Slip Away

(Inspired in part by the song Iris by Goo Goo Dolls)

A stolen moment...
Under the stars.
One that I relive...
Every day, every hour.

Memories are meant to be remembered
And tears are meant to be shed.
Dreams are meant to be shattered,
But I know I'll see you again.

All I can see are your eyes
And all I can hear are our heartbeats;
All I can feel is your breath on my lips
The moment will never slip away...

Hearts are meant to be broken,
And wishes are meant to be lost to the wind.
Eyes are meant as much to weep as to see.
And yet I know I'll see you again.

All I can smell is the scent of your hair
And all I can touch is your soft skin;
All I can hold is your hand in mine,
And I refuse to let it slip away.

Hearts and dreams may be shattered to bits
And eyes may weep oceans of tears,
But I'll cherish the memory as long as I live
And I know I'll see you again.

The Last Refrain

(My apologies to Dream Theater for borrowing what I suspect is a copyrighted phrase. And there is nothing wrong with my mood... ask the poem, not the poet.)

I hide from faceless shadows,
I'm shadowed by nameless fears.
I fear nothing, and everything.
Who will take away my pain?

Blameless, yet I regret the past.
Pastless, yet I bear the scars.
Scarless, yet I feel the agony.
Nothing to lose, yet nothing to gain.

Haunted in the waking world
As much as that of the dream.
Who will hear this lost refrain?
Who will hear my last refrain?

My soul is shattered
Like a broken mirror.
I reach out blindly with my hand...
Someone, oh someone, take away my pain!

Wanderlust

As a boy he refused to sit still,
He crawled in caves and plumbed ponds;
Climbed hills and brought back fronds;
To see it all, that was his will.

On a trip to the coast he saw a ship,
Invincible upon the sea surf;
He knew straight his life's calling
And joined their crew for an infinite trip.

He worked and drank and sang with his men,
And ne'er did he know a boring day;
The sea and the stars enchanted him,
And his spirits soared unbidden.

In the winds and the waves they put their trust,
And pirates they fought and storms they rode,
Far they sailed and wonders they saw,
And ne'er did they stop, ne'er did they stop,
For they were struck by wanderlust.

They put to shore on a distant port,
And settled down for repair;
They wandered the town and brought cheer
For making merry was their forte.

A thief there stole our hero's heart
With pretty brown eyes and a ready smile,
Curly locks and a voice divine.
And eager he was to every day's start.

Being away from her became a chore,
And he shared her love for the twinkling stars,
The cottony clouds, the cool light breeze,
And spinning 'round in meaningless terpsichore.

But the time at last came to depart,
"Don't go," she pleaded, and his heart was rent,
"But a sailor's what I am, and sailing's what I do,
I have to go, on the morrow I start."

"Damn your love for the sea,"
She cried, "Fool am I to fall
For a man whose love for her
Exceeds his love for me!"

She ran home and shut the door,
And the sailor trudged on board.
His mood was black as the moonless sky,
As his ship left the shore.

Long years after that fateful night
As he glanced upon the shimmering waves
He imagin'd he saw those sparkling brown eyes
And he found his heart squeezed tight.

But in the winds and the waves he put his trust,
And pirates he fought and storms he rode,
Far he sailed and wonders he saw,
And he ne'er could stop, no, he ne'er could stop,
For he was struck by wanderlust.

Look up!

Cold.
I rub my palms together
And hug myself for warmth;
An unforgiving night have I chosen,
To be walking back.

Dark.
The street lamps are dull and far between;
It is a moonless night,
And just a few minutes into the unwelcoming gloom
A pall settles on my thoughts.

Alone.
There is not a soul in sight;
No pedestrians to smile in passing,
No small animals to amuse me with their antics,
No cars to remind me of reality.

A smile appears suddenly on my lips,
A mirthless, wry smile.
Cold, dark and lonely.
The Surroundings?
My Mood?
My Heart?
My Soul?

I look up at the stars
For it is a clear sky;
At least they are familiar,
And good enough company
Once you get to know them.
I wink at them,
And they all wink back.

