The Apprentice

If you want to be a decent blacksmith, apprentice with one first,

You may have all the raw power, the hunger, the thirst.

But you will still need to humbly learn, the tricks of the trade,

Nobody without a Guru, becomes overnight great.

Learn from the Master, by hook or by crook,

If you can't afford him, watch his videos, read his book.

The feedback may be missing, but it's better than none,

Just follow his instructions, like Eklavya for one.

You'll become the greatest archer; beware your Guru is made of stone,

Before you hit the moving targets, remember for this sin you'll have to atone.

You may silence the barking dogs, with a single quick sleight of hand,

But as you master the craft, sans the cost, do you wonder how it'll end?

I've been written off through the centuries; this time I'm not giving up my thumb,

To pay forward is my only debt, that I'll give any other Dakshina, I'm not that dumb.

The Uncertainty Principle

That I had failed in the past is certain, or is it really so,

If that door wasn't jammed tight, could I have chanced upon this door?

Do I get defined by that moment, or what unfolded afterwards,

Are victory and defeat engraved, or merely pretentious words?

That I'll succeed in the future is doubtful, I know for a fact I'll fail,

If I keep repeating the crime, how long can I remain on bail?

Do I get defined by the sentence, or the grace I show in jail,

Do I keep pushing the boulder uphill, though no one will sing my tale?

That I'm failing in the present is unclear; it depends on whether I can get through,

If I can paint what might have happened, what will happen, and what's currently true.

Do I get defined by these 14 lines, or can you beneath my facade see,

Whether I'm in flow and enjoying this connection, or struggling to break free.

 

When I write a poem, I'm simultaneously alive and dead,

Don't know if I've failed again, till I am by you, my reader, read.

Stepping Up

Sick and tired, of the peripheral view,

I'd like to be center, who fathomed, who knew.

Enough of vacillation, it's time to take charge,

While wise men hedge, let me be a fool and barge.

The Everestian goal, by its existence mocks,

To reach the summit, first conquer the small rocks.

I will get tired midway, will have to beat a retreat,

With another failure in my cap, how will you me treat?

Will you applaud the courage, that I took the plunge,

Or crown me as a Bozo, and from all sides lunge.

Will you ignore my adventure, the most painful of fate,

And routinely mumble, 'Better luck next time, mate'.

For I'll fail, and try, and will fail yet again,

This goal is too lofty, to be left for someone sane.

Being Abnormal

Music plays, just for me,

Dancing like, there's no end to see.

People watch, bewildered, amused,

Labels like crazy, and madman used.

Fire burns, deep inside,

Passion, purpose, take me for a ride.

If I'm not reduced to ashes yet,

I've failed my duty, lost my bet.

As I hear the music, I need to dance,

Have to stoke the fire- can't leave to chance.

Maybe I'm a phoenix, maybe I'll die,

Maybe I'll resurrect, don't know, won't lie.

I won't check your boxes, just let me be,

Don't shackle me with normal, I was born free.

Hunched Over My Desk

I should keep writing poems, without reason or rhyme,

Say 'no' more often to others, guard with life my time.

Have a strict morning routine, don't let life intervene,

Before I eat that frog for breakfast, I shouldn't be seen.

Other people are hell, they'll inevitably interrupt,

It's a mark of a great man, he won't let that disrupt,

He'll schedule his calendar, for me-time well in advance,

And block time for deep work, leave nothing to chance. 

I've achieved financial freedom, I've retired early,

My friends still hustle on weekends, which makes me surly.

What use is abundant time, if not spent with a loved one,

I can craft a few more poems, but will miss with friends all the fun.

The only reason to write poems, is to connect, not kill time,

If it doesn't deepen our connection, it's mere sophistry- more a crime. 

Time-off Pressure

By some happenstance, I have an hour to spare,

How to fill it with meaning- moments like this are rare.

I can churn a poem, or use it to rest and heal,

By taking care of myself, the day I can better deal.

 

Imagine the horror, if I had a week to kill,

I could waste one day, but there would be 6 days still.

I could craft a collection, or plan a vacation well,

Collect some memories to hang on, for the upcoming 358 days hell.

That I'm going on a sabbatical, leaves everyone amused,

At the prime of my life, some years improperly used.

Make poetry a side hustle, or go on a globe-trotting trip,

Make the best use of downtime, which will disappear in a blip.

I don't want to optimize for time or experiences, I just want to gently while away,

Publishing my poems may bring fame and money, but to get lost in the process is more my way.

Stuck, But Not Resigned

Screeching sounds, like a record that's stuck,

You try to break patterns, but without any luck.

Doomed to repeat, in an infinite loop,

Pressure builds up, to end in one fell swoop. 

Inhale for 4 seconds, for 4 seconds hold breath,

Observe the endless cycle, till you're bored to death.

This life may be unique, each day is but humdrum,

A long life is appalling, you haven't realized, how come?

Some plant a sapling, that each day grows,

With love and care, it blossoms in a rose.

If each day you improve, by just a wee bit,

By the end of this life, amidst Gods you'll sit.

An eternal life can be hell, it can also heaven be,

I have infinite rebirths, to figure out how to be free.