The Call

The forest is clenching closer, night looms ahead,

If I venture forth in darkness, I'll most likely be dead.

I've waited forever at the entrance, of the dangerous den,

The chant is becoming louder, if not now, then when?

 

Woods mock the faint of heart, the payoff is not clear,

If I listen to my brain, in this adventure I won't veer.

Many get inspired, few take a stance, it's a jungle, not a zoo,

A silent voice keeps whispering, If not me, then who?

 

The game teases and tantalizes, you're hungry, need to be fed,

For you I'll slay dragons, and with witches readily bed.

Treasures or ballads don't move me, but for love there is always room,

Your eyes gently tug at my heartstrings; if not for you, then for whom?

 

I might not be a hero, the quest not mine, but you're worth fighting for,

Now that you need, and have given the call, I won't dither any more.

Eat, Move, Sleep

Eat lots of fruits and veggies, avoid pizza like the plague,

That's a clear manual for healthy life, nothing's hazy or vague.

Consume what nourishes you, stop doom-scrolling clickbait,

You are what you read and absorb, don't leave it to fate.

 

Move a leg daily, go on a walk, do exercise,

You need to stretch and workout, to be the right size.

Let thoughts and ideas churn, don't ruminate or get stuck,

Argue daily with yourself, and you'll think clearly, by any luck.

 

Sleep like a log, for 8-10 hrs, don't in the evening take caffeine,  

For a fruitful day the night should stand, for deep sleep and lucid dream.

Get detached from your isms and ideologies, now and then take a break,

If you are ready to revise and let go, a beautiful philosophy you'll make. 

 

Eat, move, sleep daily. don't forget with others to laugh, 

Navel-gazing will only take you so far, letting your guard is the other half. 

The Two Birds

Usually in sync, two birds live in my soul,

One watches without passion, the other identifies with role. 

The one observing knows, but doesn't feel in its bones,

When things get overwhelming, I get split in zones. 

 

I remember the events, but they lack any feel,

They didn't really happen, is how I rationalize and deal.

But the experience is embedded, the body keeps the score,

Any small trigger cascades, the dynamite in store.

 

Some say I've repressed, and that gives the memories charge,  

When you keep under pressure, the lava will eventually barge.

Others say I've dissociated, my parts stranger to me,

To integrate requires blessings, of powers to be.

 

Analyze me all you want, neither of the birds is going to die,

I know I'll fly again, by and by.

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.