Suddenly it seems,
I do not walk in darkness,
But comforting, mellow starlight.
The cold is not overpowering
But rather, rejuvenating.
The loneliness is an illusion,
For your loved ones are always there
Looking down at you
From far away.

All you need to do is look up.

Mind or Maze?

(This is an old one. I don't even remember what my thoughts were when I wrote it.)

Let me make a revelation.
On your flights of imagination
Into the depths of your mind,
Whatever you find,
Gives you a clue
Of your subconscious self.

What you’ve always wished for,
What you’ve always yearned for,
Are released with your creativity;
The mind is a jungle, a city,
You may not be sure of what you need
Until you explore that jungle of thought,
Clear the haze and solve the maze,
You need to know your own mind.

Before you perform an action,
If something causes trepidation,
And nags at the back of your head,
Perform that instead;
Follow your sixth sense,
Don’t dismiss it as nonsense.

The mind is an enigma -
That’s an old dogma.
Explore it and follow it,
You never know what you’ll find.

Glad to be Alive

(A poem written on an idle sunny afternoon... even though I was at the back bench in a class when I wrote it!)

Lush green grass under my feet
Sparkling streams flowing past
Voices of children playing in the street
The wind in my hair when I drive fast
These are some of the reasons
That I have a spring in my step.

Smiling faces that greet me in the morning
Orange strands of Sun at twilight
Violent video games my Mom finds appalling
Stars beaming back at me in the night
These are some of the reasons
That I have a sparkle in my eye.

Gut-wrenching bone-jarring rock
Jolly men dressed like Santa Claus
Cute little dolls that can talk
Ice cream topped with chocolate sauce
These are some of the reasons
That I’m glad to be alive.

Ice and Fire

(I submitted this for a Limerick contest some time ago. The first paragraph was given. In general I write poorly when write for contests and stuff, but this one is ok I think.)

Adi-dasa the ever-ambitious sadhoo
Burnt his feet walking the fire bed through
So the next time, he ran on the coals
With hidden padding on his soles
And invented the first ever sports shoe.

Nevertheless, the experience left a bitter taste,
And dread of the mob made him leave in haste;
Yet, to go where he could not be seen
Meant going where he had never been,
So he headed for the snowy Himalayan wastes.

The snow vexed him to no end,
And he thought his bones would break if he tried to bend,
But he had God to thank
As he found a wooden plank
When the rocks had no shelter to lend.

But he’s clumsy, the old fella,
And when carrying the makeshift umbrella,
He slipped and slid down the slope
But he clutched the plank as his only hope,
And he had a snowboard, voila!

He reached a camp with his robes rent,
And all of his courage spent.
But to protect his modesty
He had to look for clothes, hastily,
But dared not approach a tent.

So he fashioned some with leaves and root,
And even made a cap, to boot.
Thus attired, he sauntered to the campfire,
Happy to be out of straits so dire,
And answered strangers with the whole truth.

Alas, not a single soul believed what he said,
And he became so angry his face went red.
Cursing the human spirit so vile,
Not knowing he’d started a new style,
He retired to his cold stony bed.

The man who hated ice and fire
And was the world’s most honest liar
Had made the most marvelous creations
That became the crowd’s passions,
Fashions of which they would never tire.

When not to duck

(This is one of those 15-minute poems I used to churn out regularly at one point of time... well I'm capable of doing better than this usually!)

In a tough, tough world,
Where if you stop to gaze,
You will be steamrollered;
You take a moment to laze,
And you will be left in the dust.

But what is even worse,
Is that you will be knocked down
Unless you are careful;
And you will look like a clown
Unless you know when to duck.

Be watchful and wary,
So when someone takes a swing,
You can get out of the way.
But the more important thing,
Is to know when not to.

Sometimes you should take a blow,
And also show the other cheek,
When it is from a friend,
And good will is what you seek.
So why create more friction?

Some things are worth more
Than that pain that comes
From not hitting back.
But in the end your heart hums
The tune of happiness.

A Tribute to Paternity

(I wrote this one on Fathers' Day, ages ago. Hopefully putting it up here will give it a part of the immortality that all tributes deserve.)

