT
AN INVINCIBLE SPIRIT
TULUNADU
THE SUN IN CLOUDS
INDIA
WINNOCKS OF BEAUTY
UNKNOWN HORIZONS
I know not what I am,
I know not from where I come;
S do not know where I go,
Why I go, or how I go.
Mysterious past and lightless future,
All I know, where sits the transient present
In ceaseless, facile succession, like
The glow of the Sun in ceaseless move
On Untested, dark eternal course,
Or the sojourn of Self along the existence,
Or running train on its unending track.
Time comes and goes In endless spurts
While merely touches the life as present;
Though strung in a string of existence
Of time's nostalgic experience; present,
Like winning horse on race course,
Remains itself and draws all eyes
Like fireworks in dark night
Along the lanes of past and future
Forever.
The tunnels of the past are mysterious yet,
The vast space of future is unfamiliar yet.
As a forlorn amnesiac, lost
In bare tracts of sandy desert
On a moonless night,
I know not for what I laugh or weep,
Or run or sit in stony silence;
Rough winds blow across the land, and
Sand storms rise to settle on new strips.
Chill bores bones, yet, I
Should walk stark naked all along
Where tired two legs carry the load
In endless sojourn
To unchartered tracts along the lengths
Of timeless time.
The past did make me as I am,
The past did make me as I am,
The past did make me as 1 am, while
The future will give new strength.
Time bred and always fed
All lives, its strength and soul in,
All lives, its strength and soul in,
Its own mysterious mould.
Subtle roots are embedded 'neath firm treat of the past.
And uncertain shoots spread afar
In the sky of future
While the solid trunk marks the advent of times
In circles behind thick bark;
None know what fruits or flowers it bear,
None know what fruits or flowers it bear,
Nor the roots show nor the shoots speak
While the trunk is dumb like its thick bark,
While the shelf of time is as hard as time itself,
It grows In lonely grandeur,
Dunny, lame, blind and dumb;
The spurts move from the past to future
As led in leash by the time's subtle hands;
Or is it a rootless goalless sojourn
And endless too through infinite time?
Is It mindless, meaningless flux
Of the roll of roles and interactions
On the shapeless canvas of frameless time?
What is time and what is space
Where the present sinks to the world of Being,
Neither time knows nor space knows, yet;
The present streams out In joyous ignorance
While the self sails through the sea of time
On high and low tides and waves
In search of nonexistent shores;
The shores are unreal,
The sea, unending and the sail
Sails on and on beyond birth and death
On lime's tides and waves
In silent abandon to
Unknown horizons.
I neither sink nor float, but move
For motion's sake;
I neither move nor go still, but give up
To tides those hold me in seize.
SHE SMILES TO ME FROM DISTANT MYSTIC LAND
Though nowhere I see her,
She smiles to me from distant mystic land,
She blossoms my soul and warms my heart and
Lights a whirl of unknown hopes;
She lights a wild fire of sweet nothingness that
Consumes darkness that bores to my bones and
Numbs my nerves with pleasant expectations;
1 know not from where I get the beacon,
I know not from where 1 get the beacon that
Stills my disgrace and builds my strength
That bounces back my spirit to
Those sweet and fresh childhood days.
Those bright and innocent irrepressible ways.
Like phoenix, she rises,
Like phoenix, she rises,
Like phoenix, she rises and
Enchants my heart.
Every day and every night that goes
Takes me a step closer to her,
Every Thought and pleasure she brings
Deepens our bond in timeless care,
Though frameless space distances us
She to me and I to her
Remain in touch through boundless care,
For, our hearts home the real other,
For, our hearts home the real other
Where we dwell in immortal rest.
She never dies,
She never dies,
She never dies, but
Lives in my heart.
Unknown hands play hide and seek
And build thick wall of savage fate
That keeps her there and keeps me here;
We meet and part in unknown cycle
Though never part to part altogether;
An immortal chord
Forever binds us through time and space;
Whatever way we part,
We face the other and feel the other
In unending pine and craving's pain;
For, we look to rest in the other's side
Where our souls dwell as their sweet homes;
For. we part to meet and meet to part
In ceaseless cycle till
The twilight of motion meets the stillness of light
In remote horizons of Heaven
Where the tired birds meet forever,
Never to part again.
Wherever she goes, she must come back,
Wherever she goes she must come back,
Wherever she goes, she must come back home
Where I wait however long she may take.
We bear cycle in
Humble submission to the Mother Nature,
We part to meet the fate's ordain with
The hope of serving the remote goal
Though bones crack and heart bleeds;
Yet eyes are afar and ears are erect
In tireless search of inscrutable her
Who races with time to unknown world,
Far, Far from me, though
She smiles to me from distant mystic land,
She smiles to me from distant mystic land,
She smiles to me from distant mystic land.
WHO ON THE EARTH SENT YOU HERE?
Who, on the Earth, sent you here
To rise in my inner horizons
In mad riot of bright colours ?
Who, in heaven, invented you
In soft spell of lingering melodies
That fall and rise to my soul's cravings ?
You brought bright dawn of dew-fresh hopes
That drenched life in warmth and light
That flood soul with sweet passions;
You brought thoughts of brooding past
That shook sad self to supreme Joy
That fused us to enduring bond.
You broke from black layers of time
Like full-moon from the night clouds
In ecstatic shades of reflective moods
In lightening speed that lights my mind
With floods of pleasure in unending rolls
That cradle Self in velvet fluid of love.
The streams of fulsome sensations
You woke in heart in those days
Bind us always in divine cravings
For boundless soft indulgence.
You carried new hopes and fresh fragrance
Across the sea of pitch darkness
And ran over vast stretches of ignorance
To awaken soul to life's sweet musings;
You bore sad tidings to hold what you are
And meet our hearts in element splendours.
We meet to part and part to meet
In cosmic cycle of ceaseless flux
That scour our souls to nature's Innocence;
We ride the tides of ruthless time
In timeless love that blends our hearts.
WHO CREATED THIS BEAUTIFUL WORLD?
Who created this beautiful world ?
What a harmony, perfection!
