Careless Whispers :-) alternatively titled Walk The Talk

Heart (Photo credit: mozzercork)

The Head Thinks,
The Hands labour,
The Heart rejoices,
And the feet are there for a reason!!

With apologies to Liz Curtis Higgs whose original poem I am modifying and Barbara Trautlien, whose change leadership model I am extending:-)

An electronic note

Some write it with blood, I'm typing on screen,
As you promptly hit delete, at least your hands will be clean!
Some let their tears flow, washing their apology in part,
but on a back-lit LED display, interpreting the     gaps    will be hard.

Some sweat over small stuff, getting the penmanship right,
I'll let you change the fonts, but please don't let the message hide.
Some spray it with perfume, even my template is plain,
no fragrances left to haunt you, if this were to go down the drain.

Some cover in an envelope, I post unencrypted on the web,
even if they found you reading this, you can act ignorant and correct!
Some seal it with a kiss, I publish with a click of my mouse,
and now there's no backtracking, whether you admire or grouse.

Some make it so complex, but its so easy you see,
I'm so sorry that I hurt you, will you please forgive me?

Why dont I touch thee

Touch me not (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This may be seen as second part or continuation or new spin on  You can see, but mustn't touch.

Why don't I touch thee, let me count the ways;
I don't touch thee for sound reasons; pray, hear my case;
You are like a body of still water, that is clam, deep and godsend,
my touch will disturb and perturb you, with ripples that never end.

You are like a statuette of soft, but impressionist clay; perfect and untouched you're meant to be,
my touch will distort and disfigure you, with the impressions of an imbecile for all to see.  
you are like a gem that is crystalline and pure; delicate, shining and untainted,
my impure touch will stain you forever, with one of your facets now painted.

You are like a house of cards, that's just standing; each supporting the other -steady and fast,
my touch will crumble that composure, as you shatter under the weight of the memories past. 
You are like a touch-me-not flower, that's delicate, tempting and forbidden equal parts,
my touch will make you wither or shrink, and go forever in a shell, breaking many hearts.

but the forever reason I don't touch thee, I fear you are an illusion or a dream forlorn,
and my touching will make you disappear again, with me and my burnt fingers alone. 

She doesn't read me any more!

Facepainting (Photo credit: vlasta2)

She doesn't read me any more,
stopped following or keeping track;
What I wrote once, had made her sore,
so she barged ahead- without looking back.

Depriving me of her face, her locks, her looks,
of what she's writing, her blogs, her books,
her feelings she kept in guard before -
but now what's locked is ever more-

her words, profiles, her tracks in space,
her photos, poems, the change in face;
All I recall, she's driven to wipe,
vanishing from the net, disappearing from my life.

Fearing me as a stalker, guarding closely the door,
I hardly care, she doesn't read me any more!

You can see, but mustn't touch

privacy (Photo credit: Sean MacEntee)

After what seemed like eternity, she finally unveiled her face,
and the darkness was forgotten, though blinded by sun's rays,
I could hardly make out the outlines, the freckles, the age,
time has flown so quickly, like rats in a maze,
we kept circling and avoiding, dreading the meet,
not knowing what to say, how to eventually greet,
for the one who was closest is a stranger now,
not even sure if to shake hands or to respectfully bow,
or to hug and cry ones heart out - that's now tired and forlorn,
but how to hug a profile photo, is a puzzle- a thorn,
that strikes deep in your heart, you can't even 'like',
due to strange privacy settings, you can 'share', but is that right?
you can't 'comment' - so perhaps at least on this count she cares,
that you can look, but can't touch, a punishment of sorts for your dares?

The Fool- XII

This is a poem spread across multiple pages. Please read in order. Please click on links below to read the earlier passages from the poem.

The Fool - I.
The Fool - II.
The Fool - III.
The Fool - IV.
The Fool - V.
The Fool - VI.
The Fool - VII.
The Fool - VIII.
The Fool - IX.
The Fool - X.
The Fool - XI. 

