Wabi Sabi

Subdued austere beauty, wrapped in a rustic patina,

A single asymmetric fin, makes you shine like a sardina. 

Imperfection gives you value, wrinkles add to your face,

You get better like a wine, as you age by God's grace.

Another year has flown by, another project remains half baked,

Another poem's unfinished, by a heart that throughout ached.

The desire for a master piece, makes you lose sight of the truth,

Nothing in this world is perfect, neither golden years nor youth.

There is beauty in simplicity, in owning flaws, in celebrating decay, 

In writing Tankas and Haikus, that let your imagination play.

If you spell out all perfectly, you can't read between the lines, 

You need to draw the reader in- not push him to sidelines.

2023 wasn't perfect, didn't last, isn't done and dusted yet, 

As you start enjoying the passage of time, the moments will last, forever, I bet.

The God Without

He resides in the temple, He resides in my heart,

He resides in my words - He graces my art. 

There are many who would say, just seek Him within,

That I stop serving Him outside - chances are thin.

I am like His servant Hanuman, can't rest till I've finished His work,

I write daily, perform duties He gave, feel His presence, as an added perk.

I regret I wasn't there when His abode, was razed, by a barbarian jerk, 

I don't use euphemisms for invaders, whether they be Mughal or Turk.  

 

What's past is past, let's look ahead, we restored the glory back,  

That a structure had to be demolished first- is part of process, not a day black. 

Now that the temple is ready in a way, and the idol will be revitalized with Ram,

Let's celebrate by emulating Him in every way- by becoming noble, serene and clam.  

Its easy to say, evolve spiritually, be modern, get rid of religions and God,  

Sorry to disappoint, but I wear on my sleeves, the Ram Nami, of my Lord.

The Giving Back Pledge

That institute received an endowment, that was staggeringly well financed,  

We should exceed, beat our previous batches, is an idea we romanced. 

We set a target for ourselves, and some started driving others hard, 

To fuel competition amongst ourselves, a leaderboard was on the card.

From each according to his stature, how well he has done in life,

For what purpose the funds are to be used, has led to an inevitable strife. 

Those who lead by dollars, putting their money where their mouth is, 

Will decide how to use this money, guaranteeing efficiency like in a biz. 

The no-strings-attached donation, is a thing of the past now, 

If you really care about the insti, you should call the shots- and how!

What 25 years of earning gap could not, 2 days of reunion did, 

WA group split on basis of who pays, so that of leeches we can get rid. 

 

When I ponder what I can give back, its neither money nor distinguished alumni fame, 

Its just that I be worthy of this institution, that it feels pride, when on it, I lay my claim.

Daily Exam

Writing consistently is hard, it should be spontaneous and fun,  

If you can make peace with the process, the battle is half won. 

The daily gruel of staring, at a mocking blank page, 

Laying yourself bare, making your nakedness a rage.

You can afford to be open and vulnerable, only once in a blue moon,

When you play with emotions day and night, you may be interned soon,

Either in a mental asylum, as a depressed poet is a probability high,  

Or in the heart of your fans and art lovers, where along the poems you snugly lie. 

It takes discipline to write daily, time is of the least concern,

What you fear is an imperfect poem, that astute readers will discern.

You write because you have to, a poet you chose to be,

The poem's an outcome of who you are, like honey from the bee.

I write for you, I write for her, I write foremost for who I am,

To be sensitive, on a daily schedule, to be true to myself- is a daily exam.

Sometimes

Sometimes you choose to be an outcast, sometimes on you that's thrust, 

Sometimes all you covet is solitude, at other times, isolation, becomes a must. 

Sometimes you break out of the ranks, sometimes they simply charge ahead,

Sometimes you easily loose your cool, at other times, they make you see red.

Sometimes the world whizzes by, sometimes you do a slow dance, 

Sometimes your sonnets reek of love, at other times you hide behind romance. 

Sometimes you don't want to fit in the box, sometimes they make it too small,

Sometimes you want your voice to echo, at other times, it reverberates because of the hall.

Sometimes you try to appease them, sometimes the pressure gets to you, 

Sometimes you create a sombre mood, at other times, you succumb to all that is blue. 

Sometimes you can't see in the mirror, sometimes what you notice is the prominent background,

Sometimes you want to jut and stick out, at other times, you are stuck in a hole that's round. 

Sometimes you write for catharsis, sometimes you let out a Freudian slip, 

Sometimes you try hard to forget her, at other times, she disappears in a blip.

Welcome Mail

Welcome to Psychological Musings, its good to have you here,

Expect some deep reflections, and posts that are crafted with care. 

Thoroughly researched substacks, for which I read a lot,  

Distilling the info into wisdom, putting in a lot of thought. 

You may wish that I write daily; perhaps, once in a month, I'll write!

But I will track my subject thoroughly, analyze and sources cite.

Just not to lose our connect, I'll write shorter pieces too, 

A weekly update, curating stuff, from a quirky point of view. 

3 articles that I am reading, 2 books summarized in bytes, 

1 poem accompanying - filled with psychological insights.

The poem would be 14 lines, my signature imprint, 

I hope to wow and dazzle you, and eventually mint. 

I aspire to be a full time writer, penning poems and psychological musings, 

If you don't pledge support, I'll still invest my time- I don't mind the losings. 

 

 

PS: Psychological Musings is my substack newsletter that I am reviving and on which I will be posting deeper psychological reflections as well as weekly curated content. If you have even a slight interest in psychology I strongly encourage you to subscribe to it.

Being a Centenarian

You don't really die of old age, but from disease of heart and soul, 

Cholesterol starts accumulating, and loneliness takes its toll. 

Accidental deaths are minimal, more die from diseases like Alzheimer's, 

If you have lived a 100 years you've learned, the art of slowing body timers.  

How can I become an inhabitant, of the Blue Zones you ask, 

The short answer - eat plant based meal, and in longevity glory bask. 

5 servings of fruits and vegetables, instead of processed eat grain that is whole, 

Large portions of beans and nuts, put seeds in your breakfast bowl. 

Avoid meat and dairy products, don't eat fish, or, smoke cigar, 

Eliminate eggs and slash sugar, water is the best beverage by far.   

The biggest criminal though, is neither animal nor plant based,

Salt is the reason one's heart becomes weak- we succumb to the taste.

 

The plant based diet has many advantages, its nutritious and a decision wise,  

But the forever reason, you die from animal food, you can't digest, their damning cries. 

