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.