The Nothing Song

I'm empty and I don't feel it - fill with phrases here and there, 

When I fail to find a suitable word, the vacuum continues to stare, 

I finally realize the futility, of denying the Nada within, 

But sharing my shallowness, with the world, is surely not my thing. 

I can write a poem about nothing, only if you hail it great, 

At least treat it read-worthy- even if likes are not in my fate.

Curse it or criticize it, show some reaction to boot, 

But ignore it and you will kill it- for my self has not taken root. 

It's still too dependent on this, that you get what I am feeling right, 

That you walk in my shoes delicately, not judging they are loose or tight.

I'm sure they pinch, they are meant to, they are not easy shoes to fill,  

Like me they are hollow on the inside, and yet are suffocating still. 

 

My self is a bit disorganized, to make sense is an order tall, 

Your coming in my life is like a song- making love out of nothing at all.

Naked and Ashamed

I wake up from my dream again, naked and ashamed, 

I've worked through most emotions, but shame is still untamed. 

What secrets am I hiding, what untold, am I afraid to say?

- I'm caught again, with my pants down, in the bright light of the day. 

Crouching under the public gaze, is a recurrent motif now, 

I feel exposed, singled out, diminished, and how!

I run from corner to the wall, hiding and staying low,

Why do I venture sans clothes, honestly, I don't know!

Is it a sign of defiance, this choosing to be nude? 

Did I forget to wear my pants, to shock the holy and the prude?

Was it a cold and deliberate act, to make me resilient and strong?

- That I could be comfy in who I am, not hide behind a mask or a thong. 

These dreams I had kept secret, in silence buried deep,

They stifled long, now losing grip- as I offer you a  peep.

Being a Management Guru

No management lessons please, sometimes a game is just a game, 

You don't know the sports enough, your connections are bound to be lame.

You draw rich leadership lessons, dissecting the winning side,  

If you could be humble like the loser, and take all in a days stride.  

But alas you choose to persist, you've got an audience to feed,

You lame post may fall dud, but you are back on your feet. 

Another match played to the galleys, another story to write, 

Twisting facts to suit narrative, is your natural birthright.

I can, for God, not fathom, your need to spew management lessons, 

Exposing you, though, heals me, my white man's burden lessens. 

I'm liberated at last, I did my good deed of the day, 

Using hashtags #Just saying, in spirit of play.  

 

Trying to give a spin to each game, is pathetic at best, 

But is it better than the need to be one up, my case I rest.

The First Baby Steps

Why does the child persist in walking, at the end what does he gain?

Crawling can satisfy the need for mobility, walking is filled with falling and pain.

The need to explore, or survive by foraging, are not a drive strong by itself- 

To endure the humiliation, mockery and hurt, and the deepening of doubt in ones self.

 

Go on existing on all fours, that's enough to satisfy your biological needs, 

To dream of standing on your feet, goes through a path where your skin bleeds.

But others have stood, and are standing still, I'm sure its no magic feat,

If only someone, can show me how its done, I'll be standing, again, on my feet.

 

My parents want to capture that moment, I bask in their reflected glory, 

The pride they'll feel, in my first baby steps- I've made that goal for me.

They handhold me, soothe me when I fall, and raise my hopes that I'll walk,

And eventually run and beat them to it - a thought at which I balk.

Its easy to exhort fall seven rise eight, but I'm small, frightened and hurt, 

If you really wanna help, get me back on my feet, instead of blurting sayings that are curt.

The Background Hum

Winning at times, losing at some,

I'm engrossed in life, despite the background hum.

It lingers and is jarring, a note searching for its tune,

Thoughts coming out of blue, like chills down the spine in June. 

Yet alive and vibrant, the search itself raises hopes,

Outwardly I'm directional - I've learnt all the ropes.

I can hide behind my success, the emptiness held within, 

By taking risks beyond my measures, I committed the holy sin.

Did we not lose ourselves, thrown from job to job,

Rising up the ladder each time, propelled by fate's plot.

In time we will be filthy rich, maybe own a unicorn,

Yet to have lost ourselves on the way, will stick like a thorn.

I can push it under the rug, use noise cancelling headphones,

But the hum gets louder, the more you curb, till it gets into your bones.

 

 

The Ship of Theseus

If a ship is replaced, plank by plank, does it still remain the same?