Who thought this beauty 7 Who brought it out ?
Who is he that perfected it ?
What matching patterns spawn the wonder ?
What concinnous rhythms create this charm ?
What is that invisible hand
That weaves this beauty with rhythms and patterns
That make beauty, beauty, a divina music?
What a match of place, time and form
That makes this world a joyous feeling!
Beauty infuses life to the world,
Beauty makes world to speak and sing,
To awaken soul to creator's skills,
Who gave this gift in abundance.
What brings those hues to youthful glows,
What brings those shapes to enchanting slopes,
What brings gentleness to graceful love,
What brings those grace to ripening age,
What brings brooding beauty to day-break's freshness,
What brings that beauty to the width of the sky,
To the height of hills and depth of seas,
To the shapes of clouds, to the moods of men
In liquid ease and endless abundance
That no more the world is what it is made of,
But, a celestial charm of unknown depth.
A subtle music in joyous rhythms,
A pregnant pattern in brilliant colours,
In human forms, in nature's moods,
In fast changing life's variegated hues,
In tides of sea. In tides of life
Surface to those inner ears and eyes
That keep itself wide open always;
A living rhythm is at work in womb
In hide and seek of light and shadow,
In fall and rise of hills and vales,
In love and hate, in war and peace;
The twinkles of eyes, the gentle smiles,
The blue of sky, the warm sunshine,
Each is rich work of a master craftsman.
Day is beauty, night is beauty;
Youth is beauty, old age is beauty;
Desire if beauty; contentment, beauty;
Heart-break is beauty; fulfilment, beauty;
Perfection is beauty; ugliness, beauty;
All are beautiful deep 'neath bones
Like sunrise and sunset or sunshine or rain
In magical hands of the Master Craftsman.
Is this world his own image,
A reflection of His nodal perfection?
Perfection of perfection, perfection of imperfection,
Like pleasures of pleasure and pleasures of pain,
Make the world a divine charm;
Work and leisure, pain and pleasure,
Penury and wealth, life and death
Hand In hand bring harmony in the world;
Mongoose kills snakes; snake, rats
In living rhythms of life and death;
Beauty, the world breathes, is beyond cause,
Beyond source, beyond course,
That surfaces itself to the joy of all
On will of the great divine Artist.
A speck of dirt, dark spot on the moon
Have the same charm and perfect rhythms;
Tears of pain and tears of pleasure
Have the same simple grace, hidden in them;
Like silk-worms that weaves soft sheath around,
He builds the world with his own inner charm,
It be a mole or mountain;
And this we have !
The wonderous world of perfect beauty;
Beauty within and beauty outside,
Beauty between and beauty a where,
In gentle flesh and youthful forms,
In fall and rise; in rage, patience,
In nature's arts or man's crafts,
In old and new or foul garbage;
For, the Creator sits in all of them
And builds a bridge to all hearts and souls.
JUSTICE
Justice begotten in exchange is no justice,
For, exchange is trade,
A distressing gain through loss;
Justice is inherent right,
Though wrapped in black packs
In dark hall of race for survival
Like gold strains bound in mud
Till exploited;
She is cool like ice
And still like rock;
No easy road to charm her soul
While hardship makes her no more justice.
She, in inaccessible moon,
She, in inaccessible moon,
She. in inaccessible moon.
A charming dream of undying hopes.
She appears by disappearance
And cracks confidence;
You feel her flight outward
While strange shadows dull your Self;
You cannot catch her back,
You cannot catch her back,
For, in outward flight, she sinks to darkness!
Where eyes blind
And distance rises;
Your hands, raised for justice,
Grope in hopeless void till strain
And give up unending fight forever
As dreams never win realities of deceits;
You see her in shades
In gloom's dark sea;
She surfaces from night's unending darkness
Like hopeless inaccessible mirage
In your eyes
While the world sees there plain darknass;
She is unseen to all.
She is unseen to all, but.
You, who lost her out;
Men seek justice
In passion's thousand hues,
As she is invisible otherwise;
Aye, Justice hides from Justice
And breeds injustice.
Why Justice is shackled to greed and bribe ?
Why Justice is fished out from popular mood ?
Lost in thick Jungle of lightless night,
Like rat, caught in the sack of death,
Like deer, caught in lion's lair,
She never reaches self by herself.
Justice is the just haunt of nature's all games
What man for his crave molests and tames.
Justice must be Just for all to see
In glow of crystal brightness
And impose hereself in natural ease
Like flood seizes low-lying lands
And fill all pits of man's callousness;
It Is Justice of course,
It Is Justice in natural haunt,
That none gain by trade
Nor lose ever.
For, justice that limps in darkness is justice dead,
A corpse you can never infuse life with.
Alas, justice lives feeble life
And yields to injustice in comfort;
It haunts as ghost after death
As if seeking rebirth
To live again weightless life
With no passion for just path,
Nor for anything just and fair.
Justice with no heart for truth,
Justice with no dash for right cause
Is Justice dead indeed.
TEMPLE OF WORDS
However I endeavour to capture you in words,
Like labour pains, you appear to disappear in air,
Like thin streaks of light, you dissolve in night;
I dig in deserts and grope in gulfs
For the next advent of the refreshing self.
Dust and sweat of years
Form thick sheath round you,
Mist of intervening times
Blur your frame.
The words I build to hold your charm
Collapse like card-house by sheer weight,
The melodies I garner, fall short to hold
Rich shades of passions that sweeten your thoughts;
No metaphors, no similies equal your height,
No meanings penetrate enough your depths;
The breadth of colours your image shows up,
Leak through weak, porous words of songs.
While winnocks of memory open doors,
I wonder by the splendours you command
With dazzles of colours and soulful musics;
Emotions sink to raise ripples of songs
In fresh images of melodious words;
But, alas, the doors are shut by then,
The golden rays of splendours, withdrawn;
Images break and songs go grey,
Dazzles of colours, soulful musics recede
And 1 am left again in blinding darkness.
In distant horizons, behind darkness,
When I see you surface like streaks of dawn,
I sit straight with instruments spread
To evoke and bind in my songs;
My songs soon go like childless cradle.