The pillar of strength
For me to lean on
In times of disappointment,
Frustration, failure or anguish;
Stronger than steel,
Yet softer than cotton,
He is that wonder
Who we call Father.

His reassuring presence
Boosts my confidence.
Ever an inspiration,
He encourages my aspirations.
Caring yet phlegmatic,
Soothing yet candid,
My beacon of hope,
My guiding light,
My friend, philosopher and teacher,
But most of all, my Father.

Father...
The word that evokes feelings
Of affection, respect and confidence;
On this wondrous occasion,
That we call Father's Day,
I submit my tribute to Paternity.

As I Pick up the Quill...

A torrent of words flow out,
Drenching me in joyous embrace,
Seemingly ne'er to stop,
Sweeping me off my unsteady feet.

My spirit soars with raw passion,
And the powerful storm slows to a playful shower,
Melodious in rhythmic grace,
Spinning me around in rapturous terpsichore.

Now a gentle drizzle,
Peppering me with questions,
Knowing when I am able to listen,
And rejuvenating my soul with fresh raindrops.

The heavens turn silent, but..
A cool damp breeze blows through my being,
Probing my feelings, lending me meaning,
Making me yearn for the words that had flow'd.

And then I set down the quill.

(A poem to explain how a poet feels when he/she writes a poem... man the words are really flowing for me these days..)

The Mirror of the Self

(After a long time... a new poem. I wrote a part of it earlier, inspired by Richard Bach's Illusions, but rewrote and completed it only today. Actually, I don't quite fully understand what I've written myself, so it's more or less open to interpretation.)

In a small village
On a not-too distant shore,
Was born a boy in this age
Like none you’ve seen before.

Too aware of the harsh world,
And too sensitive for his own good,
He would sit thinking till the night grew cold,
And the fire died for lack of wood.

A fine young man he grew up to be,
But this world is not the right place
For a mind as beautiful as had he;
Yet it was something he had to face.

Confused, he was, by so many things
That defied the common sense of his soul;
Questions raged and lent him wings
And one night into the darkness he stole.

He could not put into words his distress
And the thoughts that blazed in his head.
But he sought the answers nonetheless;
The wide world, in front of him was spread.

He searched for justice
He searched for compassion
He searched for mercy
He searched for integrity
His search was long, but in vain.

He searched the mountains
He searched the valleys
He searched the oceans
He searched the deserts
His face was weathered by the strain.

At last he chanced to hear
Of an elusive hermit who was very wise;
For the needy alone he would appear,
And offer his priceless advice.

He found him at last on a snow-capped peak,
And submitted to him thus:
"O Wise one!
I have scoured the lands and the seas;
I have looked everywhere, and what do I see?
I see hatred, I see bloodshed,
I see pettiness, I see cruelty,
I see jealousy, I see greed,
I see selfishness, I see dishonesty.
All I look for is a human being,
The way God made him to be.
Is that too much to ask?
Why can I not find such a man?"

The wise hermit said to him,
"Cease your search this very instant.
All who you see, who are not
How you know they should be,
Are but lost, and it is your duty
To show them the way."

The young man suddenly felt as though
His soul were cleansed with heavenly light
And his heart was unburdened a thousand-fold.
He turned around, hesitated, and turned again
To ask how he may start this monumental task.
But the man he’d addressed was not to be found;
In his place was a frozen mirror of ice.

A miracle he’d seen, and a miracle he’d heard.
With purpose anew he set forth upon his task.
He was a leader of men,
Aye, men they’d become under his guidance
From the creatures the world had turned them into.

"This man is the Son of God," they whispered,
"And he has seen and spoken to Him."
"I am naught but a son of this same Earth,”
He replied, "And I but saw and spoke to my inner self."

What Matters?

(Just dug this one up. Wrote it last year in forty minutes for my creative writing exam... those were the days...)

Things which move me,
And make me feel free;
A bright butterfly, a golden sunset,
A field of dandelions, a melodious dulcet;
Thus spoke the dreamy poet.

Bessel functions and differential equations,
Partial derivatives and slide rule calculations;
An underlying order in nature's every creation
For which man still seeks an explanation;
So said the thoughtful mathematician.

