Poetic confessions

Was thinking about this post for some time now, wanted to post some of the poems I have composed over a period of time. The range shifts from the Banal to the thoughtful , I have not been able to arrange the stanzas and paragraphs in this blog. To check all my poems you can access the website www.poemhunter.com.


Lore of Sufism

The almighty that sprinkles the earth with a thousand flowers benignMay the calm of a thousand mountains don the visage of your restless soul? The beauty of a river singing and meandering in search of that peaceWhich follows when the arms of the ocean engulf it, exemplifying existence The Ocean roars and says all permanence too has an ending.These chants of ages gone, this lore which brings a joyful melancholy.Instill nostalgia for this era passed long byWho were these seers, were they crusaders of the divinity in manThey for sure were romantics for romantics nurture belief like no otherThe tradition of worship found a new beliefIt was not heresy but the faith of a few TitansFighting the time, fighting tyrants, fighting savageryRealm saw a new dawn on a politic stained by crimsonMan became God, God became Man.Yes! The Mystic sang all this the song of love, of devotionOf a beloved waiting, of an anguish in the hearts of mortalsThe flowing sensuality of the praises of the almighty Matched the longing of a forlorn lover.The yearning for salvation was but what salvation itselfThe mystique of the mystic is a legend less understood, for Less understood are the voices of the chosen few yet Love is surely divine and divinity equals love Nature is the form of God and the love for nature is ElysianThis was an era when Humanity reveled, sanity was revered and solitude elevatedThis is what the Sufi sang for this is what the lore says.


A Smile Unknown

I saw that smile glowing under the rays of a nascent sun.As I saw a veil of darkness engulf the shadows of duskI stand on the perch of my house seeing the window afarThe dark eyes with shining brightness light the gloomy interiors of my heartThe lady looks at me with a curious expression, I furtively hide behind the window watching still. She flashes her dark tresses in a caress befitting the glowing radiance of the pallid sun.I see life through this woman of my dreams. She flirts with sanity, evokes a desire unknown. Yet she is life, she is joy, the heart glows in the flowing timbre of her laughter.Is She a dream? Yes! She is for my heart yearns for love yet it is elusive a dream.


A Marauder Came

A Marauder came, crumbling the temples of belief, plundering the souls of a few people.He came and he conquered the peaceful folk of a primeval land.He called them Pagans, Barbarians, miserable folk believers in an obscure religion.He called his faith a glorious revolution set upon this land to cure its miseries.He plundered, he looted, he swindled the wealth, the dignity of the land.He Imposed taxes on non believers believing in his God’s benevolence.Who was this plunderer from the sands proclaiming himself as the savior of mankind.What was mankind according to him. What was faith according to him. How did he perceive the vagaries of life.He did not possess the imagination for he was a believer in lust and greed.What did his faith tell him to loot, plunder spread all over on a tide of blood.What faith is this which chains humans, throttles and slashes toddlers in their crib.A faith which teaches impatience, hatred and bloodlust. A faith which suppresses beauty, kills expression, strangles creativity.It calls others non believers, is it the faith or the man who does it.A faith which is no faith, yet is present. A belief which gave mankind the message of Karma.A revolution which teaches God to be man and Man to be God. A circle which is round yet not round. A knowledge that no one is pure yet everybody is impure. A belief spurring the progress of mind more than the decadent body.Why did the marauder blame this faith for the misery. Perhaps he was the son of ignorance. His roots were ignorance, it was misery, it again took the marauder back to his roots.Roots which always wallowed in savagery, roots of philistine thinking and closed eyes.Roots which still can’t look a woman in the eye.

Mist

Happy seems the mist in the months of cold.My eyes see its blanket reminding me things of yoreSomewhere down the valley the mist calls Asks a question where are you these daysI tell the mist I am in a jungle burdened with concreteFar lies the Jungle from these tranquil environs The jungle has beasts all over roaring in unison at the crack of dawn.The Mist says you like the jungle, my reply gets drowned among falling raindropsThe voice of Mist rises and says- my question is unanswered. I reply, bother not you bride of winter. The answer is not required. The Mist is silent; deepening its smoky wings over the pines it rushes and gives a cold embrace.As I shiver I delve on the beauty of the mist and marvel its amour.Tickling the trees and flirting with the mountains it covers a whole town.The town goes to sleep, I remain with the mist with its cold embraces and boundless questionsQuestions I have no answers to questions of centuries and questions, which only the old pines could answer.Why do the mountains throw my advances back, and why do men find me depressingI reply mountains are like concrete jungles, while men are its inhabitants.