But isn’t life already empty, and that too as of now,

Who tackles the ‘why’ questions, only those of ‘how’

How to get the Grail, how to make that first move;

How to get involved in the quest, how to again prove,

How to start and last a journey- without aim or sight,

How to couch one’s failures as a fight for right.

How to please the king, how to heal the wounds,

Not of king- but self- How to outgrow Love’s boons,

For Love had protected and Love had scorned,

There are scars running deep, and skin that’s scorched,

How to be One with the quest, How to be The One of the quest

And by losing one’s identity, how one can finally rest

The fire that was burning – these are questions on fool’s mind,

But not asking the ‘why’ questions, is not a degree error, it’s an error of kind.

For you may know the roads to riches,

 and you may know just how to lie,

And you may know just how to touch her,

and you may know just how to cry,

But if you don’t know why you are lying,

and have no clues why you cry

You may as well be a Fool and keep vying,

She’ll leave you for the other guy,

For its not what you say that matters,

And how you say it, hardly counts,

what she cares for is ‘why’ you said it,

you may say I love you, but if to her it sounds,

a pretext to get cozy, and not the heart’s final surrender

you may as well forget her, and join the plunder.

The plunder of the quest where the whys are replaced by the hows

You are so occupied with the journey, you lose sight of the house,

That should have been your end goal, something to return to after the quest

A place one can call home, a place where one can finally rest

But all you care for now is how to leave loves shadow behind

And from ashes rise to victory, a phoenix on the climb

How to reinvent yourself- all you care it to win,  

What purpose the Grail serves, is to you a bit dim.

Why Grail, Why Quests, why kings, why wounds,

Why think of oneself as divine like Suns and Moons,

Why not satisfied with a humdrum life, a wife,

Why needs for affairs, why romance and to be strife,

Why the first step, why the last, why the  desire to be the Key,

The fool desperately needs to ask the question – why Me?

Why it’s up to the fool to end the quest

What crime has he committed, at best,

His ignorance and lack of guile may suggest

He’s upto the task, that’s no excuse, lest

From now onwards every fool be crucified

And in the quests of kings, shamelessly sacrificed

He may be capable of ending the quest,

For quests can be ended only in jest,

Anyone serious and focused on winning

Will only against the tide be swimming

By pitting against millions who want to win

The knights make the quests end look grim.

Only a fool with a mocking disdain of losing,

Can make everyone a winner, and the quest be losing.

So we agree why the Fool should take that step,

Only he can end the quest, make us all hap,

And we can bet our lives, that the Fool he is,

He won’t ask the question, why him, not us,

Let him do for us, what we should do for ourselves,

Losing pawns is Ok in a battle of Knights and Ewe,

Why did he ever love; why love cast its spell strong              

Now hiding from cupids arrow, he is in our command

He has to overcome the pain, if he has to love anew,

He has to forget the many and focus on few

The few knight exemplars that are awed and proud,

And for now let the sun hide behind the cloud

Let this quest be ended, let the Grail be sought,

Today if need be, his soul be bought!

In a Faustian deal to cope with loves stings and arrows,

Let’s get the Fool on our side- ready to go to gallows,

And eager for quest, believing it will liberate his soul,

Lets turn him into a hero, or at least make him bold,

To face his fate , that was not chosen by him,

But to take that first step, we have to stroke his whim

Only by happenstance can a Fool start a journey so fraught

Even if we, the devils, have his soul negotiated and bought.

We must take precautions lest he hear a whimper or the soul’s cry

For in a moment of insight, if he asks the question why,

Why trade his soul for pain, or for love or for gain,

Why engage in the quest, when the end is simple and plain,

In that asking of why, we may lose our savior for good,

But if the fool asks why- we don’t know- he keeps that under hood.

The Fool -XI

This is a poem spread across multiple pages. Please read in order. Please click on links below to read the earlier passages from the poem.

The Fool - I.
The Fool - II.
The Fool - III.
The Fool - IV.
The Fool - V.
The Fool - VI.
The Fool - VII.
The Fool - VIII.
The Fool - IX.
The Fool - X.

Can one dump a hero, who’s also in Love?