The enchanting lilt of a clear, sweet voice
In which one may dissolve and rejoice:
The harmony of a well struck chord,
The reason why noise is easy, but music is hard;
The musician said this, and the bard.

The fact that there are buildings a hundred storeys tall,
The way the Ancient Chinese built the Great Wall,
The miracle of the Leaning Tower still standing,
The magnificence of the Taj Mahal, beyond understanding;
Said the architect's voice commanding.

The integrity of our borders,
The obeying of a superior's orders,
Power and Glory,
Battle and Victory;
I gathered from the General's story.

I listened to all, but none convinced me,
Until a grubby orphan, running careless and free,
Said in a voice that rang innocent and true,
"You need someone to care for you,
To be with you, hold you and love you."
Tell me, dear reader,
Do you not agree?

Parting Ways

(I composed this little poem specially for my email signature a few years ago... now that college is getting over, I thought this would be an appropriate time to put it up on my blog.)

As we trudge along the sands of time,
Different ways do we part;
I only wish, when years hence,
Your thoughts may chance to turn to me,
You think of me fondly,
Without malice, without sorrow, without regret.

Destiny

(This is one of my older poems, and not a particularly good one. Is it because I don't really hold the opinions expressed in it?)

I don’t believe in luck.
I don’t carry the foot of a rabbit,
Or the tooth of a woodchuck.
I refuse to accept that it
Controls my destiny.

By the laws of probability,
The longer your run of luck,
The lower the probability
Of it staying stuck;
And you come crashing down.

I don’t believe in fate;
It is an excuse for failure
That I absolutely hate.
My life’s like this, I’m sure,
Because I made it this way.

Your actions today
Decide what you are tomorrow.
I have one last thing to say:
If your life’s full of sorrow,
Do not weep, but seek to set things right.

A Hint of a Tear

(Eleven days to submit my thesis, and instead of writing about PLC programs I ended up writing this poem. Some people are plain incorrigible I guess.)

He breathed twice, long and deep,
And forcing a smile onto his face,
Climbed stairs that never before seemed steep.
His mind was swimming in space,
But he managed to knock on the door.

She chuckled as she recognized
That characteristic double knock;
But she was quite surprised
When she opened the door and took stock,
For in spite of his smile he looked troubled.

Idle conversation did no consolation lend,
So he said the words he’d come to say;
He thanked her for being such a good friend -
The past few years, in his heart would ever stay,
But it was time for him to return to his homeland.

She stood rooted to the spot;
Her throat went dry, her heart nearly stopped.
But her expression betrayed her not,
And she looked merely concerned as they talked,
About the days that would never come back.

He relaxed in her company, as always.
He searched for some hint, some sign,
In her words, her face,
Oh! That face so divine…
Please just ask me to stay…

She did her best to make him feel at ease,
She wanted him to leave with fond memories;
But, she thought, just say the words, please,
Say you love me, say it, please,
And I will be with you forever…

He couldn’t bring himself to say it;
He would say nothing that could bring her grief.
Her concerned smile was like a beacon lit,
Strange: she the stalwart pillar, he the fragile leaf.
And as he bade goodbye to his best friend,
He imagined that he saw
The hint of a tear in her eye.

Rain of Emotions

(This was the first poem I decided to save for posterity. Suggestions for a change of title are welcome!)

When it begins to drizzle
Before the clouds sizzle
With lightning and thunder,
Doesn’t it make you wonder
How the weather could be so pleasant?

That ephemeral twinge of dampness,
That joyous touch of coolness,
Tangible, yet evanescent,
The sky, translucent,
With sparks of blue
In the gray misty ocean.

The ground is covered with spots
Due to the falling raindrops,
Vanishing as soon as they appear,
Only to be replaced by others.

Then the Gods show their anger;
The heavens roar with thunder,
And send forth bolts of lightning,
The experience is frightening.

Mercifully, finally, thankfully,
The sun appears in all its golden glory.

Soul Searching

(A very underrated poem of mine. I guess it's because I am the only person who can understand all the undercurrents in these verses. One of my favourites.)