Though we substitute old, for fresh logs, when it sinks, who is to blame?

Or does it require structural remodeling, won't its essence be lost?

By overhauling all its component, wont we lose the machine and the ghost?

My blood gets replaced every few months, bones every third year,

I shed my skin every few weeks, like a snake, I fear.

You can think of it as decay, that I am thoroughly degenerate,

I view it as my ability to heal, to renew and regenerate.

My beliefs change with the passing of the hour, my personalty in a decade,

My values remain stable for years, my self a temporary facade.

If in the same day, I can laugh and cry, feel ennui and angst,

Then change is perhaps, the only variable, nothing in me is const.

Who am I, at the core, if I am always in flux,

That I can change to be, who I want, isn't that the matter's crux?

A Crisis of Sorts

What happens when a computer writes, better poems than you? 

The meter is right, the rhyme is perfect, while rhythm is all you do.

Do you give in to overpowering despair, or succumb to existential angst,  

Or do you admire the creative product, and in the heart you have nothing but thanks. 

 

Thanks that now there is someone, with whom you can compete, 

Thanks that when you are stuck now, you can use it to auto complete.

Thanks that now you can train her, to imitate your distinct style,

Thanks that with this collaboration, you can now both go a long mile.

A poem so co created, who can lay claim to it? 

Is it really plagiarism, if from the AI, I borrow a bit?

The turn of phrase, the placement in context,

Hasn't she learned, from reading from the best?

 

ChatGPT may be a threat to you, to me it raises the bar,

Deep Blue may have stunned Kasparov, in poetry I'll always be at par.

Enjoying a Nature Walk

Narrow trail, up the hill,

Staring down the abyss, I wish it will kill. 

The baggage keeps pulling, my progress standstill, 

The mountain is steep, but you call it a lack of will.

 

Broadened vistas, down the hill, 

Multiple trails, inviting my skill, 

As I roll down, from peaks to ground,

You hail a hero, call it a journey profound. 

 

Flattened road, no hills in sight,

Unadventurous, non curvy, no bends beside,

Viewed left or right, the scene remains the same, 

You write me off, in this game that seems lame. 

When its uphill, its thrust upon, when its downhill, you chose, 

In plains its on cruise control, to truly live, embrace the highs and lows!

On The Loss of Childhood

What is the difference, between a man and a child?  

The former works, while the latter runs wild.

Is economic activity, the root of all evil?

For earning livelihood, we trade our souls to the devil?

Questions like these, perplex a child's mind, 

As to why we cant share wealth, like a tiffin and be kind?

There's enough on this earth, to make everyone content, 

But as we grow up, we cease giving, for others dime or cent. 

 

As we grow over time, we are not just receiving but giving,   

We get focused on our own, towards others develop misgiving.

The innocence of childhood, morphs to a pragmatic attitude, 

Lazy and fun play gets short shrift, work ethic gets undue latitude. 

Enough of this narcissistic philosophizing, come to terms with how the real world works,

Get ready for boring, meaningless work, as you are groomed to become glorified clerks.

I See You

Life is difficult, full of uncertainties,

Not meant for someone, looking for only joy and peace.  

You embrace the bad, as you celebrate the good, 

Trade innocence of youth, for maturity of adulthood. 

In the beginning you're protected, live a life of ease,

But in a cocoon, you're unfulfilled, time to break free, please. 

As you spread your wings, its not going to be rosy all way,  

You'll discover the thorns and their lessons, and that'll save your day.

From the gusto of youth, to the mellowed wisdom hard found, 

These adversities have shaped you, had an effect profound.  

You can curse them or thank them, put them to good use,

And be midwife to others, help give birth to their muse. 

You ask me why I'm good at this- seeing the pain in your eyes, 

You would too, if you lived through - so many heartbreaks, so many goodbyes.

Layoffs

The economy takes a downturn, time to layoff staff,

Meta has cut by 13%, Twitter has let go half.

At the end its a contract, We'll pay 8 weeks of gross,

We'll push it on investors, cant run the company in loss. 

The psychological impact be damning, its a trauma unleashed, 

Their identity was tied to the job, now they are naked after the heist.  

Never mind, we'll replace their opium, give references and help get a job,

And hope as they settle for much less, they'll forget their story sob.

The moral dilemma of firing, is non-existent to speak,

Sometimes its due to recession, at times, for performance weak. 

