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?

Fathers and Sons

You were not wildly ambitious, you spent a lot of time with me, 

You were an average guy out in the world, but to me you were special and all that could be.

You sent me to schools that were above our class, and I was grateful as well as pained,

That my father was merely a teacher, I kept secret, lest I be mocked and shamed.

My love for you has grown over time, and respect has increased further fold,

That you made food for me, while mom used to commute, was ahead of its time and bold.

It has taken me a while to realize, that success is not what its claimed to be,

The depth of our bond, the way you shaped me, is your achievement, there for all to see. 

 

I am a father now, trying to walk in your shoes, said goodbye to a well-paying job, 

Giving my gift of time, but no more tangible stuff, did I just his childhood rob?

While earlier he could say with pride in his class, my father is a so and so,

Talking about your father, who has no permanent gig, is now a strict no no.

 

Life has come full circle, I hope he'll realize one day,

The need to keep his ambitions in check, and make time with his child to play.

 

 

 

Writing Dilemma - Part II

Who are you, if you do not write?

You are a poet or not, isn't it black or white?

I'm kinda, I'm sorta, I also ran,

I pen a few poems when I can.

Once in a blue moon, I get hit by the muse,

Not able to pen at will, whats the use?

I'll bare myself out, when I have something to say,

Wont a daily writing regime, instead save my day?

Hunched on my desk, struggling for words, doesn't seem right,

Not flowing from the depths, the poem will come back to bite.

I can force myself to craft a beauty, can I give it a soul? 

Weaving emotions from thin air, won't it take a toll?

I try to be scientific in my approach, creating a lot in the hope, there will be a work of art,

Inspired by humdrum events of the day, the poems will be humdrum - I don't get that part!