PS: Before my non vegetarian friends take offense, let me link to the article (and research) on which this poem is based.  

On Having No Choice

A girl in scant clothing, triggered his brain that was still part ape,

Finding her alone in a secluded place, made him land with a case of rape.

If his wife had cuddled the night before, he would be drenched in Oxytocin hormone,

Would have let the girl go, when she said 'No', but alas his capacity to care was gone.

 

Further back in time, in months past, the OTT and web had exposed him to porn,

The brain-part controlling his appetite atrophied - this was surely, not the way he was born.  

If you go back to his unfortunate adolescence, when his crucial identity did form, 

The constant rejections from the girls he coveted, made for him, sex without love, a norm.  

You can dig into his past, when he was a poor child, you'll find a history of neglect and abuse,

The adverse childhood experiences, that shaped him then, are now being put to real good use.

He inherited genes that predispose to lust, he's a male after all, why on him put blame, 

That he should be held responsible, for his acts - is a perpetrator, not a victim - is an argument lame. 

Constrained from birth, as you grow on all fronts, you start gaining, ever more free will, 

To argue against choice, and moral responsibility, in the garb of science, reeks of pure evil. 

 

 

PS: Written in response to this article by Robert Sapolsky on his new book Determined. I respect him as a scientist, but would strongly advise people like him to refrain from entering the moral domain. 

Samudra Manthan

The churning of ocean, the quest for 14 jewels, 

An uneven distribution, leads to heavens and hells.

Only a few taste elixir, drinking straight from the pot,

An eternal battle ensues, between the haves and have-nots.   

 

Lakshmi and Alakshmi, two sides of the coin,

Devas and Asuras, more like twins conjoin.

One usurps the nectar, and the wish fulfilling tree,

Becomes immortal, wins war, and rewrites history.    

Tricked into cooperation, by a scheming Vishnu, 

Asuras were left fuming, as Vasuki venom spew. 

Devas by their nature, are altruistic and strong, 

Why does tricking the selfish, seem morally wrong? 

All this hullabaloo about Dhanvantari, and his immortal pot, 

He who could accept both the moon and the poison, is my true God.

Kintsugi

Broken, repaired,

Beautiful, because I dared. 

Shattered when I fell, through the abysmal hole, 

Someone cared enough- so she made me whole. 

Pieces picked warily, I could have hurt her,

My edges were sharp - that didn't deter.

She gently applied, a healing balm, 

Mixing gold with lacquer- without qualm. 

 

Can an earthen being, deserve such grace,

Have I lost my identity- with gold on my face? 

The scars and fissures, I could have worn with pride,

I've traded for her art-  I have nowhere to hide. 

Thanks for putting me back again, I'm as fragile as ever, 

I might have become more charming, but I have lost my innocence forever.

 

 

Buy Now, Pay Later

Buy now, pay later, purchase a mobile or own a house,

When EMI's start accumulating, with lenders play cat and mouse.

Status drives you to take loans, money drives them to lend,

When installment stop materializing, they need to recovery agents send.

 

When the merchant offers a loan, they tap into an unsaid need, 

Of how much you need to splurge- more than your neighbor, indeed! 

If his kid goes to United States, yours should go to Canada,   

If your daughters wedding is not in millions, you are society's anathema.  

Sometimes you also borrow, from a genuine place of need,

To start your enterprise, to scale, to sustain your farm by buying seed.

But there are hardly any donors, who don't give out of greed,  

And when the chips are down, they squeeze every ounce- as you bleed. 

I bought a lot of dreams upfront, I'm now paying for it with my life,

Now all I can borrow is my therapists time- to remain sane and not die by suicide. 

Daily Cleansing Ritual

Neglect the home, it starts gathering dust,

Cobwebs start appearing, filling you with disgust.  

Occasional spring cleaning, on Diwali or the New Year,

Can't replace the daily need, to remove stains, remain clear.

Neglect the body, it starts smelling foul, 

As the morning dawns, you pull the towel,

Daily you bathe, daily you change clothes, 

You keep up appearances, through highs and lows.

Neglect the mind, its starts acting wild, 

Meditating daily, keeps it anchored and mild.

A few deep breaths, at night counting sheep, 

To be alert and focused, you prioritize daily sleep.  

Neglect the poem, at the end of the day,

The soul sullied permanently - to wash, just pray!

Work Drudgery

Exhausted, and numb, 

From work, that is dumb, 

Numbers abound, creativity lost, 

A lot is accomplished, but at what cost. 

I'm all presentation, I don't excel, 

Complex formulae, don't ring a bell,

My whole day wasted, checking values in a cell,

It could have been done, with automation as well.

Work like this, sucks your soul,

None should endure, my lofty goal,

So I end up doing, odd jobs like this,

Drudgery is mine, so that you have bliss. 

Like all good things, with roses come thorns,

As I love my work, I take the bull by the horns.

My Pursuit

Writing sonnets, an idle pursuit,

Crafting narratives, to my persona suit.  

Weaving emotions, from boredom's yarn,

If I keep rolling, I'll be a pretty good liar, darn!

Writing sonnets, an idle pastime,

Creating moments, that transcend time. 

Conjuring images, out of thin air,

To make love out of nothing - is a daily dare. 

Writing sonnets, an idle promise,

Of baring myself - naked, as is.

Stuck in a loop, as I woo you in my mind,   

I love 'you' or the muse, I'm in a perpetual bind. 

As I do my shenanigans in 14 lines, you play dumb and mute,

That's why you are, and will always remain - my ideal pursuit.

A Billionaire Mindset

Walk on coals, or run a triathlon,  

Just do the impossible - you won't look back, for one.

With a string of positive outcomes, you'll be set on fire, 

Just wish for it dearly, with your whole heart's desire. 

I know the tricks of the trade, how to make you tick,

Instant inspiration and a push, that gives you results quick. 

Endure the process, give it all you have got, 

Failure is not an option, it's victory you sought.

If I put my mind to it, I can be the greatest coach, 

A motivator par excellence, an achiever beyond reproach.

I'll help you reach your goals, grant you success in your pursuits, 

I'll help you toil, when you plant the seeds, and relax and enjoy, when it bears fruits. 

But alas, I choose not to use my tools, for all that you seem to care,

Are not goals that are poetic or sublime, but to become a billionaire!  

Letting Go

Eighteenth birthday, dawns a bittersweet truth,  

That your child has turned, into an independent youth. 

Now he can make his own decisions, doesn't need your advice, 

Can choose for himself, what is virtue, what's vice. 