My Guardian Angel

All along the time I grew, I watched a tree cast a shadow on me.Yes! It was my guardian through times thick and thin. Times whenAll alone trying to understand the roots and algebra, I wondered whether thisIs the ultimate exploration of mind? I saw nature and it’s bounties smiling at my childish Query.I smelled the raindrops falling from my tree, quenching my pristine thirst.Making my courtyard smell like a thousand pure dreams. I wondered whyMy friend is so quiet, aloof from the vagaries of life. Why the quiet demeanourThe exciting solitude. My callow spirit found no answer. I saw the onset of spring, the tree glowing in a fresh coating of eloquent verdure.Winged herons, plumed robins basking in the lush beauty of countryside.My mind again wondered afar, thinking about beauty and nature.I found Wordsworth more profound than Pythagoras, was I wrong? The teacher laughed at the crazed query of a freckled teenager The father frowned at his impetuous reasoning. Perhaps they were rightMy tree smiled as if signifying an ocean of calm, urging me to be observantI saw the birds chirping on it feeding their young chatting with their kin.I saw the leaves falling from my friend’s branches, he said yes; I lose something everydaystill I do not complain, for life is an exploration at each curve.My flowers will again fall, but will bloom again you too my friend do not despairFor you too would bloom in your heart and in your soul.

In the company of women

Just finished reading 'In the company of women' by Khushwant Singh. Although the book came out in 1999 , I had failed to read it then and bought a copy when I found one. The reason I wanted to read the book was not to find out about Singh's inclinations to write about sexuality in his late eighties but to check how good the material and storyline really were.

I was not suitably impressed by the book , partly due to its tendency to sound both banal and mythical at the same time. Mohan Kumar the protagnist is shown as an extremely brilliant individual who wins a scholarship and goes abroad to study in princeton. He is also shown as being handsome , more than six feet tall and a compulsive womaniser. He beds a lot of American girls and becomes a known stud because he incidentally also has the---hold your horses- the biggest Organ seen by women who he has bedded.

The book keeps on meandering through the life of Mohan Kumar who comes to India , becomes a successful businessman and also bears an unhappy marriage. While all this is OK , Singh's narrative style is least engrossing and focuses more on eroticising the book . "Erotica" has a certain value in writing and when written with an unselfconscious style can be engrossing, a case in point is 'John Updike'. Though the only book of real substance written by Singh is 'Train to Pakistan' , it is imperative to note that the author is more known as an accurate and worthwhile historian than a fiction writer.

"A history of Sikhs" is a Vivid description of Sikh history down the years and Khushwant is also known to have popularised Guru Gobind Singh's image as a great poet. Very few have read the tenth Guru's 'Bichitar Natak' . Read it and you will realise the intellect and vision of Sikhism's great hero. Khushwant Singh, has contributed in his way as a virtual encyclopedia on Sikh History and literature , and this is where he should have drawn a line. While I have no problems with his brand of writing , it somehow diminshes his achievements wherein the general public view him as nothing but a 'randy Sikh' who is somewhat of a buffoon.

That is the precise reason for my not liking 'In the company of Women ' for while there is nothing wrong in writing about sex , it should not be the be all and end all of any literary work. Character development , however was never a strongpoint of Khuswant Singh's where excluding his first work he fell into a realm of mediocrity.

Engagement Mithais

I have never clearly understood the reasons for distributing sweets , whenever a person gets tied in Conjugal bliss or the ceremony preceding that. I got engaged this month itself and my office staff was bending over themselves to congratulate me. Fine enough , I thought --though what exactly made them so enthusiastic was still to come. So! exclaimed my Boss where is the Mithai ----. Implying and later accusing how I had conveniently forgotten this sacrosanct regimen of distributing sweets. Finally bowing to peer presssure , I bowed down and distributed sweets.

This curious phenomenon of sweets is not really explained by the rich tradition of Indian mythology and story telling combined. Now-- agreed the person undergoing the ceremony is expected to be reasonably happy. Though whether this translates to making everybody happy around you is reasonably suspicious, anyway I went ahead and did the usual routine of making people happy by distributing Mithai-- that great Indian conduit transferring happiness to mankind.

Mobile Mania

A layman can always wonder at the habits of his co-dwellers in this place we call earth. Well !people have this innate habit of chatting. Even before the mobile was invented we have seen people gossiping , though admittedly in a restricted way. There are a lot of points, I have noticed while observing people on their mobiles however, sample the most humourous :

The top ranking goes to girls who are foerever pressing the instrument to their ear talking in whispers which you can only hear if you have some superhuman power of hearing . If you travel in the Delhi Metro , than you can come across this species of teenage , college going and young lasses in their twenties speaking on the mobile as if plotting the downfall of the Pentagon. How do their 'boyfriends' decipher the mumbo jumbo is beyond my comprehension. Then again , maybe comprehension is not a necessity when the rustle of whispers is what matters.

Mahabharata

was thinking about Mahabharata as I went through some pieces of of the great epic on the net. One thing is the 'libido' of women shown in the epic. Sample this:

When Hidimba saw Bhima in the forest , she was enchanted by his leonine shoulders , broad chest and mighty arms. Thus taking the form of a beautiful female she approached Bhima and said.

"O great and mighty man! , I have been struck by Kamadeva's arrow when I saw you , although my brother the Mighty Hidimb has sent me to kill you and your brothers , killing you would give me temporary pleasure; marrying you would ensure that pleasure would be mine for time eternal."