I like to think of myself
As a lonely book
On an empty shelf
That does not wish to look
Anywhere but inside,
Where a zillion thoughts collide,
But nothing fruitful results.

I like to think of myself
As a lonely star in the sky,
Beaming brightly to itself,
Content to stay there and lie
Unconcerned and unbothered,
With innocence unsmothered,
Completely at peace.

I like to think of myself
As a dew drop on a rose,
Not beautiful by itself,
But you look real close,
Simply because it is able
To add that extra sparkle
To its chosen domain.

I like to think of myself
As a lonely little goldfish,
Looking around from its glass bowl,
With a secret wish
To be out there,
But just does not dare
To even give it a try.

Soul searching is not my specialization,
So I shall end my introspection,
For I truly believe
That the person who knows me best
Is you.

The Secret of Relaxation

(Enigma would be proud of me...)

Let me take you on a journey
Into your mind, your spirit –
Take a break from the real world;
Float away from where you sit.

Calm your nerves, your senses;
Let the world around you dissolve
Into a kaleidoscope of images and sounds
Let it fade away, there is nothing left now.

Enjoy the pure silence.
Can you hear yourself breathing?
Let the serenity sink in.
Can you feel your heart beating?

Allow yourself to be enveloped
By the milky white heavens,
Let it course through your veins,
Charging you, heightening every sense.

Launch yourself into the sky.
Go ahead and exercise
All the degrees of freedom
That you can realize.

Absorb the unadulterated joy
For a few minutes -
Then prepare yourself to return;
Start gathering your wits.

Slowly let the visions fade
Darkness is what you see;
Return to awareness,
Return to reality.

Gently open your eyes
Isn’t it amusing
That you stayed in this cacophony
Yet were aware of nothing?

It is possible to achieve
Such levels of concentration
Anytime, anyplace
By this meditation.

Do you not feel refreshed
As though you have just rested
For many hours
With a fraction of that time wasted.

Do you not feel enlightened,
Your mental powers sharpened:
Everything seems so clear
As though something in you awakened.

This is the secret
Of total relaxation;
These are the fruits
Of transcendental meditation.

Feet on the Ground

(Oh, heck... I promised myself that I'd record every poem I write, no matter how big or small. Hence this little one I wrote for a friend today goes into my poor blog.)

Look ahead, not behind,
For the future is yours alone to command;
Memories will always be there to remind
You of the ground on which you stand.

So do not look down and burrow,
But look up and leap high -
For you are standing on an evergreen meadow
That will rise as you reach for the sky.

Every Single Day

(Another one to make you feel better after a bad day; but this one's way better, as it has the ingredient necessary for cheering people up: Humour! Consider this poem as an allegorical way of stating the true message contained in the last paragraph.)

Yesterday I burnt my toast,
Cursed and started over,
Thinking that at the most,
I would have to drive faster
In order to be on time.

So I raced down the highway,
And got pulled over for speeding;
The fine I had to pay
Made it difficult breathing.
I ended up an hour late.

Though I knew my excuse was feeble,
For some strange reason,
I was chastised by four different people,
As though it was rabbit season
And I was the sole target.

Complacency, lack of sincerity, unpunctuality,
Some more words I couldn’t pronounce,
Such rare moments of unanimity
For them, is when they denounce
Hapless chaps like me.

Still reeling in a semi-trance,
I went to work with half my mind,
And I suppose I had the chance
To salvage my pride,
And get some work done.

But for reasons not hard to guess,
I was staring at the dreaded blue screen;
Looks like I made a complete mess.
Computers can be so mean;
Maybe I forgot a semi-colon.

I rounded off my splendid day
By spilling coffee on my boss’ shirt;
He didn’t have anything to say,
Just stared at me as though I was dirt,
And left me there with an empty cup.

I reached home and went to bed
Without any further incident.
Wishing I were dead,
My ego sporting a dent,
I went to sleep.

I woke up in time to see the sun rise,
With golden rays peeping from behind clouds;
Smelling the fresh air I realized,
The past may not forget what I’ve done,
But I can forget what I’ve done in the past,
So with a smile on my face
And levity in my soul,
I made up my mind
That from that moment on,
I would make a fresh start to life
Every single day.