Don't employees leave within a year or two, Loyalty is a 6 letter word,

Why should we feel responsible for them, aren't they as free as a bird? 

We expect layoffs at the drop of a hat, isn't that the way the world works?

That you are able to justify the brazen act, is where the danger really lurks.

Why Write?

100 sonnets in a row, 1K followers on Instagram, 

Numbers like these charm me, like a baby in a pram. 

I write for an audience, why shy from this fact,

If it doesn't strike a chord, why go through the act?

I love when someone likes it, sends an emoji that's heart, 

To not let praise, get to your head, is a slowly dying art.

But what happens when one day, the poem falls flat?

Or even worse, afraid of the balls, I don't pick up the bat?

To pour your heart in a sonnet, is consuming and quite hard, 

If no one appreciates your poems, would you still be called a bard? 

The need to keep writing, to be validated by at least one, 

Is stronger than to be playful, and do it all for fun.

I write for many reasons, in this matter I wont lie,

But the shenanigans are worthwhile, only if they catch your eye!  

On Being a Don Juan

I am a Don Juan, each day I start afresh,

Flirt with someone new and young- in spirit and in flesh! 

The end game always top of mind, I act fast to seduce,

And make the night memorable, don't wait for the muse.

 

Each single day I stalk and hunt, sniff beauty here and there,

By hook or crook, I scheme and act, but charm my lady fair.

No moment goes, I'm not attuned, to look for chance to kiss,

The second, public gaze averts, I'm all over my Miss.

I've made it clear, one kill each day, is minimum I would strive,

How I move from start to finish, I'm willing to stream live.

There is method to this madness, each victim a trophy gained,

That you abhor my roving eyes, leaves my heart pained.  

   

A sonnet a day is hard work, keeps me on my toes,

Much pleasant than womanizing - which is oh so plain and prose.

 

The Ten Sins

I pine for you daily- unsure, if its love or Lust,

Angry on being scorned, feel like reducing you to dust. 

Am Attached to your image, that I've nourished over time,

Hove got Greedy in hoarding- is coveting a mirage a crime?

I Pride myself for my success, with others in the past, 

And Envy only your suitor, in this world that's vast. 

My Hatred for him, is only second to you, 

And I Fear I'll kill him, saying Brutus et tu?

My Intellect tells me, I can wriggle out of this,

My Ego foretells, you are ordained for my bliss,

I may be brimming with 'n' sins, but for you I can change,

In the dark night of the soul, this spark is strange. 

The arrow you shot, has burnt through me a hole,

To get rid of the ego, is my new found goal.

Moonlighting Scum?

The day job is dry and deadening, side hustle keeps me sane,

By owning my work, I come to terms, with what's boring and inane.

I can choose to do, what and when, or whether to work at all,

Having that freedom, in a day job, is an order tall. 

I like my gig, it hones my skill, and gets me instant love,

To meet deadlines, and have impact, I move earth and heaven above. 

Is it a sin, to follow my passion, why are some hell bent? 

To treat me as a despicable scum- if it also pays my rent?

 

My hustle is a different breed, with work it doesn't conflict,  

The skills I learn, stand me in good stead, and that's the reason I picked.  

When I feel high, post working on a gig, the affect seems to spread, 

And colors the tone, of the rest of my day - and helps me win my bread.

I don't wear it on my sleeves, to my manager I don't lie, 

I don't do it for money, does it still qualify?

Refresh, Recharge, Reset

The day is tiring, my energy is sapped,

The mind is turbulent, thoughts go zapped.

Meditating for a moment, restores the calm, 

Sleep at the day's end, acts like a balm.

 

The work is exhausting, I'm nearing burnout,

Another day of drudgery, and I'll be out.  

A mid-week leave, leaves me refreshed and recharged, 

A vacation rejuvenates-  as if I'm from hospital discharged. 

 

The career is restrictive, I'm suffering from crisis mid-life,  

That I'm losing my mojo- speculations are rife. 

A sabbatical of sorts, can lift my spirits up,

Pursuing my calling afresh, is the cherry in the cup.  

Preparation for death, shouldn't it be equally smooth?

Rebirth will reset self- restore innocence of youth!

The Discipline of Execution

Strategy is made in heaven, execution carried on earth,  

Visions attract many, for operations there is a dearth. 