 

You should be happy, he has grown, he can now fly alone, 

All you're worried is what you'll do, when he is no longer home. 

He has set his sails high, wants to explore wide and far, 

As he gets sucked in the rat race, you hope he'll still play guitar. 

 

Now its free-for-all, age is no longer a bar, 

He can be left to fend for himself, in this cut-throat bazaar,

That may be true of western world, I'm still an Indian dad, 

I'll keep hovering over him, although this makes him feel bad. 

Eighteen years is a long preparation, from the time you were a child, 

Readying myself to be strong and resilient, as I let you out into the wild. 

Becoming a Centenarian

Smoking, drinking, sedentary lifestyle, 

All increase mortality, are vices vile.

Refrain from them, and you'll add to your life,

Remove the cancerous tissues, with a surgical knife.  

 

Breathing polluted air, ups the dying odds,

If you're obese and not lean- can't leave to gods.

Indulge in some activity- like doing brisk walk,

Become part of a group - that's more laughter and talk. 

 

Then walking won't be a chore, but become a pleasurable norm,

You'll get help when you need it- be it rain or storm. 

You'll feel protected and cared, not lonely or in despair, 

Connections breathe new life, is a statement fair.   

When woven in the social fabric, your odds jump by one and half,

For a long life you don't need much - with your friends daily laugh.

Just a Poem Away

A quarter century, a milestone crossed,

Missing the reunion, an opportunity lost,

To meet in person, the ghosts of youth-

The poems of pain and the songs to soothe.

Faded memories and withered face,

Will I remember all, be able to place,

Indeed that's now, a theoretical concern,

To make up for my loss- I'll write poem one.

To miss the gathering, seems like a crime,

Its I who'll be sore- I'm sure you'll be fine,

Though absent in body, my heart will be there,

Can a poem make up for me, is a question fair. 

 

I hope when you'll meet, you'll spare a thought for us,

The ones who couldn't make it- those who missed the bus!

 

 

PS: This poem is written with some inspiration/ help from Bard. 

Brief Encounters of the Third Kind

A brief encounter, in the therapy room,

A ray of hope, amidst all round gloom.

Dazzled by the charisma, of therapist at large,

I've become dependent, giving up charge. 

He stirs up memories, and conflicts of past,

Our sessions are limited, they won't forever last, 

The painful realization- this too shall pass,

I'll emerge stronger, but would be alone - alas!

The meeting was potent, he could see through me,

His touch was healing - letting me just be!

He cast on me, almost a magical spell,

My problems disappeared, but on him I dwell. 

A moment in time, that got imprinted on my mind, 

We have to see if the effects last, as the sessions wind.

Asking for Help

Drained beyond redemption, broken beyond repair, 

I'm losing my marbles, I'm gasping for air. 

One more death by suicide, all in a course of a day,

No one appears bothered, but on my mind it seems to weigh.

The common man doesn't care, not his circus, not his monkey,

Its I who gets embroiled in lost causes- am I just another adrenaline junkie? 

Does the quest to go after the nearly impossible, drives me and gives me kicks, 

Am I mourning the one whom I couldn't reach, or the next one for whom the clock ticks. 

 

My #ZeroSuicideMission looks good on paper, each new death mocks and makes its fun,

If I don't succeed in making a dent, who will raise hope- where there is none. 

There is neither hope for the drowning, nor for the savior- nor for any wannabe, 

I've put all my energies in this project, I'm at a stage where I just want to let it be.

Me, I, Mine, I have made this mission, more about myself than about them,

If we really want to put an end to this scourge, I'll need your help - together we can.

 

 

The Time to Sweat is Now

What happens when you spend your life, near a stormy and tempestuous coast, 

Do you prepare for the hurricanes that may be in store, do you remain on your toes or do you coast?

Won't you make the shelters well in advance, and be on the lookout for Nature's fury clues,

Or will you sit complacent, closing your eyes, and wait for the time when disaster lets loose?

What happens when you need to build a house, in an earthquake prone seismic zone, 

Do you lay pliable foundations and isolated bases, and watch closely for cracks in the stone?

Do you change the choice of material, shifting to wood, and minimize the damage if an event occurred,

Or do you remain nonchalant, and continue to build skyscrapers, ignoring safety norms, is that what you've heard? 

 

What happens when you choose to build your house, near a river that is known to flood,

Do you ensure an elevated structure, with proper drainage, or are you ready to pay the price in blood?

Do you do a soil test, and refrain from filling the rivulets, so that the foundation during flood won't sink,

Do you keep a safe distance and watch the river level, or do you build your house on the very brink? 

You chose to work with aspirants, under pressure and drenched in hormones, a disaster that is always waiting to unleash, 

You don't prevent suicides by acting on the last minute, you have to sweat and lay structures in the times of peace.

25th Year Reunion ( revisited)

I won't miss for the world, the reunion and all the fun, 

Can surely spare 3 days for friends, out of the total 9131,

That much is the number of days, we haven't met since Convo,

And for those we didn't connect then, lets start our bond de novo. 

 

The other day I literally dreamed, of reunion and all my friends, 

Meeting everyone, near and far - restoring bonds and making amends.

It was fun and laughter all around, old memories and old vibe,  

We vowed once more to remain connected- till segmentation faults divide.

PJs and fattas once more cracked, it was nostalgia all around, 

Gandas and lingo that only we understand, keeps us forever bound.

I was shaken out of the reverie, when the dream was rudely broken, 

And it dawned on me that I was going to miss, that I was the unfortunate one. 

I have to be there for my son, he means the world to me, 

I'm sorry I won't be able to come, let bygones be.

The Fall

A million people fall silent, there's a hush in the ground, 

As the opponents march to victory, there's despair all around.  

Titan's brought down to their knees, despite their earlier winning streak,

That in the crucial moment we will crumble, looks like an accident freak. 

You ask why we are not applauding, when the others won fair and square,

When all around people are mourning- to suggest we clap- how you dare!

A billion hearts are broken, we are grieving what we thought was ours,

I know the pain will be dulled, as the days pass, if not the hours.

Only a few will be angry, most disappointed and hurt, 

We didn't win when the stakes were high- are we chokers, I blurt. 

We gave our best- the moral support- I'm sure they gave their all,

Whether to dream again, and risk getting hurt, is our collective call. 

 

We live in an unfortunate world, where winning is the be all and end all, 

If we only carry on shoulders when they win, who will catch when they fall. 