One of those days

(I really was having a terrible day when I wrote this. And I really did feel better after that! So, well, poetry may be art, but it sure ain't useless...)

It’s one of those days;
Everything is going wrong.
But problems have to be faced,
No matter for how long.

One thing makes you downcast,
And the other makes it worse;
How long will the bad luck last?
When will the troubles disperse?

The rest of the day is a blur,
A collage of faces and voices.
And until the haze clears,
All you want to do is to utter curses.

Perhaps you need a friend to cheer you
Or maybe a long walk in solitude;
And then a refreshing drink,
To improve your attitude.

Even as the day goes from bad to worse,
I haven’t done any of the above.
Instead I decide to write this verse,
And I feel much better now.

The Way to Success

(A simple poem, typical of the stuff I wrote as a kid. Guess the childishness shows!)

The first words that would come to mind
Are: ‘Try, try, try until you succeed.’
If you fail, leave the past behind;
But if you just cannot proceed,
I’ll tell you what you need.

You need a goal for aspiration,
A source of inspiration,
A cause for perspiration,
The will to continue,
And perhaps some luck too.

When there is a stumbling block
In the middle of your way,
You should not come to a stop;
Push it out of your way.

If it is too heavy,
Use your ingenuity;
Give it wings, make it fly away,
And have a good day.

If it is a wall on the ground,
Leap over it with a bound,
Or fashion some tools,
And scale it as high as it goes.

You might need someone's aid,
And there are always people who help;
But what you give is what you get.
So if someone is in trouble,
Help him and he will repay you double.

Vastless, Priceless, Timeless

(I thought I'd post this more recent poem of mine, while still on the subject of Time. This was my first real attempt at using multiple poetic instruments in a single poem. Read this poem more than once, and you might discover more levels to it than you'd have imagined I'm capable of expressing...)

Everything has a beginning:
A beginning, at some point of time –
Tell me, then, when did time start?

I watched as the golden-orange strands of Sun
Touched the faint blue of the early morning sky.
It appeared to kindle activity in the town
Spread out in front of me.

He brought light, he brought life.
“I will match you,” I laughed –
Kissed my Mom’s cheek, pulled my Dad’s ear,
And scampered off to school.

In my mind’s eye,
A thousand cities were built,
A hundred empires were born,
Civilization grew, and people learnt.

The ten-storey building
Had a shadow ten metres long.
Typical of him, I thought.
Dwarfing things on Earth, outshining things outside.

But am I very different?
After all, I mean to be the best.
Grimly I turned to face the board of directors.
I am their leader, their saviour and their God.

In my mind’s eye,
Armies conquered, and trade flourished –
Order and culture were defined,
Mathematics and art were refined.

Evening faded into twilight.
A smile creased my cheeks
As I watched the solemn sunset:
Even you won’t live forever, I thought.

I’ve left my mark upon the world
And a footprint on the sands of time.
Earned my fame and my sizeable fortune…
The end is near, but not satisfaction.

In my mind’s eye,
The grandest of Kingdoms
Decayed into lifeless ruin.
Greatness passed in a geological blink of an eye.

Everything has an ending.
An ending, at some point of time –
Tell me, then, when will time end?

The Stamp of Reality

(I must've written this when I was a kid! Still, it's not too bad... it has a message. Nature dwarfs us at every step, yet we are not humble enough to acknowledge it.)

Isn't it ironic,
That it takes hours of work
To build a house of cards,
But all it takes to bring it down
Is a small gust of wind.

Isn't it ironic,
That after years of hard work
To build up a reputation,
All it takes is one mistake
To besmirch your name forever.

Isn't it ironic,
That it takes ages to build a city,
But one violent gesture
From Mother Nature
Can reduce it all to nothing.

The ultimate stamp of reality
That puts us in our place
Is that everything is ephemeral;
Still, the illusion of permanence
Is what keeps us going.

Promises

(A thought-provoking poem. One of my favourites: woven with frankness, and raises some fundamental questions. I hope anyone who reads this is a better person for the experience.)