The leader decides what to do, you blindly toe the line,

Innovation is oh! so glorious, Operational Excellence just fine.

 

Visions provide direction, but if you fail to execute,

The best laid plans of mice and men, go tumbling down the chute.

If you want to execute with elan, list your Wildly Important Goal, 

And by saying No to everything else, stop them from taking toll.

When working towards that goal, don't obsess day and night, 

Just focus on the steps you need, and all will be alright. 

Do keep a check on the daily count, of how many steps you took, 

By this simple measure, of accountability, you'll achieve as per the book.

I know all that I need to know, of how Execution is King,

When you need to put your ass to work, Discipline is the thing.

Being a Minimalist

I can afford, but I'll buy less, a resolution I make,

Now to get, rid of the books- a hundred -give or take.

De-clutter your closet, clean your desk, intentions good and nice,

The drive to earn, to be able to waste- I'm paying a heavy price. 

I can achieve, but I'll do less, I'll focus and work deep,

Throw out the goals- big and small, only a few I'll keep.

The one Wildly Important Goal, will call the shots from now,

To have unfulfilled dreams and goals, I'll have to learn how. 

I can network, but I choose not, what I have is enough,

Shallow ties may bring you jobs, deep ties bring you love. 

Time to prune the Facebook friends, on Twittter unfollow some, 

In my desire to be happy/ fulfilled, leave others burnt / lonesome. 

I can be, a hundred things, psych-lover, programmer, philosopher,

But if I really want to declutter my life, I'll be a poet- and only for her.

The Truth

We met, we became friends, 

We parted, the story ends.

This can't, in fact, be the whole truth,

To meet you again, I'll fight nail and tooth.

 

You cared, had warm feelings,

You coveted, for me had leanings,

Its a fiction, I cannot live without, 

About its truth, though all may have doubt.

I love you, have always done so,

Your feelings though, are difficult to know.

Maybe its the myth, of the one sided love, 

But for you, I'll trade, the heaven above.

Fact, Fiction or Myth, we are bound with a Karmic debt, 

That Love is the transcendent reality- I know only because you I met!

Frequent Fires

Seeds of fire, in a forest that's alpine, 

Dried up wood- most of them pine.

By Nature inflammable, waiting for a spark,

The only respite, when its night and dark.

The summer season, adds fuel to the fire,

Pining for the light, I grow higher and higher,

Nurtured by the sun, I've become tall and stout,

Primed for combustion, I've lost this bout.

A discarded cigarette, an electric jolt,

A chance encounter, a lightening bolt,

With thunder and Noise, sounds my death knell,

From the tranquil forest, I move to Purgatory hell.  

You ask why I get charred daily, whether its Nature, Nurture or Noise?

I like to begin each day anew, in this matter I exercise Choice. 

A Timely Thanks

I'm grateful for life, for the beauty around,

That I'm not circled by trolls, only humans abound. 

Thankful to the nature, to the birds that sing, 

To a love that's deep, and not a casual fling. 

I feel it deeply, but I'm short on words,

Instead of gift of gab, I'm tongue tied like nerds,

Don't know why, its so difficult to say, 

'Thank You' to a person, who's now dead and away. 

If you could see me express, in a poem my debt,

You would be elevated and inspired, moved to tears, I bet. 

Its hard to acknowledge, I can never thank enough,

By Paying It Forward, I plan to forget that stuff. 

 

Gratitude is good, it heals your heart,  

To say timely Thanks, is a much needed art.

Lost and Found

Foggy and blurred, its nowhere to be found,

I've started losing track, of my goal profound.

The visions that inspired, are now old Man's tale,

The day morphed to dusk, and the Sun turned pale.

Tired and spent up, my energy saps low,

I'm losing momentum, my progress is slow.

The drive to succeed, has lost its sheen,

All I think nowadays, is how to come out clean. 

Disparaged and looked down, I'll become an outcast,

My legacy wont live, but my infamy will last.  

The respect I commanded, will turn to dust,

To be absconding is unexpected, but move I must. 

I've lost a lot on this journey, I'm bleeding still,

The day I find myself, I'll continue till.

Some facts

That I'm born is a given, that I'll die is a fact,

That I'll be old and ill is true- in this life's short act. 

I make my moves fast, strive for health and wealth, 

As if I can cheat death's radar, flying in mode that is stealth.

