Monday, February 10, 2025

The Orchid

Does a star by itself, has the right to exist,
Should we read between the lines, to get the poem's gist.
Does an orchid need to justify, why its tender and fragile,
Do I need to hide my hide, behind a fancy prose style. 
 
What if the star is dead, only its light shining through,
If a poem moves us, do we have to agree with the poets view?
Maybe the orchid is a fake, made of material that is strong,
If something can rhyme and pierce, is writing as prose so wrong? 

The star was alas imaginary, a twinkle in my eyes,
My poem is contrived, mixing truth with lies. 
The orchid was a dream, more vivid than smell, 
That I'll call my free verse sonnet, who could for one tell.
 
From the ashes of the supernova, a new star will be born,
I'll bloom an orchid daily, no matter how much I'm depleted or worn. 

Friday, February 7, 2025

Heal Me, But How?

World comes crashing down, I'm in stress, feeling overwhelm,
Relieved from my role as the captain, I'm no more at the helm.
Cracks have started appearing, I'm irritable, in a mess,
Let's increase the medication a bit, my parents gently press.
 
The joy from life has drained, I feel lonely and burnt,
Here comes the Loony uncle, is the moniker I've earned.
Hell is other people, the motto has come alive,
For stress meditate daily, neighborhood aunt goes overdrive.
 
I've started questioning life, my purpose is lost,
I'm burning coals inside, while on surface its all frost.
I've carved my own chains, I'm prisoner of my fate,
The grandma says to have courage, to make angst my mate.
 
My suffering is multi layered, you can glance it from your prism,
For once treat me as a human, that will heal me, is the only truism. 
 

Wednesday, February 5, 2025

Finding Relevance (and Job!)

I'm in my late forties, naturally I've hit a glass ceiling,
That I can't grow in my current org, is more than a gut feeling.  
Age is the biggest barrier, having experience my bane,
When I started my career, the situation wasn't the same.  

Laid off from the current company, after years of loyal service,
The comfort of going to a job everyday, I'm afraid for some time I'll miss.
The hunt will be prolonged, can't compete with the fresh-from-college youth,
Even after mastering the in-demand skills, I'll be swiftly hired, is far from truth.  
 
Entrepreneurship is the last refuge, of the unwilling retiree in this case,   
That I have EMI's, outstanding educational loans, puts me promptly in my place.
I can indulge in some gig work, do consulting, be a fractional CXO,
By all accounts, I'll be working part time, or at best be a solopreneur, IMO. 
 
While doctors and lawyers appreciate with experience, if you're in IT its the other way,
It's good I'm mostly a poet, it was never a valued career, so it won't be irrelevant any day. 


Monday, February 3, 2025

Beyond Self Harm

Skipping meals often, sleeping less and not on time,
Not walking or exercising daily, social drinking no crime.
Smoking a few cigarettes when stressed, some rash driving to boot,
They may be roads to slow death, but not pathological at root.

Some suffer from a desire to binge and purge, others don't eat at all, 
Some drown themselves in alcohol, cause they feel insignificant and small.  
Some get stuck in abusive relationships, perpetuating in their life ongoing violence,
Some constantly live on the edge, are self destructive- if viewed from this lens. 
 
In others the manifestation, is more total and stark, 
They cut or burn themselves, when their thoughts turn dark. 
Extremely critical of self, falsely assuming they're no worth,
They want to punish their bodies, which they assume is different from earth. 
 
Whether the pain is occasional or repetitive, there are better ways to cope,
As long as you remember life is inherently worthy, there is always room for hope.

Help, Before its Late

Banging my head, to return to reality,
Bruising and burning myself, a form of self cruelty, 
The pain makes me come alive, its better than being dead,
At least I can control my wounds, a voice in my head said. 

Inflicting wounds, not letting them heal,
Is now an established pattern, the way with pain I deal. 
Trying to run from the agony, the void, the numbness,
Each scar a testimony, to the Hell of which I'm an alumnus. 
 
Anger pent up, I need to release the inner turmoil,
That I cut myself at places, as a punishment, you recoil. 
I do this not to seek attention, nor to end my life.
I'm hopeful things will change, as I contemplate that knife.
 
Self-harm over the years, dulls pain, makes me go extreme,
It ups my risk of suicide, can't you help before, I scream!


Saturday, February 1, 2025

No Revolution This Way!

Weighed down by the system, feeling helpless and trapped, 
Listening to ghazals in loop, while earlier they sang and rapped,
Slowly a thought germinates, why not try something new, 
End this misery and anguish, and also send a message to few. 

A conscious decision taken, a plan laid out,
Hoping their drastic act, can lead to system's rout.
They visualize a future, where others are not similarly trapped, 
The existing system decimated, new territories mapped. 

They act with an intent, to achieve the desired outcome, 
Their act triggers others, is embraced and copied by some.
Like a nuclear reaction, the bomb starts ticking,
It explodes and destroys, but somethings missing. 
 
When the system is oppressive, you become a suicide bomber of sorts,  
The collateral damage of copycat suicides, was never their intention, Milords!

Friday, January 31, 2025

Regrets, and More Regrets

Failed relationships, not imperfect resumes,
If you have to summarize, these are the top ways, 
In which one evaluates life- these are the regrets of the dying,
Giving a clue as to what matters, as on deathbed no one's lying.  
 
The dying lament the fact, they lacked courage and nerve,
To live life on their own terms, a life full of joy and verve.
They could never gather courage, to reach out and care,
Fearing it won't be returned, they did not to love dare.  

Do they regret in their dreams, not giving to work their all,
Was the 90 hr week worth it, do they feel proud about that call?
The cost of losing touch, with friends, family and dear ones, 
Can a big bag of cash offset it, no matter how large the sums?
 
I may not be dying yet, but I choose meaning and happiness over societal success, 
On Friday nights I work late, or spend time with family, or craft poems, is anyone's guess!