 

Hedgehog's Dilemma

All we pine for deeply, is the simple and warm touch, 

Yet quills are what we get from others, can't help much!

It's in our nature to hurt and pierce, when we get too close,

We may think it otherwise, but we are more thorns than rose.

Behind their tough exteriors, lies a sensitive skin,

The turtle is made for endurance, slow and steady they win.  

Limited by their mutual shells, they can't get close enough,

I wonder if what lies underneath, is equally hardened stuff.

A hedgehog meets a turtle, the match is made in heaven, 

One can be aggressive and sharp, the other retreats in safe haven. 

The need for warmth and company, makes them stick around, 

That there are no better options, keeps them forever bound. 

Lets shed our quills and shells, we need to be vulnerable, naked and not shy,  

We all need others at one time or the other, so lets get together, huddle and cry.

A Well Deserved Break

I slog all day long, work hard without respite,

Its hard to say I abhor it, or in it take delight.

What's apparent to the naked eye, I get exhausted by night,

And plunge into a restful sleep, as if its my birthright.

I slog all week long, the work takes it's toll, 

Monday's start with a sprint, by Fridays its a stroll. 

By the time the weekend limps, I am ready to crash,  

And degenerate into fun and frolic, in a manner that is brash. 

I slog all year along, New Year resolutions make me toil, 

By the time I reach Christmas, I don't just simmer, I'm ready  to boil.

The year end vacations, seem like a much needed break, 

I've deserved this by working hard, so guilt free I can take. 

Its a wrong way of thinking - lets flip and ask, have I rested enough?

To take on the world yet again, and do with vigor my most important stuff.

The Daily Drill

Wash, Rinse, Repeat, or so the manual says,  

The stain wont go away easily, but persistence pays. 

This city has been sullied, there's a blot on its name, 

It has to perform ablutions daily, if it has to regain its fame. 

Taking a dip in the Ganges, on the day of the Kumbh fair,

May absolve you of your sins, can be a once in 4 year affair,

But to daily feel clean, you have to bathe each day,

And if you're really religious or spiritual, you have to daily pray.

A one off speech is good, an inspiration can turn your life,

But to turn that vision into reality, you have to work daily, right? 

There will be bumps on the road, your motivation will sag, 

You have to daily discover your purpose, if you wish to lead not lag.

Whether its caring for your mental health, or fighting the rampant stigma, 

It can't be a one day act or activism, it has to be done daily, na?

Patiently Chipping

If you want to eat fig, you have to wait for some time, 

The plant has to bear fruit, you can't just add an enzyme. 

All you can do is add manure, pull out some weeds, 

You can't hasten the process - the fig its sweet time needs.

If you want to make art, you have to chisel all day,

By slowly chipping away, David emerges, oh yea! 

Oftentimes you'll need, to hammer more than once,

That the last blow split the stone, can only be thought by a dunce. 

When something is as mighty, as a rock by the sea,

That it can be turned to sand, is somewhat difficult to see. 

It takes eons of time, and dogged persistence of waves,

That finally the rock succumbs, and its pride way paves. 

I've only started now, but I vow to daily write, 

If I daily nurture hopes, what hope's left for this blight? 

The Pub

I may be a teetotaler, but I'll entice you to drink, 

I'll keep my distance from the cup, but fill yours up to the brink.  

I've discovered this sleight of hand, from those belonging to the elite club, 

I gladly refrain myself, but lead you towards the bar and the pub.   

I'm from that ancestral family, where people drink much,

Its no exaggeration, my blood has turned, into 75 % alcohol as such.

I've every right over the courtyard, where like water flows wine,

It was bought by my forefathers, where we today drink and dine. 

 

For most of the folks its transitory- they are sober in a jiffy,    

That their drinks will last and not spill- the proposition is iffy. 

But the true wine is that which ages with time,

The more you stay in my pub, the more it becomes sublime. 

While praying in pitr paksha, I request you to drink, rather than offer water to Gods,

The more you recite my poems, the more I'll be salvaged- the greater the odds. 

PS: This poem is a humble and creative translation of Shri Harivansh Rai Bachchan's epilogue of his famous poem Madhushala. Apologies in advance, if it hurt your sensibilities.

Planning Ahead

You make a plan in advance, before the crisis hits,  

If you live in a quake prone region, fortify the house with bricks.

If you are roaming out in the sea, when the Nature's fury dances, 

That the cyclones will keep sparing you, diminished are the chances.   

The competitive landscape likewise, is built over many fault lines, 

Strong winds blow regularly, there are hidden landmines. 

You've felt the tremors before, you've been swept by overwhelming force, 

No half measures will help you, you have to become strong at the source. 

Forecast what triggers you, what warning signs lurk, 

Identify what saves the day, when nothing seems to work.

A nap, a walk, deep breathing, a talk with friend can heal,

Write down your reasons for living- what gives you zest and zeal.

 

Identify whom you can lean on in crisis, either a friend or a proper pro, 

If you make a plan in advance, you won't need a 'no harm' contract my bro!

 

Zero Reasons Why

If smallpox could be eradicated, using a vaccination program, 

There are zero reason why, this can't be eliminated, goddam.  

Our minds we can train and fortify, by nets we can our hostels fortify, 

This menace we can defeat, if in letter and spirit, with state guidelines we choose to comply.  

 

If fatalities in road accidents, could be historically reduced,

By simply insisting, that airbags and seat-belts be used.  

There are zero reasons why, by using spring loaded fans,

We can't stall people from acting, help them shelve their plans.  

We lived through the pandemic, using social distancing and mask, 

Can't we help people through this too- all we have to do is ask- 

If they are feeling OK, or considering a dire end,

Just listen deeply, and be there as a friend.  

 

You may think that you are quite helpless, when confronted with someone, who has made up his mind, 

All you need to do is be present and stay with them- there's magic in simply, being loving and kind.

 

Invisible

When a man twists his ankle, or falls and breaks his leg, 

it's his self inflicted karma, so why help - do we beg?

Do you ridicule when he screams, in agony and deep pain, 

Or do you empathize and be there, these being the responses sane.

When a man has a fever, is out of action for some time,

We appreciate body fighting virus, it's a boon, not a crime. 

Do you ridicule the weird symptoms, why his body is out of whack, 

Or do you let him recover peacefully, cut him some slack.

When a man is trapped, in a building that's on fire,

Do we really think he chose 5th floor, that death his desire?  

Do you ridicule when he jumps, to escape the smoke and burns, 

Or do you go all out to reach him, never mind the diminishing returns.