In all the years of your life,
Have you ever bothered to pause
And count the promises you’ve broken?
It is likely you never have, because –
Words are but a token,
A sample, of greater things,
That do not get translated into reality;
They are like mere strings,
The matter of detachment a triviality.

Rarely do you find a man of his word,
Whose every single utterance
Is locked with truth and sincerity
Who realizes the importance
Of speaking with full honesty
And acting according to his words.
Such a man you can trust
For all you can see are his true colours;
It would be hard to disbelieve him even if you must.

Every time you take someone’s help,
You are making a promise
To be equally forthcoming
When he needs yours;

Every time you say
‘Yes’, ‘Okay’ or ‘Later’,
You are making a promise
To do something you should.

Every time you pray,
You are making a tacit promise
To be honest and righteous
And ‘good’ in its traditional sense.

The worst kind of promise to break
Is when you actually swear to do something,
And find yourself unable to;
Does your heart not sting
When you cannot come through,
Be it due to your own fault,
Or circumstances beyond your control?

So think before you speak,
For when you do not keep your word
You hurt others as well as yourself;
Until you cultivate this quality
You can never truly be happy.

Drown me with Words

(I consider this a good poem by my standards. However, I wrote in an age - 1998 or thereabouts - when I was much more verbose and prolix in my writing... which is not necessarily a good or a bad thing, but it makes for slightly heavier reading.)

When my performance goes from bad to worse,
People tend to drown me with words.
They say I lack inspiration,
That I can't achieve anything without perspiration,
That hard work is the key to success,
With emphasis on thoroughness.
There should be no room for complacency,
And I must strive to attain competency.

With repetition bordering on platitude,
I am told to drop my casual attitude,
And change my outlook in general,
Or it's going to be my funeral.
So where did I go wrong?
The question bewilders me for long.
Eventually I shrug my shoulders,
And telling myself it's a rock, not a boulder,
I made one mistake, so what,
Let me give it another shot.

It is called the law of averages,
That somehow life manages
To make you succeed at last
When it seemed to be heading nowhere and fast.
Suddenly you're back at the top,
But remember it wasn't a lollipop.
People may shower lavish praise,
You feel like the most important person in the place,
But you know it's an established fact
That fate's made a tacit pact
And applause is ephemeral
Sound as well as noise is measured in decibels.

I heard a great man say,
‘Every dog has it's day’.
So if someone drowns you with words,
Whether it's sweet like the birds
Or acrid like smoke,
Pretend it was the wall that spoke.
So remember what I said,
Let not success go to your head,
Do not take failure to heart,
And if you are smart,
Behind you, you would not glance.
Leave nothing to chance,
Be meticulous, diligent and systematic,
Success is not automatic,
But always do your best,
And safe in that knowledge you can rest-
No matter what the outcome,
There's another day to come.

The Place I Call Home

(A light poem, written with and for a light heart on a light day... more a song than a poem, actually. I was humming John Denver's "Leaving on a Jet Plane" when I wrote this. It's a simple poem, written to unburden myself; nothing particularly great about this one.)

I’m proudly walking,
My steps are light;
The Sun is shining,
Clean and bright;
‘Cos on this fine day
I’m on my way
To the place I call Home.

The road is long,
The end’s not in sight;
So I’m singing a song
As though I’m on a flight,
And if I see someone I say
I’m on my way
To the place I call Home.

It’s been a while
Since I’ve come this close,
And as I climb the last stile
My heart glows;
I’ve come to stay,
I’ve come all the way
To the place I call Home.

Altruistic

(I feel like I really must compensate for the previous post... this poem is one of my favourites, because it has so many levels to it. It was the most mature poem I'd written at that relatively young age of 16.)

He was just a child,
Sitting by the lamp-post,
Crying his heart out.
No shoes on his feet,
Begging on the street,
Nowhere to play,
Nowhere to stay.
My heart went out to him.

I am a man of compassion,
I tell myself.
A good citizen,
A man with scruples,
A man of principle,
Who helps people in need,
A man fit to lead.
But I didn’t raise a finger to help.