During high tides in the time's clock;
You bring huge waves in the ocean of soul
That wash the shores of heart and mind
With melodious tunes and passion's foams;
While low tides set on the soul's trough,
All go still and disturbingly calm.
I feel your kicks from the womb of time.
I hear your wails, break out to daylight,
I know your dreams, irrepressible desires,
You carry from those ruins of sweet past;
The musics of relics, the patterns of ruins
Break to soft words with advent of you;
Colours of those days, splendours of passions
Speak in live tunes while you break to lights;
A lasting temple of words and music is built
Where you live with past and present for all times,
Those days, so live must come to life,
Those sweet passions must stream again,
Those rhythms, musics, colours and fragrance,
Those gentle charm, those soulful warmth,
Those sad, slow tunes that lingered in soul
Must make come-back with reflective quietude
In live, sweet words of the poetic world
Where no memory fails, no sprite quails,
No vision blurs, no charm dulls,
Whom no times reach and weatherings touch.
A BEAUTIFUL WORLD
We live in a beautiful world,
Subtly beautiful indeed
In its charades,
Spontaneous nodes
And impish outbursts
As absurd medleys
All round,
Set in a system
Of co-existence
Where love throbs within hatred,
Peace breathes within strifes
And compassion runs through savage thoughts
In celestial balance
Of interminate charm.
We live in a world
Riddled with riddles
In every pace
From the earth lo the space;
The birth is riddled with death,
Death with birth,
Life in-between is strife;
Fright, pain and unending travail,
All warped to a beauty's fabric
Like a new-moon starry sky
Where an unseen order guides layout
To instate beauty's soul
In every cog of the time's wheel
Across the absurd riddles of the sky.
‘Tis an organic charm.
'Tis imperceptible beauty
That dissolves evils,
Woes, wraths, envies, rivalry,
Pleasure, mercy, wisdom,
To a nebulous indolence
To spawn a world of melodious sloth
Like poppy's dreamy Juice;
It dims beauty's shade
That removes sweats, balms pains
And prise incongruous shells
To shell out kernels of perfect melody
That breathe in absolute beauty.
AGE IN RUINS
Here, everything is everywhere,
Yet, nothing is anywhere;
This, we call modern age,
Where, all, in front; yet. out of reach.
Nothing comes to hands, nothing comes to mouth
Though everything is in everybody's range,
All are lost like birds overhead
In blue sky, far distant from thick rugged world;
No pains and pleasures, no passion stirs;
All are dry leaves, caught in whirlwind;
All are sooty smokes from tall black chimney,
All run on hire like carriage-horse,
Whose eyes are bound for straight tiresome sight;
No weight to sink, no wings to fly,
Only fast strong legs to flee from odds;
Thick bad odour cover fragrance of flowers,
Thick dark colours sit on tasteful light hues;
All are sweat and dirts spread in hasty heaps,
No freshness anywhere, no leisurely pleasure,
All fragmented hopes on top of dazzling world.
Weak heart stills endless desires,
Shineless eyes meet flashes of distant wild-tire
That exists only In muddles of tired mind;
Alt are directionless, uncertain In Self
While all doors are wide open without sign-boards;
Sunshines, no more warm; full-moon, not cool
From the cage of unfamiliar horizons;
All are tall trees with shallow roots,
Whom strong wind uproots at will.
Here, heart and mind look opposite sides,
So are raw senses and long deep thoughts;
Eyes see north while ears hear south,
Where nothing can meet or warp common goal.
Though space is vast where all can walk,
All are bound everywhere here,
Every step is a struggle in this age;
Though all is bright and familiar like thoughts,
Every step here is unfamiliar trap
Like mine-fields in enemy's land;
Every coloured ray of evening skies
Spreads dreadful spectre of dark shadows
From West to East in endless stretch;
No infra-red or x-ray helps sight,
Nor laser beams take anywhere to goals;
All is cursed to his private uneasy dance.
This is an age of breadth and height,
But no depth, no strength, no inner light.
Smiles brood like day-old withered flower,
Laughs sound like shrieks of a halting train
While painful moans like hissing noise of steams
And joys in short spasms jump across man's reach
In the inert world where no sparks ignite.
Everything here is disturbingly calm,
Everything here is unexcitingly thick;
None move except like a wound spring
To eject the leaks of frustrations.
All cracking bones, mere skeletons;
No flesh, no streams of life anywhere,
No bridges, no sparks, no prompt responses;
All are drawfs, retarded minds,
Who know not how to steer through their world
Or vent feelings or tide their thoughts.
Here, the life is a zigzag puzzle
With random exits and random entries;
Here, the life is snake and ladder game
Where falls and rise are sheer chance.
Like sand-bed on the shore of a roaring sea,
The modern age is dry 'neath wet wind;
The sparkling sea-shore is plain like white clouds,
No pains, no pleasures, but unending boredom;
Nothing sprouts here, nothing penetrates,
All crumbles In Its shapeless hold;
Visions blur
While smokes hang from disturbed sky
And all live step-to-step and day to day
In desperate world;
It Is a world shattered Inside and outside
And no harmony anywhere;
It is sad, still, black, rock-ruins
Of a long forgotten rich age
That disheartens in contrast
Where everything is there, yet nothing, anywhere.
Man lives in cages everywhere in this age
In dreaded isolation from within and outside.
MAN IN TRANSITION
He is torn between was and to be;
Time-tested craft no more takes anywhere
The now world in rise is untested yet;
Yet he must choose between the two
0r bury himself in the gulf of void
And belong nowhere
Like ships, lost in outer space,
Sails out In indefinite course
Till an unknown world drags to its field.
As a child on unsteady legs,
He loves to walk though prefers to sit;
As a bird of unsteady wings,.
He loves to fly though keeps to his nest.
The world he knows is his blood and flesh,
Where he hides and rises on freewill;
He sprouted there and spread his shoots
Like old banyan tree;
His world crumbles in the wind of change,
No more roots hold him to the earth;
He, on the back of the horse of change,
Rises and falls to the rhythms of the ride
Or drops on the ground and dies 'neath legs.