My pain may not be visible, but it sure as hell feels real, 

Don't shun me as a crazy attention hog, if you can help that would be ideal.

Crime Scene Investigation

Skipping meals in the mess, sleeping all day long,

Withdrawing in the hostel room, socializing seems so wrong.  

I can't concentrate on my studies, my marks have taken a nosedive,

I'm drowning myself in alcohol, hoping to stay, afloat and alive. 

'Let me not be a burden' , ' It would be great if I could sleep and never wake', 

I start distributing dear things to friends, Wills and deeds I start to make. 

'I feel ashamed' , 'I feel guilty', ' I feel hopeless' , ' I feel trapped',

After many agonizing nights, I'm peaceful, as if all things I have neatly wrapped. 

 

One moment I am sad and crying, the next I am angry as hell,

All day I worry or dwell on past, and miss some classes as well.  

If you observed closely enough, you'll see me twitching with pain, 

But you think of me as an attention hog, so you don't look again.  

That the situation has become unbearable, I've dropped enough hints, 

If you still allow me to die by suicide, all over my body would be your fingerprints.

From Ideas To Inaction

Be it a failure, or a rejection, when pain becomes too much,

How to escape this dismal life, I start thinking as such.

The pain can be even physical, like a chronic or terminal disease,

It could be a feeling that I am a burden, have to other people's pain ease.   

Be it a defeat or feeling entrapped, when the last sliver of hope is gone, 

I better give up and stop fighting - are the thoughts I feed to this powerless pawn.

There may be light at the end of the tunnel, I am myopic, and without glasses, 

The sweetness of life has been drained from me, what is left is dark molasses.

I can endure excruciating pain, can live for eons without hope, 

It's when they join hands to limit life, that I start searching for a rope. 

By nature impulsive and risk taking,  desensitized by friends dying left and right, 

I'm moving from ideas to action quickly, please remove all means from sight.

Just in time I remember, I'm connected with you and a purpose that is high, 

That you'll miss me when I'm gone, is reason enough, not to die.

Thwarted

The sense of autonomy, that I'm an author of my life,

When taken away, cuts deep like a knife.

All I do is governed, by parents, or society's diktat,  

I feel hopeless and constrained, like a blind maze's rat. 

 

The sense of mastery,  that I can make happen stuff,

When not exercised daily, makes me feel like a bluff. 

When I can't move forward, make progress at will,

I feel helpless, give up easily, don't go for the kill. 

The sense of relatedness, that I belong to this earth,

When not reciprocated by others- can kill all mirth.

When I'm isolated and alienated, without anyone to care, 

I feel worthless like crap, and in the dark abyss stare.     

Hopeless, helpless, worthless, you can easily write me off, 

Just satisfy my Basic Psychological Needs, and see how quickly I takeoff.

The Gen Z

They've grown up in the digital world, are difficult to wean, from the net,

To be 'woke', 'socially responsible', 'gender neutral', are their topics pet.  

Comfortable with @mentions and #tags, they carry activism on their sleeves, 

Fighting on-ground injustices and lies, with their snapchats and tweets.

 

The generation that talks openly, about periods and sex,

Throws away the cloak of mystery, is open to the max. 

They talk about their mental health, how they've been anxious and depressed,

Eager to take help when needed, not suffering by remaining stressed. 

Insecure about how they'll make a living, yet not caring two hoots.

Who they are underneath is important, than wearing ties and suits. 

Purpose and passion comes first, when they hustle its not for money, but love, 

They expect their employers to be values driven, and care about environment, over and above. 

 

Generations have come and gone, on the Gen Z our hopes we pin, 

We might have given up in despair, whereas they have just begun. 

 

Letting Them Play

Let the children play freely, no adults involved,

Toddlers hunting and gathering, that's how we evolved. 

Pretend play is good, rough-and-tumble even better, 

Both develop life skills, mental former, physical latter. 

 

Let them make the rules, let them falter and rise, 

Let them indulge because they want to, not for appreciation or prize. 

They'll slowly develop a sense, they have control over one's life,  

Wont feel pressured by parents, or the promises of the afterlife. 

Let them take risks, be there, to put them back on their feet,

Lets prepare both the road and the child- in this case lets halfway meet. 

They'll slowly get a sense, they can successfully wade through life,

Feeling supported by others, take both ups and downs in their stride.

If you insist, I'll let him play, away from my prying eyes, 

That he'll be happy, adjusted and resilient- better not be lies. 

Bidding Adieu

Celebrations galore, that come to a screeching halt, 

For a moment I feel human, then back to being robot.  

I go through the motions, the rest of the year,

The spring returns to feet, when Bappa's B'day is near. 

Dancing with joy, as we bring Him to home,

Establishing Him in the idol, taking Him on loan,

For 10 days He's ours, enough to make us get  attached,

On 11th day we have to part - He's in water dispatched. 

The one who comes, has to necessarily go, 

Even if He's mighty Ganesha- it has to be so. 

Some Gods may be immortal, He's like you and me,

On His departure I cry like a child, and He drowns in the sea.

Some think its a religious festival, others treat it as a social event,

To me its a spiritual awakening- that we are tenants whose tenure does end.

The Walk Group

We walk daily, not all in slick shape; yet more committed, would be difficult to find - 

- We never miss out on the Saturday breakfast - we show no mercy, to the Bakras we're not kind.

 Walking at a leisurely pace, but discussions hot- ranging from politics, to the daily grind,  

Despite our expert insights and world class solutions, the world hasn't changed- never mind. 

To join our group, you need to know current affairs, or at least be willing to listen about present landscape,

The fees for joining - sponsoring a breakfast- from this there's no respite, you just cant escape.

You must have expertise, in laughing at jokes, that may verge towards being slightly off-veg,

You must post on the WA group item numbers, and be willing and ready to pull each others leg.  

The camaraderie is great, the bonding good, the walk is just a nice pretext, 

We help each other through thick and thin- are ready to put the friendships to test.

What common things we have, what brings us close, I sometimes wonder and secretly muse, 

A common thread running - we are not here for a reason - not looking for, each other to use.    

Chance has thrown us together, choice wants us to make it great,  

A simple bond of walking and talking, and making best of our common fate.

Kindling Hope

I've let down my parents, I've let down my friends,

I've let down this city - and so my story ends.

It's weighing on my mind, that I'm pulling them down,

From being an apple of the eyes, to just one in the town. 

I'm boxed in my hostel, I've been boxed in my pursuit,

To have fun in this city, instead of studies doesn't suit. 