 

That I need you is a given, that you'll remain distant is a fact, 

That I'll pine for you when you are gone, is my Faustian pact.

I hide my vulnerability, striving for power and fame, 

Need to learn how to love deeply- and not just in name. 

That I have a past is a given, that I've to create a future a fact,

That I'll fold under the weight of the choices, only seems apt. 

I deny responsibility, claiming I was never free, 

Distracting myself with philosophy- to be or not to be.

That I need a worldview is a given, that its arbitrary is a fact, 

That I'm able to enjoy an absurd life, is both an art and a tact!

Eternity

Infinite lives, Infinite suffering, 

Its almost hell, I'm lately muttering

Enduring a life, that is barren and cold, 

How to end the cycle, is the thought I hold.

 

Infinite lives, Infinite potential,   

In one life small, over time exponential,

As long as you learn, from your Karma and rise,

You may finally break through, get a heavenly prize. 

Infinite lives, Infinite joy,

The Avatar you don, is just decoy,

Your mission to make, others too enlightened, 

As Leela continues, make their days brightened.

 

One life is all I've got, you can keep your infinite,

If I don't find love in the here and now, let your eternity dust bite.

At Peace

We are thrown in this world, you and me,

No special meaning granted, just meant to be.

Existence precedes essence, or so they say,   

The meaning of this, you ponder night and day.

 

We suffer a common fate, in the end we'll die,

That knowledge liberates, gives us permission to fly,  

To create a life of meaning, where there was none,

- By giving birth to ourselves, we are finally done.

We are alone and alienated, like the rest of them,

Can choose Amor Fati, or continue to gods condemn,

But we are all too human, constrained by what is,

That we are free is painful, ignorance is bliss.

The hand I'm dealt with, is the hand I like, 

The givens of my existence, are my lucky strike.

For Sanity's Sake

Positive illusions are cool, they give you wings,

A pauper, relatively speaking, feels like kings.

You are a better driver, makes you keep going,

That you maybe worse than average, you avoid knowing.

Defenses are useful, they protect you from harm,

Material that is heavy, kept at length of an arm,

Repressed or never discovered, too much painful to bear,

Hidden behind a fortress, where even a shadow cant appear. 

Whether benign or pathological, your illusions keep you sane,

To be without pretense or facade, would be totally inhumane,

For at heart you know, you are just, a vulnerable and weak man, 

But with the right dose of self delusion, you are a hero who can.

Most people therefore avoid, being confronted with reality,  

You can keep your delusions, I prefer my moments of clarity.

Growth and Transformation

Some wanted to own a Ferrari, others focused on well-being,

When I started all I cared, was to be a good human being. 

But that wasn't alluring enough, so I set my goals high -

To prevent the Third world War, as I thought the end was nigh.

 

The World War never happened, plunging me into anonymity,

I had failed the foreign service test, but discovered equanimity.  

Leaving the past behind me, I got high on learning,

The passion for psychology, finally resulted in an earning. 

To say that I've turned pragmatic, doesn't do justice to my history, 

To make an impact, by rising up the ranks, explains the mystery-

Of why I am OK pulling people, or pushing them too hard,

And to reach my goals, my former self, I am ready to discard. 

They say growth happens, when you move, with open mind ahead,

I've become a tool to achieve an end, the human being is dead.

Ready to Rise (The Consciousness Egg)

Seething cauldron, simmering coals,

Fighting underneath, Unconscious goals. 

Soaring to the top, the muse hits home,

The descent is rapid, the connection is gone. 

Littered with symbols, dreams spellbind,

You grope for connections, its easy to find. 

The feast of senses, the thought monorail,

Despite the activity, you're in a zombie jail. 

Of the bird eating fruit, the observer takes note,

Neither fearful of the lion, nor devouring of the goat.

The Virgin Mother, the old Wives tale,

The historical events, leaving a collective trail?  

 

If you want to redeem your self, let The Fool take that leap, 

The more you pine to rise, the more you will have to go deep.

  

Bad Publicity

I fired an employee, I am remorseful and sad,

To prove it I post a picture, ensuring light is not bad.

By virtue of my tears, I've landed in a soup,

that my emotions are real, is a bowl full of poop.

I disparage employees, who moonlight and hustle,

On top of work life balance, they now have work work tussle,

I've reached a high ground, from where I can about ethics preach, 

Without understanding the reasons, I sue for contract breach. 