He is awkward in new world
Where, like fat in water, he floats
Neither absorbs nor absorbed, he frets
Like a prisoner in an interrogation cell
While all doors are shut to familiar old world;
He in the world and the world in him,
In perpetual revolt,
Strains the life and strains the world;
His feet in new world, his heart in old world,
He falls to the gulf where he lands nowhere,
Till reaches somewhere on feet and heart
In fluid harmony.
Gravity of the old earth stunts growth
And rise to new space brings fresh pastures;
His roots spread to nerves and bones.
Wait to taste the open variegated sky:
Like bonded soul, he shuttles back and forth
To the old Earth and new space;
To old base and new hopes.
The swing rests him in neutral zone,
Where enemies in wait, face to face,
Pound his head, hunt his flesh
In rare common cause.
Where the old ends, there new begins
And he is caught between the two;
He cannot stand on the old nor rise to the new
And sadly lost for both;
His feet, unfirm, his wings, too weak,
He is torn in the middle
Like a breached dam
That yields to savage ravage of flood
To end in violent death.
This is the man in transition,
Caught in twilight of two worlds
That blind insight, unwind confusion
And tear his soul as tug unfolds.
YOUR WORLD
Listen to throbs, deep In heart
To find your route;
Stretch backbone to stand upright, resolute
With reason and intuitive light.
The world you build is your world
Where none but you have right to reign,
Where none but you live in confidence
Of peace, grace, grandeur and joy;
It is where you command things,
Where your men guard bylanes.
Have not thoughts hired in fear of fires
Of Jealousy and fury running wild;
For, fear consumes your inner world
And leaves your temples in sad shambles;
Build a fort of invincible spirit
Of interminate vigil and undaunted will
Around your Self to stop mean world afar,
Lest, it intrudes your holy world
And spreads like infection
To shatter your peace and weaken your reign.
Intruders scale walls, dig tunnels
And come as friends or foes
And reach the world you have for you
Where they fetter your hands and bind your legs,
Where they douse your light and blacken your world;
Keep eyes open and stop intruders outside
And keep your world pristine clean
Where you work or sleep at your will,
Where you sing and dance as you wish
And laugh and weep as you feel.
THE SUN SETS IN THE WEST TO RISE AGAIN IN THE WEST
The Sun sets in the west to rise again in the east
As sprightly, lustrous glow in ruddy flood of flames;
He dips to the womb of dreary dark sea
To flood the earth and heaven with glassy sunshlne next morn;
And relume bright hopes on the nature's innocent face;
Spring's mad, mad dance fades to winter's chill breeze
To flush fresh youth in the nature next time
And vesture bridal charm of the green's rousing grace
When spring springs to act in all her mad, mad riots
With bright colours in fast streams in her gentle vital veins.
A parting cannot always be foregone parting of ways,
But often a rousing start of refreshing future meets
Along the incessant path of life's long sojourn
That explores unexplored distant horizons
And thickens old bonds to fresh and lively bounce;
Sturdy, warm. afresh like lustrous North Star,
Day after day and night after night
With calm recollections' thrills
That replenish time-worn rumples.
Adieu, noble light on immortal mortal face,
Bid you loving farewell with writhing pain within;
Let our soft fibres pass through the nature's grinding teeth
And brook infinite odds along the life's course
That fate ordains for the final meet of souls;
For, only beaten gold makes exquisite piece of art
And only hard work invests life with grace;
Destined are we in nature's painful course
To meet and unite in immortal love's bond.
YOUNG ROMANCE
The soft light of his intense eyes
Deluged her firm round beautiful breasts;
The intense desires of his brooding heart
Seized her soft sensitive breasts;
The sheet of sweet joy that caught them both
Lit their souls, defreezed passions;
The flames of warmth that spread like fire
Hid their cares in sweet abandonment;
The fragrance of beauty on the melody's back
Rode like mad dance from heart to heart.
The shock of joy shook both the loves,
The sweep of sweet warm sensual currents
Squeezed their limbs to a lascivious juice
Of dripping desires and poppied dreams;
A new world where none except the loves,
A new world where none except the loves
Live like gods in lonely splendour
Rose from desires like bright full-moon;
She hid her breasts from his poignant eyes
In pride's pregnant pleasant mock shy;
He knew her tricks, he knew her works,
He knew her desires, he knew her pleasures;
Yet, impatient for her mysterious treasures,
His heart begged her for kindness;
His sou aflame, sparkled through eyes;
Yet, still in motion and dumb in sprite,
He honoured her rules and looked aside;
Her passions stirred, emotions streamed;
In unreserved joy she uncovered her breasts
For the feast of her love's glowing eyes.
They rolled in pleasure, they heaved in joy;
They were drugged in mad desires for each;
She lived in his joy and he in her,
They shed their selves to reach each other;
She found her world in him and he In her,
The eager loves sought to dissolve in the other;
No fears touched them, no pride nor comforts;
Like sunshine meets sky in daybreak,
They fused In soft passionate hug
And spread white glow of immortal light.
ETERNAL SEARCH
The warmth of my heart,
I cracked time and split space,
I dived to sea and rose to sky
In your search.
I pierced night, winnowed light,
I set my guard on all horizons,
I pierced within and spread outside
And tried time from past to future
In your search.
I chose words, I created worlds
To impale you in poetry's net;
I engaged thoughts, begged wits
To hold you in fancies
And bind to my dreams.
I flew on wings of birds
And ran with the sun, day and night;
I dug wth roots of old trees
And filled all holes on the earth
To find you some day.
The worlds of several sheaths and hues,
Of infinite distance and time-gap
Hold us apart somewhere
To blur our sights, to dim insights
And all our search ends in vain.
The nights bring dreamless sleep,
The days bring fruitless labour
And I end up on open desert;
No bridges, but erratic sand-storms
Bring the search to grinding halt.
When the self stills and sky clears,
When you peep through winnocks of time;
New wings sprout, old resolves shout
And I shoot to open sky
To find a door from where I reach you.