I'm cut off from my family, no friends to boot,

The pain of alienation, both chronic and acute. 

Yet over the years I have, become numbed to the pain, 

My ability to self harm has grown, from a drizzle to a rain. 

Repetitive thoughts daily, are now things of the past,

I'm dying for some action, you better save me fast. 

Between the thought and the action, there lies a vast space, 

Show me the light at the end, and the darkest tunnels I'll wade.

Preface

Challenged by BookLeaf Publishing, to write for 21 days straight, 

I wrote on what was bothering me most - students and their fate. 

That some were saying silent goodbyes, without leaving a note,  

I had to give them a voice it seemed - so I passionately wrote.

 

I wrote about the dark underbelly,  seeking light where there was none, 

Most people shunned the heavier poems- and preferred instead the trivial one.  

At one time even I started thinking, that I'm obsessed with suicide, 

Then someone challenged, me to raise hope, so a different track I tried. 

That words I write can change the mood, spur people to act now,

Was transformative as I started to weave- poems of hope - and how!

The poem I pinned my hopes on, didn't really take off, didn't fly,  

I might have failed, but to stop now- there are Zero Reasons Why.

When I started to write, my mission was clear, to showcase my brilliance, my inimitable style, 

Now all I care is that at least a life is saved, so I can pause my outpourings, rest for a while.

Acknowledgements

Its customary to acknowledge, who helped along the way, 

Let me briefly list the names, of a few people if I may.

Kalpana my wife, who has been a solid support system,

Devansh my son, who beyond years exhibits wisdom.  

My Walk Group for its company, and listening to some poems too, 

To the one who calls me Shakespeare, our society secretary Siddhu. 

To Shukla ji and Piyush, who appreciate and sometimes recite,

To Yatindra who's based in the US, and provides feedback in the night. 

To Srishti, Padmini, Shreya, more than colleagues at work,  

To Asiya, Waheeda and others, who appreciate my quirk,

To Smriti who has recently connected, to Raj who I have known for long,

To the countless readers who read and like, not acknowledging them so wrong. 

The last one to deeply acknowledge, is surprisingly me, 

If I hadn't chosen this path, one less a poet there would be.

Flotsam and Jetsam

A compilation of debris, floating on the surface light,
The dark side pushed under, some day we'll have to make it right.
The mood is quiet and sombre, the topic self inflicted death,
I'm drowning in the sea of words, gasping for my breath.
 
A sea full of possibilities, some images, some truth,
Some words intended to pierce, others to heal and soothe.
Deliberately thrown from my unconscious, brimming to the top,
The theme will no longer be macabre, if the suicides stop.

I'm broken, shipwrecked, the Titanic has sunk,
They say if you are so sensitive, better be a monk.
The world of today is full, of suffering and despair,
I'm searching for my parts madly, so that I can fix and repair.  

14 lines are enough, to pour your heart out,
21 poems not enough, to lead to suicide's rout.

To The One-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named

'Learn the rules like a pro, so you can break them as an artist',

Build to a predictable crescendo, and in the end add a twist.

The form is fixed at 14 lines, you can call it a sonnet, if you like,

Having mastered the art of suffering, you can now do stand ups and open mike.

 

Creativity entails respecting the bounds, and then stretching a little beyond,  

To see a thing from different Point Of Views - each time a new use is spawned. 

A simple pencil, in the Alternate Uses Test, can take many forms- become a magic wand, 

When you pen a few lines, daily with its help, with the reader you create an unbreakable bond. 

 

For 21 days, you vowed to write, as that much time, a habit takes,

Some were genuine masterpieces, others superficial and only fakes.

Today it reaches an anti climax, a poem that's about the journey itself, 

No standard topic to write about- no suicides, ChatGPT- nothing off the shelf. 

 

21 poems in 17 days, I've raced ahead of the proverbial curve, 

To have not mentioned you in these poems of love, I sure as hell have a lot of nerve.

Birthday Celebrations

Ganesha is a dear friend, so I wish Him on his B'day, rest of the year I have amnesia,

When I talk to Him, I'm praying, when He talks back, you think, I have schizophrenia.

Just like old friends, seldom need to talk, yet when they connect, all hell breaks loose, 

All year long, we may be busy in our lives, but Ganeshotsav is where, I let my hair loose.

More than a week full of revelry, bonding with dear friends, 

Sports day and cultural nights, I get emotional when it ends. 

Daily snacks and prasadam, not good for my diabetic health,

I won't trade this for anything, neither prosperity nor wealth. 

Fashion shows in Ganpati, Home minister and Tambola too, 

Bhajan Sandhya next to Bollywood night- most cheer, some boo!

With time tradition needs to keep pace, I can only talk, in a language I know, 

As long as He replies, to me now and then, my love for Him, will continue to grow. 

 

To top it all, the last day procession, is peaceful even, where there's Hinduphobia, 

Lets chant together, that He returns early next year- our beloved Ganpati, Bappa Moraya. 

 

In The Spotlight

This city has slowly and steadily, become an epidemiological hotspot, 

Whether its Covid, Nipah or Dengue, I'll leave for you to spot.

The population dividend of youth, on which people had set hope high, 

Has suddenly backfired here, and from this viral disease now many people die.   

 

While in China its on decline, in the US its on rise, 

In India its difficult to measure, but this city has won the prize. 

It used to fluctuate seasonally, peaking in May/June time,

Now the peak has shifted to August, without reason or rhyme.

All we know for certain, its more fatal in boys than girls,

Many oysters broken/ left behind, in the search for the golden pearls.  

Some areas within the hotspot, are hotter and in red more, 

No wonder they are located, near institutes of legends yore. 

The Kashi of education, this city claims to be,

If we don't eradicate soon enough, the city of death it will truly be.  

Mark My Words

This journey may look difficult, but don't lose hope a bit,

Always live by the dictum - "Rest if you must, but don't quit".

You never know, what twists and turns, life has in its store,

If one door closes for you perchance, God will open another door. 

 

You may think you are a burden, without you your parents better off, 

Always remember, losing you means, a permanent pain, and not one-off.

You may feel a bit lonely at times, that nobody gives a damn or cares,

At those times remember, there's a poet out there, who gets you and your pain shares.

 

You may think you are living a nightmare, but this too shall pass,

Life is too precious to be thrown away, become steel, not brass. 

To be polished is to endure pain, but the results will dazzle all,

That you are a phoenix and can rise again- is not an order tall. 