I advise employees, to slog for 18 hours a day, 

Work compulsively, even if it leads to burnout, say. 

They are young, unmarried and isn't work worship?

Shouldn't waste time rejuvenating, even sleep they can skip! 

Just because you are a CEO, you get so much limelight,

And when you are rightly trolled, you are the victim - is the height!

The Days

The day has gone, I'm filled with loss,

The joy of living, has gone for a toss. 

Withdrawing in a shell, drowning in aqua,

Isolating myself,  I shut the hearts chakra. 

The day is approaching, my heart beats wild,

To get rid of the fear, I close my eyes like a child.

When I can't see ahead,  I conjure a future bleak,

I bet hard on myself, that I'm on a losing streak.

The day has arrived, but I barely take note,

I'm in the middle of nowhere, seasick in the boat.

Drifting and rudderless, I pine for air or land,

Bored to death, worked by the invisible hand.

Vini, Vidi, Vici, I wish I could say,

The days may be lost, but the moments will stay.

Brothers-In-Arms

Sworn enemies, swords drawn,  

In this battlefield, I am, but just a pawn. 

Each side convinced, its on the side of Dharma, 

To fight with equanimity, is my Karma. 

Each morning begins, with josh and energy,

I fight for my brothers, not for state or clergy. 

The monster across, the enemy line,

If I could get him soon, all would be fine.  

As night sets in, and ceasefire declared,

Is he dead or alive, I must have cared. 

For I went into the Land, where No Man goes,

And on his bleeding dead body, I placed a white rose.

 

If I see you in the daytime, I swear I'll kill,

To face you in the night, is a task uphill.  

The Moving Target

Writing code, logical and true, 

Getting kicks from, debugging it too.

Zeros and Ones, slowly lost their charm,

I schemed to become, the more equal pig in the farm.

 

Managing people, getting out of them best,

So much wasted potential, how can I rest?

Played Pygmalion a lot, now its time to move, 

From blogging to a psychology career, is a point to prove.

Working with psychologists, leading a team, 

Making on ground impact, I with pride beam.

I've just now arrived, is it time to depart?

I want to be more deeply involved, play a more human part.

From coder to manager, to a psychology expert,

At the end, if I am not a poet, its still going to hurt.

Being an Entrepreneur

Money is the least of your concern, time and repute are also gone,

Success has many fathers, when you fail, you fail alone.

For every unicorn out there, billions fold in the year one,

The nest egg exhausted way back, but you are still not done.

 

The mirage alluring you forward, has taken your prime of youth,

Shattered illusions are progress, are lies for the heart to soothe. 

'You do not fail, you learn', inching closer to product market fit,

No oasis in sight, with every step you take, you lose yourself a bit.

Why venture into the desert, you can play in the sand pit at home,  

Why stake your honor for this quest- not in a day was built Rome. 

Its a long and arduous journey, that only fools can partake,

If you don't get the Grail, that too in time, many lives are at stake.  

Today indeed, I'll hit the jackpot, to believe this daily I've got to be insane,

But would I trade these delusions for a job, aren't they the reasons I'm the man I became.

The Marketplace

Polish your profile, comment on others' post,

Build up your presence, don't be afraid to boast. 

Pick topics that are topical, market yourself well,

Keep rehashing old stuff, ghost written- who can tell!

So and so is hiring, catches the corner of your eyes,

You have to close the deal and fast, no matter how many lies.

Aren't all creative with the truth, its time you got yourself sold,

Target achieved before quarter end, sitting on a mine of gold.

Induction over, real work begins, of sucking up to boss,

Marketing and sales achieved to a T, CX shouldn't go for a toss.

Bend over backwards, buy maska in lots, learn to manage up,

When payments and renewals don't happen in time, leave in a huff. 

Yes I'm ready to sell myself, its dehumanizing and not fair,

But am I the only culprit, when so many buyers are there? 

Turning Pro

I am a fool, who loves to write,

No compulsions, the mood is light.

Flitting between, one form and the other,

Tinkering on the surface, never digging further. 

I am a fool, who toils to write,

The mood is sombre- filled with plight.

Contorting to fit, in the given form,

I struggle and suffer, to break from the norm.

No more a fool, I dare to write,

The mood is jubilant- I've won the fight.  

Mastering a form, churning sonnets at will,

To rise like a phoenix, was a journey uphill.