Somewhere you are, very far,
Where I don't know;
I need you and you need me, we know;
But, how to reach, we don't know;
Though we must, some unknown day.
TIMELESS SONG
You know not what are you for me,
How deep and wide you fill my Self,
How bright you light my eyes and soul
And what swell of joy you instil in me.
Across the pall of unending night,
You send happy signs of love and hope
From the sunny land of lustrous light
Where you sit like god in stoic charm.
While I fill my soul with Joyous snug past
To forget the scars inflicted by fate,
You rise from heaps of time's gray ash
Like medicated fumes to soothe my strains.
I hear all day, your timeless song
That blends past with unbound future
In nature's subtle rhythms and rhyme
That time to time must bring us to meet.
No yearning dissolves In time's cauldron,
No beauty gets lost in love's horizon,
Beauty must discover its Self some day
In rhythms of hearts that beat for each.
You are there and I am here,
We do not know how far we are,
What separate hearts that weep for each;
Yet, I hear you, you definitely, me.
Your songs there, move my soul here;
My songs here, move yours, there;
Our songs, a'where, live forever;
For, my songs live in you, yours, in me.
When I live in you and you, in me,
How can I and you be here and there ?
Love makes here, there and there, here
And the hearts in love, everywhere.
WITH LOVE
Who leads to my love,
To the womb of nature's innocence,
To the heart of death's dreary kingdom ?
She raced to the Moon's dark side
And snatched me from tender light
That glowed my heart with maddening love
And roused innate flame to scorching thirst
Which made my heart her passion's mad riot
And laid the soul on her luscious feat
With sweet glow of love and concern.
A subtle spell of writhing pain
Frosts in heart;
It prods soul to incessant search
Of what a day leads to blissful union
That swells the joy of rare peace and light
In hearts that bled gloom till then.
Aye, who leads me to my love,
To the womb of nature's Innocence,
To the heart of death's dreary kingdom ?
Life is not life and Joy, not joy
And nought in deep vacuum, I am,
If her bright, soft self Illumes not mine;
She throbs my throb and breathes my breath,
She dances in soul and visits as tender breeze.
Comforts tender, gray self and tired, livid limbs
And soothes pervasive gloom with blurs of misty tears;
Yet, nowhere, she is anywhere,
For, though immortal she is, mortal is my turbid sight.
SUPERIOR DOGS
They do not know, why they bark,
Why they bite or why they wag;
They do not know, what they do,
What they think or what they want
Or where they go or where they must go;
Mere plastic dolls huddled in windowsills
Of a whore's house in a busy market place
For plebeian fun and cheap police frolic.
All, vacuum in mind and body,
A bunch of inflated weightless bubbles
That fear solid floor of rhyme and reason;
They run in silent jerks and motionless spasms
And fangle far hopes to gain some weight.
They catch while grope in ignorance
And grapple and strangle things in savage strength;
They fear light and mask their faces
To evade clean and graceful world
And swim in pond of sticky mud
That gives them warmth and brings some weight.
Dogs are dogs, be it superior or not,
They bark and bite, know nothing more;
Lo. a loaf of bread, see the tails wag,
See saliva streams and servile shrieks
Of superior dogs in gyrations round feet!
The conditioned response is a learnt trait;
They pursue while flee and flee while pursue
And cannot say a horse from an ass.
KNOW YOUR HEIGHT
When shadows spread to miles to darken lesser worlds,
When eyes stare sky while measure your height,
Know that you have grown too huge for this world;
When mortals shrink or fear to tune to your heart,
When scattered minds flock to outweigh your form,
Know that you outgrew the reach of tattered mass.
The sparkles of gold outshine base metals
And spawn sweet discords in dull, mean world;
The flash of divine light breaches the sheet of supine night
And overawes the world deep in sleepy oblivion;
You give shocks to awake needs and all stability rocks
While you rise like hunger pangs in indigest stomach.
Hearts meet, minds bind, in almost equal heights,
While frown underheights and overheights too
Like cattle in a herd loaihe all intruders;
Instincts unwind defence and instant attacks too
In blind response to high notes inside the herds
Unless instated to guide and lead from outside.
Unlike cats, no tigers catch rats in dark holes,
Unlike thorny shrubs, no tall trees fence paths,
Unlike shooting stars, no stars sink in dark heaven;
Unlike herd, you pace the world in measured strides
And stand apart from the herd's blind passage
What rouses resentments and ultimate wake.
Change your stripes to meet lesser mortals,
Wear lesser masks to seek lay approbations,
Where absorbs you every contented creature
To his backdoor of market-place systems
Like crows do for young cuckoo-offsprings
As their own, till croaks contrast sweet melodies.
They pull down tall towers to disprove dwarfishness,
They foul noble works to feed own hollow selves,
They rouse huge billows of black cold smokes
That cloud your charms and spread wild spectres
Of what isn't there and what never be a'where,
In myopic eyes those shy bright sunshine.
Like fresh grapes thrown to rotten-fruit dustbin,
You sour faster than all the dumped fruits;
Like pretty roses blossom between prickly thorns,
You while away untouched, uncared by unwise world;
For, while rise beyond the herd, you are its part,
And, while you are a part, suffer resentments.
Know your height, know your strengths,
Where rodents in thousands run all over you;
Know your spikes, know the torch you hold
By the moves of rodents to reach and strike your self;
Rats are rats that seek to punch holes a'where
While you must stand high beyond the rat-ridden holes.
No holes limit height, no sky limits growth,
No herd binds anywhere, no billow clouds charm
If you be the same who carve your path
And rise in confidence in herd or out of herd
Like the Sun who runs through East and West
In own fierce resolve in joyous abandonment.
Fear not gulfs, fear not resentments,
Fear not attempts to restrain your growth,
To force your pace with the brigade in slow-march;
Today you are here, tomorrow somewhere,
While the march you make follows you a'where
In this world and out of this world.
AN INVINCIBLE SPIRIT
Like a tall peepal tree, he stands
Above thorny cactus bush;
Like the polar star, he sits
Among the twinkling little stars.