Bookmark my words and read often, life is full of strife,

A timely recall, there's someone out there, may help save your life.

Peepli Live

This one died by hanging, this one by taking pills,

This one died because his dad, couldn't pay the bills.

This one went to the 7th floor, of the coaching institute, 

This one died as the monsoon, left his family destitute. 

This one hacked the spring-led fans, used the window sill, 

This one took paracetamol, in doses that can kill. 

This one died because of marks, this one due to love affair, 

This one died because he was caught, cheating, how he dare. 

This one happened to be successful, and completed suicide,

This one was pushed to the brim, couldn't parents wish abide. 

These ones may be triggered easily, and become copycats, 

But we won't mention helplines, only numbers and stats.

 

Media guidelines strictly prohibit, mentioning method, location, or giving a single cause,

Constantly bombarded by this insensitive coverage, how can we hope, to put this menace to pause? 

PS: This poem is deliberately written in a satirical and insensitive mode and is not intended to be the right way of reporting or talking about suicide. In case you or someone you know is triggered by thoughts of suicide after reading this, please know that help is available. You can find a list of helpline numbers here http://www.aasra.info/helpline.html

Instant Recharge

Instant friendship, instant divorce,

Love at first sight, not taking sweet course.  

We are used to gratification, at a button's click,

To wait for love to ripen, seems a concept sick. 

 

Infatuation steals the show, over companionate love,

The promise of an enduring bond, you can up your arse shove. 

Its boring, its common place, it lacks the thrill, 

Long term is for losers, not for ones who go for the kill. 

Instant deliveries and instant likes, 

Leave an instant review, if service is good or yikes.

Between the stimulus and response, lies our freedom- they say, 

But to react in time's more tempting - it keeps FOMO at bay.  

They say poetry is nothing, but emotions recollected in tranquility, 

No matter how mundane my day goes by, I recharge instantly- add a poem to kitty.

Boys Dont Cry

Boys will be boys, they need to goof around,

Need to let out some energy, to keep their mind sound. 

Over eons of evolution, they've become hunters who roam, 

Eventually need to step out, from the confines of their home. 

Girls will be girls, they need to gossip and talk, 

To be toiling in solitude, is a thought at which they balk.  

By nature they are less impulsive, or risk taking than the boys,

Are content with make-believe, and to play with dolls as toys.

 

Both are imprisoned now, but the girls for help reach out,

The girls may become more depressed, but the boys just grit it out.

Girls may cry a lot for help, by taking a jibe at their life, 

Boys just hide their tears, move on, and take life in its stride.  

 

After all, isn't it a basic tenet, that boys don't cry, 

To maintain that tough image, they have to be ready to die.

Using ChatGPT

Generative AI is fascinating, I can play all day along,  

Whether it has surpassed humans - not by a stretch long. 

I can give it a single prompt, and generate countless variations on a theme,

At a click of a button I can create, a comprehensible and rapid stream.

 

Words pregnant with meaning, that automatically rhyme,  

A few good turns of phrases - not using them a crime!

If I put my ego aside, forget the issue of authorship, 

I'll let the LLM write my poems, and limit to editing, in a blip. 

But how can I live with the issue, of biases and prejudice,

Maybe I too harbor deep inside, but on the surface I am nice. 

When my poems get poisoned, with what spews on the net,

I'm sure you'll find another outlet, that's more congenial- I can bet.

 

There's a lot of cacophony all around, its not easy figuring signal from the noise, 

You ask do I use ChatGPT, do I look stupid enough to lose my voice?

PS: None of my poems, including this one, except 1 or 2 where I explicitly mentioned, have been AI or ChatGPT assisted or created. 

To Be or Not to Be

To be or not to be, a doctor is the question,  

I need to follow my parents footsteps, is my solemn confession.

No one mentions the grueling residencies, its a noble profession, I'm told,

If I crack NEET in one of the n attempts, I would have hit pure and instant gold.

To be or not to be, an engineer is the question,

I'm good at maths, that seals the deal, where is the confusion? 

That I could have a love for science, prefer IISER over IITs,

Is something no one will ever understand, so let me focus on JEE please. 

To be or not to be, a non conformist is the question,  

If I wish to flourish and bloom, towards me I need to show compassion. 

Visit a career coach early, better yet focus only on what I love,

Success wont come easy here too, but I'll find happiness, over and above.

Even after getting your dream stream, life is not easy going to be,

At each step, life may still ask the question- to be or not to be.

Split And Cracked

A tough manager, by daytime, a sensitive poet by night, 

You may say my personality is split, but to me it seems alright. 

The dreams that haunt my nights, are executed and worked in day,

That I fulfill both roles well and fair, is something I daily pray.

 

There was a time, I used to run fast, now I prefer to dancing slow,

It may seem like I've given up, but I'm still not aiming low!

Success, money, fame and status, are things of past, now all beneath me, 

Being content and doing right, is all that matters, in the end, you see. 

 

Delivering impact, in daytime, applying balm, at night, 

I'm miles away from being burnt out - and yet I'm burning bright.

Whatever little, gets drained in a day, I regain, as dusk sets in,

Reinvigorated and recharged, re-humanized from within. 

 

My poems are not an outlet, to let out some steam,  

Through the cracks the moonlight enters, so that during the day I beam.

 

The Art of Saving Lives

Taking your own life, is not a sign of bravery, nor it is of cowardice,  

Its an act of desperation, a plea for help - that the world be a bit, gentle and nice.

We shouldn't glamorize, the fatal act, or shun the one, who the attempt did survive, 

We just need to be there, for them at that time, and gently need, to hope revive. 

In some rare cases, they make a snap decision, in most others, its rather well planned, 

A difference between life and death, a helpline that is, readily available and manned.  

Calling the helpline, is a last resort, its a desperate measure, a cry full of pain,

A timely response, a feeling of being heard, the tragedy averted, now interventions remain.

 

Its a myth to think, one who has made his mind, is beyond redemption, or is immune to cure,

All they seek in the moment, is a way out of their troubles, and someone who understands, and will reassure.

Willing to share their pain, empowering them to solve, their problems of life, and how to cope well, 

A good counselor, knows which parts to heal, and which parts to let buried, and on later dwell. 

There's a science to it, there's a method to it, but saving lives, at the end is an art, 

All it takes, is an empathetic ear, and a non judgmental, and caring heart.

Ab Tak 24...

What happens when you become, just an incremental number,

A stat that one dreads, and wants to hide, or keep in wraps and push under. 