 

Up and onward, I should have turned pro- on the way to be the best,

Another 'sonnet', I shoot myself in the foot- back to the fool's quest. 

A Fulfilling Life

Its deeply held, I want to get there,

It may hurt as hell, but everything is fair. 

To reach the top, I'll move ahead of the pack,

After winning the race, to square one I'm back. 

Easy and nice, I want to live in the now,

Forget all my worries, but don't know how.

Like a pig in the mud, I let my hairs down,

Hangovers are for mornings, for now lets drown. 

I don't dream now, I just have nightmares,

Reaching the top is horrible - I was caught unawares. 

The lazing in the afternoon, has lost its charm,

I've realized I'll be slaughtered, like the pig in the farm. 

Neither success nor pleasure, let me be driven by whats right,

A fulfilling life would happen- only then in hindsight. 

 

Night Time Dilemmas

Alone at night, I ponder my fate,

What I love in my job, which parts I hate,

What would be constant in all, that I cannot circumvent,

And what is buried inside, that I simply cant vent.

 

Awake at night, I reflect on my choices,

How the job shapes me, a wolf in sheep's guises, 

Running with the hare and hunting with the hounds,

That I am broken inside, is finally making the rounds.

 

Alert at night, I plan my move,

How the job can liberate, get me back in a groove,

Though with eyes wide open I'm forced to see,

That I'm not for myself, I've to give more of me.

I can close my eyes, its still not late,

Alone at night, I ponder my fate.

Open Tabs

Adding tabs throughout the day, closing some at night, 

I fail miserably in my mission, to keep the browser light.

With mails I have a system, I am at consistently Inbox Zero,

But for a similar Tab Zero, I would have to become a superhero. 

When I shut down each night, its with the option to restore tabs,

Yet when greeted by old tabs in morning, it just pricks and stabs. 

How I wish I could do spring cleaning, start new and afresh, 

- and I must admit I did that once or twice - to regret the decisions rash.

 

Not all tabs are created equal, some are of work and in Chrome,

Others are personal and in Mozilla, where my whims and fancies roam. 

By keeping two separate browsers, I avoid work-life seepage mess,

Which browser has more tabs open, is anyone's guess!   

Flitting between tabs and browsers, you may think I'm a lost cause, 

But I give my unwavering attention, to each tab on which I pause. 

Birds and Happiness

Cuckoo or crow doesn't matter, surround yourself with birds, 

Experience bliss and happiness, that is beyond money or words. 

So says a new science study, and I count my blessings twice,

Each morning and each evening, as I place in the bowl some rice. 

There are countless species around me, and I'm happy as a lark,

There are even some Siberian cranes, who flew over oceans dark.

Why do they keep returning, each year is a mystery deep,

How do they know I'll be there, and why do they take the leap?

 

For I'm whimsical and capricious, mesmerized by the birds afar,

Pining for what is out of bounds, and for grapes that are sour.

I dream one day of being with the bird, face to face in the foreign land,

Invite her to an all-you-can-eat, and finally, at last, my hunger will end.

You left the shore, eons ago, or so it feels to me,

Sans you, what joy, what bliss to boot- let dozen species be!

The Second Mountain - Part II

The mountain fascinates me, towering and large,

Someday it will succumb, to my incessant march!

I conquered it early, and then turned desolate,

Each summer staring down the abyss, at failure straight. 

 

The mountain looks puny, I've climbed it before,

Peak memories cast shadows, on limbs that are sore.

Arriving on the precipice, triumphant and alone, 

At one with the mountain, I've turned to stone.

The mountain is my cross, can I venture beyond?

Can I move to the second mountain, via shangri la pond?

This mountain has shaped me, to make me tall is its aim, 

Molded in its image, am I doomed to be the same? 

Rediscovering myself, exploring what it feels,

Chipping on Goliath, the David reveals!

   

Thrice Born

Cocooned in the womb, throbbing with life,

Living in the darkness, fearing midwife's knife,

I was safe and sound, whats with all this pushing and shoving?

Am I being abandoned and cut off, by a mother that was once loving?     

Clutching to her fingers, I now explore and play,

Restricted to my haven, life is sheltered each day,

I've been taught all the tricks, can I fly is on my mind?

Am I being pushed out of the nest, by a mother that was once kind?