Hmmm--- one thing is for sure the females in the epic were not shy of demanding sexual satisfaction , even if by the use of grandiloquent dialogue as written by Jai Arjun Singh in his popular Blog Jabberwock. One thing is for sure , the epic is far ahead of its times and ironically should show are feminists that ancient vedic culture was not only tolerant of female sexuality but seemed to encourage it.

Another Sample: Ulupi the queen of the Nagas , took Arjuna to the bottom of the Ganges and asked him this:

"O great warrior , you of the deep chest and resonating voice , you of the dark complexion and sensual eyes . Accept me as your wife and spend the next three days with me in my palace underwater".

After this another sexually charged dialogue , Arjuna accepts Ulupi and according to the epic "knows her as a husband " for three days.

Brilliant, isn't it , when women were so free to choose their husbands and were also well versed in the art of mesmerising poetry the "O warrior" , "O Bheema," being used everywhere.

The Mahabharata is not only brilliant as an epic but is also good for an exercise in high camp on lighter days.

Rocky Series

Was checking out Rocky Balboa on the DVD this weekend. Although had read reviews that the movie was good and worth checking out , most impressed was by James Berardinelli's views in this matter. (It is another matter that I almost agree with him almost everytime I read one of his reviews.)

The movie was good , surprisingly it showed good emotional depth and ability to again bring Rocky as the top of the line character. This aspect being one of the highlights of the movie. Stallone had a very "punchy way of unfolding the narrative , though the films started going low on substance from the second film onwards and made a mockery of itself with the fifth instalment ; Rocky balboa redeems an otherwise downhill story.

The best part of the films is that Boxing is used as a cathartic expression of an aging but gallant hero. Rocky's need to again apply for his licence is not shown as an attempt by an Old action star to reclaim some lost glory , it is an attempt by a warrior to show to the world that the heroism is intact however gnarled and geriatric it may have become. Rocky's beloved better half Adrianne is dead and the pugilist is fighting bouts of depression with a feeling of emptiness and the apathy of dealing with a son who considers his father's legacy a burden.

The emotional aspects of the story start drawing when Rocky tells his son about the gallantry of taking life's hardest punches and still getting up to fight another day. This was my favourite line in the movie , though some may consider it over the top , it never is banal . Stallone makes the utterance of the lines very credible in deadpan but emotional "Rocky Balboa" style. This is the essence of the whole series when Rocky was able to win against better opponents through willpower , grit and the ability to take the 'worst hits' and still come back strongly and win.

This movie is not about winning or losing as Rocky again proves to the world that by lasting for 10 rounds against a champion half his age , and giving him the toughest fight of his life he proves to himself and his son that Life is about taking punches and still giving it back. Rocky Balboa is a fitting tribute to end this series as the last one was a disaster. This movie redeems the protagnist before our eyes and not because he is a great Boxer but he is one of Life's great champions.

I have always been a Fan of the Rocky series and apart from the fifth instalment , I believe that the series was very good. People can argue that the second , third and the fourth instalments were creatively dead and had little meat , I would like to differ. Agreed! the three mentioned instalments were certainly not in the league of the first which was really the Original "Italian Stallion" but these movies were about the triumph of the Human soul and certainly were decent no matter "Warts and all". Rocky and Rocky Balboa are the movies which use boxing as a way of Rocky's redemption whereas the rest can be viewed as pure visceral fun which is nevertheless endearing.

Musing on Munich

Steven Spielberg's Munich is a compelling motion picture asking a lot of questions through its substantial length. It is easy to bracket the movie as a Jewish vindictive drama after the black September massacre , however that is an oversimplistic viewpoint passed by some casual observers. Spielberg asks many questions about terrorism , its impact and ramifications in the world which are as relevant today as they were in 1972. Throughout the movie works as a tightly paced thriller and still manages to be a noble piece on terrorism , more meaningful than countless editorials on the same topic.

The protagnist Avner (Eric Bana) gives a performance totally in sync with the need of the character. Avner is torn between loyalty to his country and his duty, as well his own intellect and subsequent need to question the ethical standpoint of his actions. The rest of the cast is competent with Daniel Craig being specially noteworthy as a firebrand South african Jew called Steve. Performance wise Munich does not have a shortcoming with Geofferey Rush being the standout in his role of Ephraim a Mossad Officer in constant touch with Avner.

The rest of the plot of the movie is best viewed and then analysed (if somebody wishes it) on whether the movie works on their expectations. Munich works for me as it asks some wonderful questions on whether repeat vengeance against terrorists is the best way to solve terrorism; or should other methods be employed. There is no answer in the movie and there in lies the greatness of Munich it gives no answers and is brilliant in its depiction of state policies and their intrinsicly flawed machinations.

P.S. Particularly loved Golda Meirs speech in the beginning when she says "every Civilization has to compromise on its values sometimes."