Finding Meaning

A poet in crystallizing future, a programmer in disappearing past,

At present applying my knowledge, of psychology that's vast,

I may appear disjointed, my pivots my bane,

The flexible narrative arc, keeps me grounded and sane.

 

From being driven to make a career, that was purely psych based, 

To settling on an altruistic goal- that no life be laid waste,

I've come along a long way, now I have a new north star,

I want to write poems of peace, not prevent the third world war.

 

Will the poems I write, make a sore wound heal,

Did I save a few lives, for all my Zero Suicide zeal,

Do I matter to someone,  will this world a better place be,

Can I be the reason for living, will she smile because of me?

 

My story may not be coherent, my purpose may still change,

I might not leave an impact, but this absurd life I'll not exchange!

A Poem a Day

They say you shouldn't mix metaphors, or hobbies with profession,

It's a sorry day when you write to a prompt, rather than from a passion.

What can be fun, or a pent up release, is reduced to a ritualistic abuse, 

You hone your craft, to be a pro, but the beginners innocence you lose.

 

They say to be hailed as a poet, you should be free of livelihood concerns,

The poet is defined by what he writes, not whether from his poem he earns.

To earn your bread as a poet, is a distant moonshot,

To sell your soul, for eyeballs, is on poetry's name a blot.

 

They say posterity is the best judge, your poems will outlive your other works,

While alive, the people may mock you, but after death they'll glorify your quirks. 

Don't let go of your day job yet, you might not sell your masterpiece,

Only one of art or artist can live, the other has to rest in peace.

  

They say constraints help refine the art, I'm boxed, with heavy restraint,

As I can't be a Monet that flourishes in life, let me like Van Gogh paint. 

On Stealing a Glance

I steal a glance, the timer starts, will there be a swift countdown?

It's the anticipation that kills me more, than the looming breakdown.

The interim period of instability, is filled with hints and clues,

That I'll end up losing my mind soon, is no surprise, no news. 

 

The inevitable soon transpired, our paths did converge,

Encountering you after decades, left me at insanity's verge.

Memories came haunting, resurrecting the pain,

I'm shattered, inconsolable, but who's to blame?

  

I restart my quest, this time cautious and sly, 

My antic to catch your glance, make me almost die.

I'll not surrender easily, I'm but born again,

If my madness scares you, I'd rather be sane.

 

I have earned my lunacy the hard way- you were absconding me,

Why bring me to my senses - when you'll never set me free?

Birthday Wishes

50th birthdays are special, an occasion to reflect,

By throwing a grand party, with friends and family connect.

Half the life is over, another half remains,

A life that's filled with purpose, pleasures and pains.

 

Today I have loads of wishes, that I'm sending your way,

That you treat us not at HD, but a better place this day.

I wish for once you'll win a bet, beat at psephology Shuklaji,

And defeat Piyush in our Panchayat, without Ustad and his protege.

 

I wish you keep walking in the mornings, even if its backwards,

That your to and fro keeps happening, for bun muskas or neembu mirchis in turns.

I wish you give more poha parties, and don't ask for saunf in return,

I wish you stay young at heart, and we the mystery of your name plate learn!

 

50th birthdays are special, I wish you joy and fun,

You cruised while walking in the past, but now we'll make sure you run. 

Let The Credits Roll

You've heard the official version, so many times,

Not toeing the party line, seems like an actual crime.

This is how it happened, we were the protagonists, 

His contributions were marginal, the tale is full of twists.

  

He may have pioneered, built the team from scratch,

We blessed it with capital, his sweat equity no match.

We gave shape to the vision, he merely rode along,

He took care of operations, crediting equally oh so wrong.

  

The org is built indeed, from efforts big and small,

He was the driving force, is a claim too big and tall.

The world will keep rolling, is not dependent on one,

We are the real leaders, our stakes second to none.

 

The essence will be lost forever, once he's finally gone,

Maybe the org was finding sustenance, from his spirit alone. 

What Job To Own?

To feel fulfilled in life, what work should I do,

Jobs matching my frequency, are far and few.

What to do if I get stuck, in a job that's crap,

If my career doesn't take off, I'll have to start from scratch.

 

I can frenetically search, refuse to fit in square holes,

What guarantees exist, that I'll be fulfilled in new roles?

I can hold my boss to ransom, thereby craft my job,

Or find meaning in growth, as I resign to a series of hop.

 

I can attune inwards, listen to the bird that sings,

In the cacophony of callings, which one with truth rings.

Once I've made the connection, what makes me come alive,

I'll outgrow the job focus, all would become bearable and fine. 

 

To write a poem daily, is my spiritual quest,

Job is no longer an owner- but merely guest.

The Itch

Just notice what is happening, the itch that is there,

With questions festering around it - 'why me' , 'is it fair'?

The dull throbbing of pain, from a distance observe,

Let it ebb and flow naturally, neither lead nor serve.

 

Be open to what is happening, the desire to scratch,

Just let it linger a moment, for acting fast has a catch.

You may wound yourself, if you scrape premature,

While if you let it ferment, it would disappear for sure 

 

Be intentional to what is happening, you intend to be itch free,  

Not this particular manifestation, but to get rid of all is the key.

Scratch where it matters, pick up your battles and fights, 

Don't let the world dictate, what are your duties and rights,

 

I'm itching to make poetry, my full time vocation,

If I scratch in time, maybe for me still salvation.