A Fool who suffers – who’s hand–in-glove

In making his own fate – in crafting his fall

Who thinks that by failing, he’ll appear 6 feet’s tall.

Someone masochistic- preferring Love’s sting

Over pleasures more carnal-over Solomon’s ring

Neither wisdom he seeks nor the glory of winning

But falls, trials, tribulations and mere satisfaction of running

In the Quest that mattered, for Love that was true

Even if it means being mocked on – and a life that’s blue.

He finds solace in suffering, there is a grace in falling hard

At least he’s not living a half life- he’s giving all he’s got

And if all his love is not enough, to sail him through this night

He may as well leave the quest for others; it’s not a worthy fight.

Not worthy of him- not what he brings to the table,

For its not the fool’s mission to win- he’s equally able

To concede defeat- what he aims is a bit higher

To end the Quest for once and all- is his heart’s desire

For he knows there will be others, who will be equally moved

By the power of Love and eager to make one’s life doomed

Becoming a part of the quest, that may not be their own

But with each fools failing, more seeds are sown;

Seeds of determination, to prove Love’s triumph

That there is value in suffering, courage in mere trying.

To win is all that matters, to a person who is wise

There are cost and benefits, and accordingly one decides

Thank god our Fool is stupid, has a limited vision and plan

And is determined on taking that first step- and believes he can!

Not just belief in self- that he can endure the fall

But also belief in others – that they’ll imitate his fall

Oh fool, he thinks that everyone, is a fool just like him

He’s so naïve he thinks it glorious, to get hurt, on whim,

That his disgrace as he falls, and eventually fails, is alright

People will be inspired by his fall- he won’t stay awake at night

And be tormented by his failures- he’ll put the jeers aside

He’ll deafen his ears to the mockery, and jest will go by the side

When he rides his horse, he’ll be a proud knight exemplar,

Not downcast eyes or a spirit, that is broken or tempered

Oh fool, he believes in more than is probably true-

He thinks by the end he’ll still be foolish and a novice

And be insensitive to all the innuendos, no regrets, no rue,

And no need to hide- but wont the journey makes him wise?

The greatest challenge that our beloved Fool faces

Is not that first step, nor last, nor the million stages

That comprise his journey- the journey is least on his mind

What haunts him – is not a matter of degree, but that of kind

Not how much the journey will wear and tear his soul

But whether he’ll be the same person- the self, the whole

After the quest ends, will he still be a fool

Feeling no resentment, on being used as a tool

To bring the grail to the king, to end the war,

He by his own will fought, so why these scar

Should haunt him at the end- but the one haunted has changed

He’s wizened by the war and no longer easily played

By emotions of Love to get involved in what’s not true

Of how he’ll handle his new found wisdom he has no clue.

He prefers to delude himself that he’ll not be changed by the quest

To win he’ll not need to learn the ways and vile of men, is a lie,

It’s not Victory or defeat per se- it’s the nature of the quest

Whether you win, you lose, or it ends in a tie,

By participating in it, you made a Faustian deal,

In the end you lose your soul- the wounds won’t heal.

It’s not what you are at the beginning; it’s what you’ll be at the end

That is worth contemplating-and should make your hairs stand

Whether it’s a future you agree to- becoming wise and resentful

Or whether you continue living as of now- ignorant and cheerful

Is a choice that the Fool has to make- but can he foresee?

If he had the vision would we call him a fool?

He is eager to take the first step is all we can see

Either consciously or not, he is ready to be a tool.

A tool that has a use only as far as the quests last

And as soon as they end, we can leave him with his past

Let him ruminate on a life, spent fallow and waste

 He should have known otherwise- should have cultivated taste

And not got involved in quests out of foolishness or haste

About his mental sanity and peace we can only speculate

And hope that his sense of sacrifice lets him bear the failures wounds

Not just shame, but feelings of sacrifice, is the wisdom’s boon.

As a fool he never thought he was sacrificing, nor was deterred by shame

And so he took those first steps and the next ones, and the ones that were lame

But let’s thank wisdom that with it comes packing –

 An ego feeling of having sacrificed

That justifies your living- though the desire is lacking

A shameful existence- empty and devoid.