Betrothed to a mate, I now have strength for two,

I've started thinking beyond myself- about my family too,

The home was my world, and now all the worlds a stage?

Am I being sent on The Fools Quest, by a mother that was once sage?

I'm getting weary of this dying, at each step of the path,

But I'll keep offering my head to Shiva, to avoid his wrath!

Sailing Light

When I set sail, I had reasons for cheers,

I was sailing lightly, with blessings of dears.

The movement was swift, the direction clear,

Even if I toppled, there was nothing to fear. 

I could set sail again, build a stronger boat,

That would carry more weight and for longer float.

I would pick up some friends, together we'll cruise,

Having a whale of a time, in adventure's ruse.

 

Slowly but surely, my boat became a ship,

The cargo increased and the friends went for a dip.  

Now its loaded to the brim, sagging with gold,

I've finally arrived, and my tales will be told.

Shipwrecked on an island, I'm braving it out,

Fragmented without redemption, one step from a rout?

Manufacturing Defect?

What do you want, at the end of life?

To be born again, till the end of strife.

An enlightened Buddha, liberated and free,

Or a Bodhisattva bonded, to the common human tree?

 

What do you want, in the hustle of life?

To touch a few lives, and for equanimity strive.

A self actualized person, writing poems that are perfect,

Or a transcendent one, that's having in other lives impact?

 

What do you want, at the beginning of life?

Challenges galore, to make you hardened and wise.

A heroic quest, where you can shine and dazzle, 

Or a Sisyphean vow, rolling your rock sans frazzle?

From cradle to the grave, I'll love you to the hilt,

-Despite repeated rejections- 'cause that's the way I'm built!

 

 

 

 

An Impotent Artist

If poems could heal, I would pen a few lines,

They touch, they scrape, they pierce at times,

Wading deep inside, leaving no recesses behind,

When forced to come out- they pay in kind.

If songs could soothe, I would sing you a note,

They wake you from slumber, breaching the moat,

As walls close around, you have nowhere to hide,

Erupting from beneath- they take you for a ride.

 

If stories could give hope, I would craft a scene, 

They speak, they give shape- to a myth that is mean,

Focused on the quest, with all blurring in background,

The blind answering the call- they move round and round. 

If art could create magic, I would wave a wand,

And paint a sweet picture, with your hand in my hand.

The Second Mountain

Once upon a time, there appeared a monster,

Scaring everyone, like a looming disaster,

Turning to gold, all that it touched,

Making people lifeless, leaving them crushed.

Once upon a time, a hero was born,

Raising people's hope, treating gold with scorn,

With a human touch, it could bring stone to life,

And stir in heart all feelings, from love to strife.

Once upon a time, an epic battle ensued,

On the first mountain, the hydra gold pursued,

With each head chopped, another one came,

'Statue' and 'Over', they were engrossed in the game.

Once upon a time, the mountain shifted,

The grail was not hoarded, but freely gifted.

From Strength to Strength

Crushing under it's own weight, fragile as glass,

My crush for you was fleeting, insecure, rather crass.

A candle extinguished prematurely, before drawing it's last breath,

The slightest whiff of jealousy, sounding it's death.

Tossed and turned around, robust as steel,

My love for you has lasted, remained whole, no big deal.

A flame simmering steadily, enshrined in a lamp,

Weathering many storms, and days dry and damp.

Sucking in deep on being resisted, antifragile like a marsh,

My bond for you becomes stronger, the more the life is harsh.

A wildfire that burns brightly, with each gust jumping tree,

What used to end it earlier, now sets the spark within free.

Over the years I have put up a facade, that grows stronger the more you poke,

That I am as soft as ever on the insides, I wish it was a joke.

Doing Good!

How are you? You are doing so well!

On the path to ringing the opening bell! 

Fit and fine, you are looking swell!

On the path to glory, moving heaven and hell!

 

How's your work, didn't you climb a notch high?

-About your love life- I'm sure hips don't lie!

The humdrum of life, you bid an early goodbye,

Leaving behind a legacy, you can peacefully die.

 

Doing good in this world, you are on a roll!

Doing what matters, with a perfectly clean soul.

People look up to you, you have been modeling that role,

- Of sparkling like a diamond, when pressurized as a coal. 

Alas, for letting my feelings seep out, I'll be charged with treason,

Why can't I make the facade so strong, why am I sad - for no reason?