When you are good with data, all you care, how it compares with the norms of this age,

Reducing the deaths takes a backseat, whats important is to ensure proper press coverage.

 

15 are due to studies, - just 2 due to a failed love affair,

4 due to family tensions- so how's the city to blame, is it fair?   

When lakhs of students descend each year, in this city to fulfill their sacred dreams,

Some collateral damage in this race to win, if within normal limits, is OK it seems. 

And then I'm sure there are some orgs, in the Rest of the Bharat, 

Who find relief and are actually happy, that this hasn't happened, under their Chhat. 

A confluence of students, in this mecca of sorts, is seen by many as a problem in itself,

To me it seems, a place where with efforts, we can finally ensure, no student dies by self. 

They left their child, in the warm protection, of a coaching institute and hostel / PG,

If a custodial death, happens on a regular basis, lets put behind bars, an entire industry, if need be. 

To Free or Not to Free?

I don't know why I bet on losing horses, get embroiled in a losing cause, 

That no one turned up for a free workshop, is reason enough to take a pause.

Was the content not good, or marketing not enough, or the facilitator not up to the mark? 

Or the topic of caring for a fellow aspirant, not relevant in this competitive landscape stark? 

You design a solution, put your heart and soul, expecting a natural product-market fit,

When you have zero takers, or have to pay for UX inputs, to stay on course, needs a lot of grit. 

The solution is good, users love it, now the million dollar question- whether to give it free?

When its free, its perceived cheap, and without value, and all expect a catch, somewhere, you see. 

 

Perhaps you'll ask, for money down the line,  your strategy in the long run based on freemium,

And charge a bomb, by up selling and cross selling, to give us an experience that's not shallow but premium. 

Perhaps you'll just give our data away, or bombard with ads that corrupt our mind,

Or perhaps you'll ask for a favor in return, and put us in a moral bind. 

You say that my products I should adequately price, neither too high nor too low, 

I'll keep it free, no matter what the price, take each day in its stride- burning nice and slow,

Upcoming 25th Year Reunion

Not all were dear friends, some were just incidental batch-mates,

And then there was that lonesome crush - with whom I never went for dates. 

The hostel and the department, were much more close knit, 

While the dep was divided by marks and grades, by wings the hostel was split. 

 

One part of me is quite excited, old memories and old friends, 

Another part is quite anxious, how I stack against those, who earn in lakhs of tens.

While branches separated earlier, now it would be wealth and lifestyle,

While some like me will board a train, others will fly business, and book a seat aisle.   

One part of me can't bear to wait, to once more hear foul words,

Another part dreads when they'll find out- I still write poems- about caged birds. 

A poet struggling in college times, a poet struggling now, 

I'm still the same old, same old dud, though they may have changed and how!

I'm sure when we meet, most of the talk, will be who we are and what we have done,  

That I've lived life on my terms and am happy - is a claim I can make - that is second to none. 

Owning Full Stack - Part 2

Identify the vulnerable students, screen them, teach warning signs,

Once the gatekeepers identify at-risk, guide them- its no rocket science.

Lets break the stigma of asking for help - that shows one's maturity,     

As soon as someone reaches out, provide immediate care and safety.  

 

Crisis diffused, gently handover, to psychiatric care, or as it be, therapy,

Provide hotlines, helplines, walk-ins, mobile vans; go all out to avert, this needless tragedy.

Heaven forbid, if something happens, don't just hush hush- but take care of friends and family,

They are vulnerable then, so reach out and placate, do whatever is needed- there is no universal remedy.

 

Reduce access to means, the fans containing springs, have their role to play,

But building resilience and teaching life skills, have better returns, If I may say. 

Don't forget to create an environment, where children feel supported and genuinely cared, 

If we had all made a concerted effort, even Yamaraj would not have, to so frequently visit dared.

 

Owning full stack is never easy, too much responsibility, and only oneself to blame, 

But if everyone can be a part of this mission, then on its success all can rejoice- and thats my aim. 

Wishes Granted. Amen.

The Djinn of Positive affirmation, granted Scott 3 wish, 

The first wish was plain and simple, to be served money in a dish. 

As luck would have, he bought 2 stocks, and both rallied up and on, 

Writing for 15 times in a day, worked well, so he carried on.   

The second wish he made, was to crack an exam called GMAT, 

He wished to achieve 94th percentile, but in mocks at 77th he sat.

Despite this setback, he continued to persevere, on his affirmation routine, 

When marks came out, his percentile matched, what his dream goal had been.

Emboldened and drunk on success, with experimentation done, 

He revealed his deepest wish- to become a cartoonist- a syndicated one!

Rejections followed galore, and then some lucky breaks, 

The rest they say is history,  and he's now on a roll without brakes. 

If you were granted 3 wishes,  you'll probably choose money. success and fame,

From today I'll start writing 15 times, that I'll live up to my #ZeroStudentSuicide claim.

Owning Full Stack

We'll just sensitize students, or faculty and wardens at max,

Help them identify the signs,  and then we can relax. 

We've done our job and duty, its now upto them,

If they didn't understand or take action, we're not to blame.

 

We'll just ascertain the risk, use tech to identify,  

Roll out assessments and screen, but not reach out and pacify.

We'll issue an alert, whenever we encounter a problem case, 

What happens to the client thereafter, we'll leave to God and fate.

 

We'll just diffuse the situation, do crisis management and leave, 

We'll just cool down the client, regular therapy not up our sleeve.

We'll contact the parents, or ambulance, as per the callers need,  

If they don't reach out in the first place, how are we responsible- is what we plead.

 

Prevention, detection and intervention is OK, no one wants to own full stack,   

How will they pass the buck otherwise,  how will they avoid the legal trap.  

The Beauty and The Beast

Smile so vibrant, like a 1000 watt bulb,

I'm momentarily blinded, turn into the monster Hulk.

Green with envy, that she chose hymn over me,  

Yet instantly calmed, when I hear the lullaby.

Eyes so sparkling, diamonds lose their sheen,

Piercing through me, what she's seeing I'm keen, 

Will she look at the beast, I become when she's gone,

Or will she be the compassionate monk, and see my beauty alone.  

Face so vivacious, its like a kaleidoscope, 

With her mercurial expressions, I can hardly cope. 

She rubs me accidentally, releases the Djinn from the lamp, 

Her only wish to be left alone, my eyes become damp. 

After years of suppression, today I am again bursting with rage,

Seeing your photo on the web, soothed this beast back into the cage.