A mountainous roll of wave he is,
Who sweeps cringing wavelets;
Like a rock he rules a secular land
In the middle of oily communal sheikhs,
Where American rats and British cats
Have Arab slaves in tight leash;
No Japanese might, no European threat
Shake his hair;
Soviet protest and UNO's quest
Touch him not;
Like a rocky fort
That no CIA can ever breach,
He stood up in lonely mighty splendour
To the world's double moral standards.
Kuwait or no Kuwait,
Moral or immoral,
He stood like a man in face of odds
In contempt of vested cunning might
In show of impregnable inner strength
In stilled silence in face of hollow fury.
Success or no success,
War or no war,
He defied self-assumed policing trend
Of American arrogant military might
Over the weak and meek sovereigns
That went on knees on submission
To the rich nation's superior will.
In military strength or statesmanship
He subdued the best;
In running his land or oil politics
Ha stood up to the world;
A king of kings in the Arab world,
Of lion's heart in camels' desert,
He showed to the world what pride is about.
While oil burns in Arab lands
He sits on flames like unbroken confidence;
While the oily greed of mighty nations
Built a wall of starvations round him,
He bore assaults like a warrior king;
No reprisals of haste, not an inch compromise;
A giant in might, a genius on own right,
He drove mighty lands to a hopeless strait
Of painful war or loss of credit.
Kuwait is a loss, so is Palestine;
Panama is sovereign where aliens took its chief;
All is sin as is this land;
Yet, why only one on a sinner's behest
More of sin for the seize of the world?
How reasons are drugged in east and west
On the might's vile political will?
He bore the torch all alone
While big and small lined like fIies
To dim his light and dull his might
In obeisance to the self-assumed world command;
He accepted new role
To challenge vested groups
As a crowned mighty world leader.
Of steely resolve and rocky courage
As none the world has seen before;
Immoral in war he is like all,
Yet just in immoral to make a point to the world,
Unlike weak and unjust wanton immorals
Who vanquished smaller states and captured presidents
To test military mights;
But, all shrink to nougnt before his invincible spirit.
TULUNADU
A land of valour and truth is Tulunadu,
Where Sathya, Dharma, Sankalpa blend to a superior broth
Of pride, courage and openness,
Where love for rectitude and selfless devotion
Warp to a fierce way of life,
Where flames of pride and courageous resolve
Meet to raise an energetic land
That sits besides his queen, the Arabian sea
Whose waves wash and caress his feet everyday,
Where no trusts ever breach, no ties ever break,
No words ever die, no promises ever reneged,
Where helpless calls see life and death defence.
Tuluvas, a class apart in imperious state,
Tigers in splendour of unequalled might
In the jungle of pigs, sheeps and cowardice;
A rugged islet of spartan folks
In the ocean of shams and deceptions.
Billavas, Bunts, Saraswats, Koragas, Christians,
Or Brahmins, Muslims, Bestas or Jains,
The threads of Tulu, Konkan, Kannada and Malayalam too
Bind them all as Tuluva soldiers
Who breed on Tulu and feed in Tulu strengths
And spread by Tulu winds to far away worlds.
When Tuluva touches stone, a temple is built,
When Tuluva touches tool, an industry is built;
He rises from earth and spreads to the sky;
The heat and sweat that enliven his heart,
The rain and green that freshen his soul
Break sheaths and extract true self
In Kolas, Yakshaganas and age-old cockfights
Or Nemas, Paddhanas, Bhootharadhana, bull races;
The fish and toddy and boiled rice in veins
Unwind his spirit for backbreaking work.
A land of distinct moods, thoughts and nature
Of distinct life, values, goals and culture
With sea and ghats and Konkan and Malabar
On guard to fend from contaminations,
Where mothers rule, Aliya Santhana prevails,
Where years roll on solar movements;
Whose warm breeze washed by Arabian sea waves,
Whose rare earth soaked with rich Tuluva soft ways
Sprout proud, great men and spawn pretty gentle girls
And yield fields and forests of rich green;
Tulunadu, the shield of greater Indian virtues
Stands with tall hills like its Gomata statues.
The rugged Tuluvas are gentle and upright algate,
Who shed blood for ancestors' self-respect,
Who raise not heads and offer ready obeisance
In front of elders, Shakti and Daivasthana:
They seek perfection, they take greatness
And accept nothing but the topmost slot;
They fight like tigers and win or die,
But, come not down to meet in the middle;
Forces may seize them, but never capture,
Strengths may break, but never bend;
For, they breathe Tulu air and live on Tulu earth
And Tulu warmth and passions stream in their veins.
THE SUN IN CLOUDS
The sun in clouds,
Dim, dull and subdued looks,
Never ever loses his true splendour;
Never ever the clouds
Hide the sun in heaven,
Never ever reach the distant sun.
The sun is fierce,
Who lights the world
And makes heaven bright in sunshine;
Can ever the lowly meek clouds
Bear the heat the imperious sun sheds
That pierces shams and burns sins?
Clouds come and clouds go,
But the sun algate remains the same,
Bright, honest and distant as ever
In gay abandon of an unattached soul,
With streams of light in flood all round
To those who see with unclouded eyes.
The sun, so hot, none endeavour to reach;
The sun, so bright, none open their eyes;
The sun, in tough, proud lonely splendour
Reigns over heaven in imperial grace;
None reach his height, none withstand his might,
But, win his heart or avoid his sight.
Beyond mortal measure and praise and trial,
The sun forever shines in lonely splendour;
Beyond the clouds in the womb of the heaven
The sun forever shines in lonely splendour;
For, the celestial glow must meet the cosmic goal
Of sailing the cosmos in its ordained path.
INDIA
The proud land of valiant warrior kings
Who fought to death to vanquish arrogance,
The rich expanse of thinkers and artists,
Where thoughts and beauty blend to new heights,
Where the subtle space of spiritual light
Spread to the world like benign wisdom,
Where sprite never quailed is great India,
That weathered all shocks and time's fury
In stoic stillness and quiet confidence,
Instilled in soul, pursued her long course.
