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?