A Tech Saga (Circa 2026)

I'm on a treadmill, feeling all burnt out,

The future looks grim, I'm headed for a rout.

I won't recommend, that you follow in my step,

It's chaos all around, I'm out of my depth.

 

I'm on a joyride, moving faster and better,

Have sprouted new wings, and broken the fetter.

I enjoy my work, I now have a Personal Assistant, 

The PA will replace me, is a possibility distant.  

 

I'm on a see-saw, barely pulling through,

Can't make out what's hype, and what's really true. 

I churn more stuff, and the quality goes down, 

Excited and uneasy, I both smile and frown. 

 

That AI will come for my job, is not my strongest worry,

It's I'll be asked to do more, and with ever more hurry.

'Icarus'

Image generated by author using Gemini

 

Waiting for my time, under the sun,
As wax starts to melt, it’s ‘Icarus Begun’.
The Nemesis is within, my ambition, my thrill,
The shadow doesn’t disappear, goes for the kill.

Waiting to escape, from the Ivory Towers,
‘The Furry Knight Rises’, defying earthly powers.
Years of oblivion, no one has risen from The Pit,
Sculpted by darkness, I lose myself a large bit.

Waiting with trepidation, as the sea looms near,
‘Icarus Returns’, faces his darkest fear.
I may drown soon, the wings are getting wet,
No glory for me, I haven’t even myself met.

Waiting for the mask, to slip and reveal,
‘Icarus Forever’, I’ll fly again and heal.

PS: This was first published on medium here. 

A Poet's Legacy

A poet of verse, or a poet of life, 

To be lyrical always, would be oh so nice.

A life full of rhythm, with reason and rhyme,

To dance in sync with others, is a feeling sublime. 

 

To feel and be felt, is no small art,

To make room in heart, requires special craft.

Words on paper, can inspire for years,

A life lived well, can pierce deep my dears.

 

Money could be earned, by writing prose,

By selling bulky books- which you read till you doze.

Life itself, can become boring and long,

The prosaic bits, eclipsing the poetical song.

 

If the world must remember, let it be my poetical style,

Not my collection of sonnets, by my life without guile.

The Collector

Wrapped in vibrant colors, the butterfly caught my eye, 

A desire to possess was born, did I care if she could die?

Her mere presence mesmerizes, if I don't catch, her memories will haunt,

She can leave my hand, but my heart? Won't in dreams she tease and taunt?

 

With gaze transfixed, I was so stupefied, I just couldn't muster courage,

She gave me a slip, vanished out in the world, leaving me with a raw umbrage.

Was I not worthy of her charm, how dare she defy, my will, my desire,

I'm seething inside, let her burn too, I don't care if the consequences are dire.

 

My album's filled with beautiful wings, but they are never enough,

A new color pattern emerges now and then, awakening my inner buff.

How can one of them fulfill me, either alive or dead,

With millions floating around this earth, whom I could covet instead.

 

Lust, Anger, Greed, there's a greater sin in Pride,

That I'm the best collector, on my hands the most have died.

In His Image

The primitive knowledge, that I'm separate from earth,

A desire to explain consciousness, led to Brahma's birth.

Brahma created the universe, he was moved by desire,

Got burnt by his own passion, couldn't tame the fire.

 

While hunting and harvesting, we needed Vishnu by our side.

If offerings and prayers got results, we needn't from demons hide.

Vishnu grants wealth and prosperity, like us is Karma bound,

Right efforts lead to rewards, while bad actions in next birth hound.  

 

Sci- tech is on ascendance, we expect Shiva to retire,

Evolution explains away, but the consequences are dire.

When power dynamics shift, Shiva retreats to his samadhi,

Destruction reigns supreme, from anant to anadi.  

 

Now that the need is over, you may secretly rejoice that God is dead,

Look inside and you'll find a void, that something vital is missing instead.

The Gospel of Me

Lapping every drop, as the gospel of truth,

Feeling entitled, to the fountain of youth.

I drank from great men, every saying, every quote,

Certain I'll become perfect, in a matter of days GOAT. 

 

Words are but mirages, they can't hunger quench,

They propel us forward, till reality puts a wrench.

What others drew forth, lingers always on the horizon,

To nourish your soul, become a source, a rainmaker, my son.  

 

Let words gush out from depth, channelize them and use,

Let it deplete your level if need be, some acid too you'll lose.

All around you are in pain and pining, let go of pearls of wisdom,

Let them look towards heaven, unleash the storm within, and some.  

 

Blood, tears, sweat, pour all your venom on this page,

It'll be lapped by future Gens, as the gospel of this age.

Absurd Living

You remained garrisoned all your life, suddenly death knocks on the door,

No matter how much you fuse with beloved, you'll die alone for sure.

You poured your passion, the work doesn't fill, whom do you now blame?

There's no meaning to grab, you have to stitch it yourself, isn't that so lame?

 

The heart pines for some structure, a pattern behind which to hide,

That life is random and chaotic, can you take it in your stride?

Life doesn't owe you anything, it need not your wishes fulfill,

It doesn't care whether you limp in despair, or in glory yourself kill.

 

The world is indifferent is a lie we're told, the stranger smiles and cares.

The heart may not get clarity upfront, but it can create one if it dares.

The world, made of others, can care a bit, we can perhaps meet midway,

Instead of searching for meaning outside, we can mindfully forge our way. 

 

Confronting the absurd can be traumatic, it can also heal and transform.

You have to look in the abyss only once, and can stay calm in the later storm.