The seat of rignteous life and sacred rites,
The womb of pursuits to divine goal
In evolution's wild painful spurts
That jolt humanity to shocks of celestial rhythms;
India, the throne of truth, beauty, moral orders,
The hive of yogis in spiritual pursuits
Whose insights guard this land from time's onslaughts
That built and ruined countless nations;
Though fell in time's celestial cycle, algate rose
With new strengths to culture's richer heights.
An island of kind hearts and rectitude
With the nature's barriers in guard on all sides,
India is distinct like the Polaris in the night sky,
A still beacon of the world for inward sojourn,
A constant little glow of hopes and resilience
While the world crumbles to the gulf of savage sin
Of wars, violence and lusty heinous crimes;
A live granary of the world's choicest culture,
Where the bests of the east and the west meet
To a rich blend that blesses human kind.
India, the holy temple of the world,
India, the spiritual heart of the world,
Where the silent lamp of love, faith and wisdom
Spread bright light in ceaseless splendour
To quell gloom of greed and ignorance,
And stilled the storm that ravens the world
In benign grace distinct to her charm.
The great Buddha and Gandhi drank her charm,
The great Geetha and Vedas caught her warmth;
Ashoka and Akbar lived true to her spirits,
Like pretty little sparkles of her celestial glow;
India may go torn and balked a day
And knit again as a vast united land;
But, her soul speaks and blood streams
All over her land all the time,
For India is not a land, but a sacred spirit.
India, a shameful huge minion today,
A coward protectorate in disguise
That crawls on the feet of powerful states
And wails at the doors of tiny states
For day's bread with long begging bowls;
With her crippled limbs and parched straw tongue,
India no more stands firm nor speaks aloud,
While Japan, Korea. Iraq and Israel rose from dusts
To see the world eye to eye;
No more now is she a coveted spiritual guide.
No truth, beauty or rectitude, no final goals,
But to stand up to little Pakistan's mischief,
All her goal, all her spirit and hope;
The giant China overawes her,
The little Pakistan disheartens her;
She starves hard labour, feeds thieves and cheats;
She ravages innocence, breeds rats and bed-bugs
Who suck the blood of her rectitude and beauty;
No souls rise to stir her bleak shattered spirit,
For, her poisoned womb can hold no clean soul now.
Black clouds cannot hide infinite sky,
Dark days cannot dull India's spiritual glow;
Destined is she to guide and mother the world
Along the right path of truth and beauty
Thro' spine-chilling gulfs and horrendous hells
Those dug deep on the way in hide to attack;
The war is long and the leader on the saddle
Holds her reigns and guides her troops;
Some battles are lost and troops step back
To win war and vanquish final goals.
The sacred land. awash with holy hymns,
The divine hearth ablaze with meditations,
The quiet battleground, littered with contemplations,
Rises to Himalayan heights and delves to ocean depths
To uncover fragrance of the subtle human life
And sweeten the world with its quiet spread;
All Indian strains bear the rare stamp
In arts and crafts, in science and culture
Or wars, morals, commerce or literature,
In pride and valour, in skill and sports.
India, the great, the crown of moral world,
India, the. playground of truth and nonviolence,
Of valiant warriors who shed blood for the land;
India, the home of sacred religious thoughts,
Of countless riches, of noble scholarships;
India, the land of nature's fulsome beauty
That soothes soul by rhythmic musical heaves
Of all still and quiet peace of "Om", one with the infinite sky,
And brings grace and rectitude, unseen anywhere
To her proud sons who love her more than themselves.
WINNOCKS OF BEAUTY
Who is the sculptor who created this piece?
Who is the creator who conceived its form?
An object of art that breathes and smiles
That captures hearts with spell-binding beauty ;
In lush flesh and curves, she rouses warmth,
In maddening charm, she drugs the mind;
All that beauty, all worlds can hold,
Why compressed here to create this piece?
How simple men with weak heart and mind
Can resist her endless well of charm ?
Every inch and curve, a masterly work;
Every hue and shade, an artistic stroke;
The gleam in eyes, the smile in face,
The youthful warmth on all her parts,
The subtle rich rays of love in heart,
Each shocks heart with irresistible thirsts
To drink her charm and drown in day-dreams
And deliquiesce to oblivion In ceaseless pleasure;
She is joy, the ultimate beauty,
The divine light that man seeks to reach.
The nectar of beauty flows from everything in her,
Be her shapely young curves or fluid motions,
Be the winks of dazzling eyes or bright hues on cheeks,
Be the heaves of lurking breasts or breath-taking shapely form
Each is a perfect piece, each is artistic fulfillment,
Each is a perfect piece, each is artistic fulfillment,
Each Is perfect contentment of artistic aspirations ;
The smooth lustre of her body, the variegated shades
Of rich transparent hues that flower young beauty,
All are lovely winnocks to her fragrant soul
That sits like queen on that beauty's splendent throne.
Hark the perfect rhythms of her concinnous body
That brings rare symphony of divine melodies,
Feel the sweet fragrance of her rich bright soul
That creates rhythms and composes melodies;
Is it the same as that celestial beauty?
Is she the live-model of the celestial beauty?
What a fine harmony in her soul and body?
What a rare tune in her Inside and outside!
The sparkles of the eyes and dazzles of the smile
How uncover sweet intense expressions of her soul!
Like a quiet lamp, lit in a dark room,
She draws eyes, heart, mind and desires
And impales in her charm, irresistible to bear;
What a thick charm, spread in the room!
Where everything dissolves like salt in water!
What is there in the flesh and the form,
What is behind the sparkles of her gentle skin,
What is in curves and what is in the charm,
What is in eyes and inviting sweet smiles
That makes beauty, beauty and soul-splitting force ?
Is it joy and beauty, dissolved to mould her body?
Is it lustre and love, dissolved to create her soul?
Is it grace and music, dissolved to compose her conduct?
Or, were all of them born from her celestial charm?
She is the world of all desires' fulfillment,
She is the treasure-trove of all artistic pleasures,
The endless fount of feasts to pregnant day-dreams;
Her lurking young riches from sweet hidings tease
The charged hungry imaginations of all beauty-seekers
And she binds the world of love with those lush riches.
