Poor Man's Plight

Can a billion dreams be ever betrayed? We a nation of billion men, yet failing mysteriously to keep our date with destiny. At this moment I don’t have an answer to that question. I tried but failed to explore all the facets of this question. The four lines that ensue are my reflection on the poor man’s plight. Poor that constitutes the majority of this nation of billion. The question that really haunts me now is, whose dreams am I really talking of....?

Poor on the street, dreams no glory but bread
For without it he would be dead
And he is not wrong in his quest
The dawn of realism just quells the rest

A reflection on life

This post fails to qualify as poetry...It is however the way it flowed out and given the thought it endows I find it appropriate to leave it the way it is...

What we celebrate as humanity
Is nothing but a stream of consciousness
Flowing down from generation to generation
Transcending through billions of minds
Evolving as it flows along

Purpose of life then is to experience life
Transience of our mind through the eternal stream of time
Bringing us to certain reflections
expressions life incomplete by itself
Yet invaluable as no two streams follow the same path

It does not matter what you experience
Pain or pleasure
Pristine paradise or a pragmatic parody
Divine order or an entropic chaos
It does not matter...

What matters simply
Is how your consciousness mould
The eternal stream of space and time
Flowing through you every moment

Be conscious of this journey called life
Impending experience ensuing thoughts and resulting memories
And let, what is worthy of it
flow on to what we call as the 'Next generation'

Aye all men are born equal !

Aye all men are born equal...

Not perhaps in strength or intellect,

Not for sure in the wealth they inherit.

Not all are born with a silver spoon,

Or with beauty of a spring bloom.

Yet all men at the start of their life,

Have boundless dreams equally rife.

Fire in their hearts that burns so bright,

A light that could lead them in the darkest night.

Aye all men do remain equal...

Till they for their noble dreams strive,

And the flame of hope is kept alive.

Until the worldly wisdom dawns,

And they slowly learn to bow down.

Till they trade their cherished dreams,

And in the process lose their self esteem.

Their soul corrupt and self betrayed,

Slowly they fade into the swamp of slaves.

Aye all men are born equal...

Not all make it big, get famous or get rich,

Just that some strive to the very last ridge.

No matter where they fall or how they fall,

As long as that they don’t stall.

For what matters more is not where you start, but where you end,

The journey you make till you relent.

How you spend those unforgiving moments,

Fill them thus that there is nothing to repent.

teaching...

Teach not your kid what is right and what is wrong

Teach him if you can, to reason, and let him for himself see

Teach him how to walk but not which path to take

If you have taught him well, path he would sure for himself make

Give him the rationale and not the judgement

For, though he is born, he is not bound to thee

Neither to society or your faiths decree

Biases and prejudices wedged into your mind

So deep and thorough that you can never unbind

You are slave, not let him be

So if you can, set him free...

More than anything from the baggage you carry...

Drone Song

I woke up today with a drone song
Lacking its usual peace, one with intent too strong
A wasp seeking his way through the window pane
Fighting an insurmountable enemy in disdain

It was a bright sunny day
Nature replete in her hue and hay
He did not knew what made him stay
Away from the fresh bloom flowers gay

He flew hard with all his strength
Not for a moment ready to relent
Hitting hard on to the invisible wall
Bringing his momentous* flight to stall

Yet he came back again and again
Trying hard to make some gain
As I went on with my chores, my life’s struggle galore
I hoped he would find his way, fly off soon from the open door

Time flew by and it was noon
He was still there in my room
Struggling still on the window pane
Not willing to quit his quest insane

In pity I wanted to open the pane
Let go free the foolish bane
I did not however; I wanted to see how it ends
Wanted perhaps to see him break, to his fate relent

Evening when I returned, the noise was gone
I hoped he found his way around
But he was right there lying

Besides the window pane dying

In subtle remorse of my mindless deed
I opened the pane and got him freed
He was but now unwilling to fly, not even ready to crawl ahead
He will not make it now...he is dead for his hope is dead

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*Momentous, for it is the struggle of his life

In the realms of our limited wisdom, we all constantly strive

So many such walls we take head on

Fight it hard unable to move on

Life is perhaps a story of such struggles

A journey through a terrain of troubles

Noise of the unsaid words
Echoing within the realms of mind
Undying reverberations of silence
For what is said fades away with time

Unsaid but never fades...deep within it forever stays

A friend is gone again without saying goodbye

Not sure of dawn tomorrow
If it were my last supper
These words the last I utter
Or… from relentless death there are few more breaths to borrow
Flight of life so inconsistent in time
Its musings like music of wind chimes

A friend is gone again without saying goodbye
It’s not in the nature of man but life
She belongs to none her treachery so rife
So why be sad why cry
Leave of friends one can’t be sure of one’s self
Never know when it is time to say goodbye

Key to Success

It is not the mediocrity of genes
But of thoughts and dreams
It’s not flesh where lies the grit
Sense of strength springs form the spirit

There are no horizons of dreams
No boundaries no limits extreme
Can see till where you dare to see
Forsake your fears and you are free

Dreams yet are not an end in itself
‘Success’ seldom is bought off the shelf
Lot of toil and lot of sweat
It takes lot of pain to pay dreams debt

Settle yet not for less than the best
Life is once and too short to rest
you have the spark that can lit up the dark
So move on dear…leave on the sands of time your footmark