I could give money to beggars,
I could lend things to my friends,
I would do favours to strangers;
But I could never make a sacrifice.
It is not enough to be nice;
Unless you can give up something special,
Helpfulness isn’t real,
And you’re just another hypocrite.

Blessed are the people,
Who are truly altruistic,
Who would give up something
That means the world to them,
If it would help someone
In genuine need.
Somehow, the good deed
Always finds its way back to them.

The last I heard
Of the orphaned child,
A neighbour adopted him,
Raised him as his own son.
And while this was done,
All I did was watch and say,
There are good people in the world today,
There really are people who are altruistic.

The Paragon of Perfection

(I wrote this one in a fit of boredom... saw a poetry contest on a website and generally took part. The topic was on diamonds, obviously because the sponsor was a jewellery store. This poem is just a bunch of rhyming clauses... no emotion, no poetry at all really. I'm putting it here because ultimately I will upload every poem I've saved, good or bad. So I'd better not get any positive comments on this one...)

Shimmering - like a star in the sky,
Glistening - like dew on a lotus leaf,
Intriguing - like nothing else can,
Enrapturing - like nothing before.

I talk about that single thing,
Be it on a necklace or ring,
Or even just alone.
It isn’t merely a stone;
It makes women gasp
And men stand spellbound.

Regardless of it’s size,
It is a valuable prize.
The best gift one can give
It will last as long as you live.
It depicts love; it portrays care.
And it is also eternal.

If I may be bold enough to propose
One thing that I suppose
Is closest to perfection,
Then without any trepidation,
I can tell you,
It is a Diamond.

Into Your Eyes

(I wrote this poem very recently, on Feb 17th to be precise. I have no idea why I churned out such a romantic poem... the words just flowed of their own volition. I guess most of my good poems are the ones that write themselves. This one is about a guy who is happily married. For two people to be happy together, they need not be alike, and they not be soulmates; they just need to love each other.)

Swaying to the soft tune,
Holding you in my arms,
Looking into your eyes,
Those laughing, enticing eyes,
I don’t want to let go…
I don’t want time to flow…

Lying, awash with tears,
In a moment of pure grief,
I look into your eyes,
Those beautiful, concerned eyes,
And I stifle the next moan,
For I know I’m not alone.

Walking up to the podium,
To receive a coveted prize,
I seek out your eyes,
Those proud, happy eyes,
And I realize I already hold,
The biggest prize ever told.

Taking a soothing evening walk,
With you beside me, holding my arm,
I again look into your eyes,
Those quiet, content eyes,
And oh! What happiness I derive!
In knowing I’m the luckiest man alive.

Starry Starry Night

(Reading this poem after a long time is bringing back the thoughts I felt while writing it... I had been listening to Don McLean's song "Vincent" which starts with these three words. I would play the song again and again and drift into a state of peaceful bliss. And now and then, when I do look up at the sky on a clear night, I remember my own words, and my troubles disappear...)

It’s a starry starry night,
Striking in its serenity;
Lying, entranced by its beauty,
I could stay like this for eternity.

Bathed in its starlight,
The landscape wears a silent hue,
And as the cool wind blew,
Such moments are rare, I knew.

For as I think of my plight,
Living a rat race everyday,
Out of which there is no escape,
It is for such moments that I pray.

So, as the sky grows bright,
I stand up and breathe a sigh,
Have a last look at the stars so high,
Walk away and say goodbye,
To this starry starry night.

One Moment in Time

(I wrote this poem a long time ago, when I was absorbed in listening to the beautiful violin compositions of J.S.Bach. It's title is a tribute to a song by Bach of the same name. Somehow, music and poetry are inseparable in my mind... they stir my soul equally, and they are more expressive than a thousand lines of prose...)

In all of our memories,
There lies one special moment-
One moment in time
That lasts forever.

For some, it is their first kiss;
For some, their graduation;
For some, the birth of their child;
Everyone has their own special event.

One moment in time
That you can remember
As clearly as though
It happened only yesterday.

One moment in time
When every little detail
Every expression you saw
Remains indelibly branded.

One moment in time
When the emotions you felt
Return to fill your senses
Every time you think about it.

Every one of us
Has a special memory,
One moment in time
That lasts forever.