She is like holy temple of beauty,
Where her soul in deep sanctum sanctorum
Instated in glory for obeisance of all;
She sends soft lights that blaze in man's heart
And lights new hopes that refresh the soul;
The glow of beauty that wraps the sculpted piece,
Its cheeks, its lips, hairlines and breasts,
Each is a wonder of the nature's splendours
Like spring's colours and winter's blue sky
Or fullmoon's soft touches or morning's fresh rays.
Her every hair and outline and every eyelash
In its exact place like a sculpted piece,
Her every move and mood and every shade on face
As exactly it should be in a painter's dream,
Her every graceful curve and every expression
As conceived by a poet in his great epic;
She is a rare beauty where sensuity and classics blend,
Where desires and peace rise hand in hand,
Where the heat and light of enlightenment grips
And the soul glows in divine passions.
WHERE ARE WE HEADING?
Where are we heading with this crazy run?
To order or disorder?
To new world or imminent end?
Is this a run for light or darkness?
Or is this an endless run for run's sake?
No signboards anywhere
For turns, speed, and distance ahead,
Nor anybody knows the starting line
From where this run then began;
Simple threads to more complex webs weave
Each passing day
And the network of webs covers all life
Where weaklings are caught like vice
And thrown out each day.
Twilight spreads on the path of the run
And the sky is lit with passionate colours;
Is this day-break or dreaded sunset?
Silence within breaks to loud clamours outside,
Long shadows fall ahead of the run;
Distances widen and freshness is lost,
We run alone among estranged kith and kins;
Dust and sweat sit on tired faces
And distinct charm of each is no more seen;
Is it run in disguise
Or an average profile?
No quiet eyes, no lights within
All along this impatient, blind run
To look around where are we heading to;
Climbing the sky or disclimbing why.
Miles and miles we cover a'day
And look back at long-winding roads;
Is this labour worth the sweat?
Does this take somewhere worthwhile?
Directions are lost, destination, uncertain;
Are we on run in wasteful rounds
Of terminal confusion ?
It is run through unending vacuum,
A vacuum within and vacuum outside,
But for gut feel that we run for some goal;
Is it run backward or forward,
6r in mad rounds around the self,
Or mark-time on constant spot?
Incessant run do weathers freshness,
Cracks endurance and tires the sprite
While miles of roads are left behind
And acres of lands are discovered on the path;
Is this what takes us nearer somewhere?
Is this the nature's cradle of evolution?
Are the cracks in tired soul,
A jump in evolution's scale?
Or the new fields crossed along the hapless run,
A progress, a mark of evolution?
None know answer, neither you nor I
Nor we need to know the celestial secret,
Nor it concerns us for ages to come.
But, run like all, with all others
As condemned to do from birth to death
As tiddy spots of grand universal scheme
Which always does what is right,
Which always does what is right
For us, for others,
For all here, there and everywhere;
Only, let us run as ordained
With soul intact and perennial freshness,
With lights within and eyes open
And ears held close to heart.
Then, we win the evolution’s race
With peaceful run, patient and pleasant.
SAD MEMORIES
Bygones in passion's frame
Races up from years' layers
In rhythms, once seized my heart;
Each distinct frame disturbs now,
Each prods sad music in soul;
How heart rose and fell in turn
In wild tides of unsteady passion
And found deep roots in soft magic world !
Those days are crystal sharp in eyes,
Though smudged in time's dark holes;
The life, attuned to heart and soul
In soft melodies that bloomed dreams,
Stumbled to plunge and dissolve in death
In the fierce flame of disintegration,
That yet fogs my inner peace
And razes heart to dull, gray sloth.
Pains and pleasures pickaback
Ravage human soul in unending cycle;
No pleasure heals
Incisive wounds inflicted on soul;
Years score as age fails to heal
And the wounds sour in sad melodies
And lull the soul to a numb world
Of sweet dreams and sad memories.
SWEET MEMORIES
Sprinkles of sweet memories
Hiding deep 'neath my heart
Open up like a lovely dream;
Beneath the face of pristine charm,
Hovers immortal passion's song
Ardently writ with joy and grief.
Passion for the past gentle warmth in heart
Reprieves live canvas from the time's womb
Along the long course of life's sweet, salt tears;
Vivid pictures of hope, despair, joy and grief
Ensconce the self from utter loss and ennui;
Esurient heart delves deep to the skeletons of the past,
Now, numb 'neath the layers of latter deposits,
Keel like winter lakes of Himalayan range
Under the blazing sun of the present realities;
Menseful thoughts of those bright, lovely days
Arraign the course, pursued since then,
Redolent of dry tanks of hot summer.
Joys of joy and joys of grief surface
Sweet memories like broken sweet dreams.
Restituted to the ripples in stars' sparkles,
Deliquesced to invious candescence,
Subtle gentle memories creep in hearts;
United while untied from realities,
Veiled memories lead out of dreary dales;
And I drink memory's indefatigable grace,
Reverential to bones, swear to its dreams;
Nonpareil edifices, the past raised,
Aye hoist life to the halcyon clime.
BYGONES ARE BYGONES
Oh, bygones are bygones
And past never meets future,
The ruins of my deaf, shapely bones
Dissolve in time's ceaseless stream;
Clouds of distance now make indistinct;
The priceless strains of joys and pains
That scud outward in time's train
To far and afar, dark horizons.
A World more true than transient present,
How could nought be for me '
A world more mine than me myself be,
How could haste to sight's dark spot !
A breath-taking truth that drenched soul
Now braves last breath to survive in thought
As rolls on the wheels of unending time
In memory's lane, to oblivious dark side.
Healer, a great, indeed is time
While past is past and present sits on the neck;
Yet, some pasts, too real to be past;
Dealer, a great, indeed is time
Who strikes steadily in subtle strokes
And blunts sharp edges of the painful past.
The ruddy glow of magic sunshine
That floods from the past
No more flutters innate wings;
Nor curdles the soul to foams of bliss;
Thoughts dip to a gulf of void
And Indolence seizes tired limbs
And innate dim flame gasps for life.
Indeed, bygones are bygones
And past never meets future.
