Staying Unique

I am unique and distinct, I have an acute edge,

The best are well rounded, is what they allege.

If you want to shine, let's smooth your curves,

Just pretend to be normal, don't get on our nerves.  

 

With edges jutting out, you can hurt and pierce,

The world needs you to fit in, not be sharp and fierce.

It constantly brushes against you, making you dull and round,

Till you are left a shadow of your self, beaten to the ground.  

To find your pointed corners, you'll need courage and will,

A readiness to accept truth, to seek the red pill.

Once you confront your uniqueness, warts and all,

There's no turning back, you'll heed the heroic call.

 

Merely discovering is not enough, it takes efforts and strategy to remain you,

As you brush against the world, to sharpen your edges, let friction the magic do.

Sand(y) Mandala

Powdered stones and gems, used to make the colored sand,

Intricate patterns weaved from it, detailed to the very end.

Geometric shapes that are crafted, with care and surgical precision,

To lose themselves in space and time, is the monk's self heal decision. 

 

The Mandala is captivating, colors and shapes have a meaning,

But to get attached to that image, is to the monk a bit demeaning.

Deliberately, in one fell swoop, he destroys with his very hands,

Sand gathers in the center, to be immersed in nearby wetlands. 

Destruction of an entity, that was ephemeral as ever,

Enables one to start afresh, makes one artistic forever.

You can't rest on your laurels, you need to daily toil,

- It feels like a child's play, when you return soil to soil. 

 

I daily distill emotions, and via my poems the pain destroy,

That each day I have to labor anew, makes my heart hum with joy.  

 

Daily Habit

40 % of life is habits, should I dial it up to 100 %,

Or is 10 % more than enough, and 5 % more decent.

Should I end up rationing my time, with the same fanatic zeal,

With which I try to form habits, failing even once a disastrous deal. 

"Keep going" said a voice in my head, '"never miss two days in a row",

The more it hurts, the more you need to stick, to hell with creativity and flow.

If you are able to meditate for 10 minutes, make an effort and stretch it to fifteen,

Don't get lost in the timeless experience, waiting next in line are the habits umpteen. 

 

Professionals stick to the schedule, amateurs let life get in the way,

If you are a fitness freak you train daily, for a marathon come what may. 

An amateur takes life one day at a time, a leisure walk while chatting with friends,

He's not obsessed with his destination, just enjoying his journey that never ends. 

 

I don't intend to write a poem daily, I don't want to make it a chore,

The less I write from labor, but love, to leave a legacy my chances are more.

Perfection Perfected

Before I had a child, I was the perfect parent,

I knew how to raise well, my skills more than apparent.

The messy reality of parenting, made me realize at last,

It's more a trial and error, you have to dance slow- not fast.

 

Before I tied the knot, I was the perfect spouse,

I knew when to pull closer, and when to leave the house.

Now that we are bonded together, I see myself warts and all,

I've accepted living in the moment, happily ever after, an order tall.

 

Before I was born, I was the perfect child,

I knew how to please my parents, and never act wild.

The fact that I'm in this world, makes me aspire to fit in,

That I'll never be a carbon copy, is a realization that has sunk in.

 

Before I penned my thoughts, I was the perfect poet,

Now I'm all about rhythm and rhyme, and the message is lost.

Turning Pro

Being an amateur is easy, you can dabble in art,

Publish papers here and there, look the scientific part.

Or start freelancing, become a solopreneur,

No pressure to earn billions, or find cancer's cure.

 

Expectations arise, as you start turning pro,

You need to create from thin air, at the very word go.

With each passing year, research thesis should fructify,

Your business yield returns, or you better say goodbye.

 

Life becomes interesting, when you are a pro at your craft,

You make variations on a theme, your work always a draft.

You look at things with new eyes, ready to revise and update,

You create impact in the real world, not leave it to chance and fate. 

 

After writing a hundred poems, I thought I had turned pro,

I'm still struggling to get through, did I manage to penetrate, bro?

Am I Being a Luddite?

I need to connect deeply, with the students who use my app,

So I task the GPT to create personas, machine intelligence I tap.

The living, breathing student, with pains and hopes in flesh,

Is inferior to the collective insight, which AI seems to bless.

 

Suggested solutions include,  creating a journaling tool,

But to craft it afresh and think creatively, is only for the fool.

Just go through a dozen journaling apps, pick features tried and true,

And ask the LLM for journaling prompts, why reinvent the wheel anew.

 

I need to check if my solution, has any intended impact,

I feed the model user activities,  clicks and views are the solid fact.

It gurgles out whether the users, used and liked it at all,

Whether it was life transforming to a student, is a quantum too small.  

When you ignore the human experts, and outsource all to GPTs,

You may meet your product metrics, but you will fall short of being caring MHPs. 

 

 

 

 

 

Social Media Anxiety

I hit the refresh button casually, to check the daily blog stats,

It's become a mindless habit, like people on Insta watching cats.

I'm pleasantly surprised, there's a surge, its the World Poetry Day,

I pick the pen as the predator within, is stirred by the smell of the prey.

  

I spend an hour or two on my craft, laying bare the depths of my soul,

To move you with my naked vulnerability, to touch you deep is my goal. 

The next few minutes are fruitfully spent, sharing on each and every SM handle,  

I'm glad to receive a few likes and comments, as I burn the midnight candle.

 

I view for the nth time, my own status update,

You haven't seen it yet, the anxiety doesn't abate.

The morning comes and goes, the story is set to shortly expire,

How can I catch your eyes again, I'm in a deep quagmire.  

Nearly 400 sonnets written, I write yet another one for you,

I'm waiting for the day you'll not just see, but like and comment too.

Rolling up the Sleeves

I want to write daily, pen poems of hope,

But life throws a curve-ball, when someone uses a rope.  

I feel helpless and trapped, like the one who life took,

Have to constantly return, to 'Preventing Suicide' handbook.

 

For all my knowledge, for all my reach,

For an impact on ground, I have to do, not teach.  

Gatekeeper trainings are good, they help others identify,

Those who are vulnerable and needy, and would otherwise die.

 

But I need to go further, it seems a personal fault,

When despite sincere efforts, the suicides don't halt.

Even a single life lost, shakes me to the very core,

Makes me question my efforts, leaves me hurting and sore.

 

It's easy to give slogans, like #MissionZeroStudentSuicide,

Time to deliver on the promise - many have already died.

 

Holi Celebrations

Holi is an occasion, to let your hair down,

Brighten the day of others, and in the process with joy drown.

As you get drenched in colors, you can reveal what's beneath,

Something vulnerable and fun-loving, like the tongue shielded by the teeth.

 

You wear masks all days, today the face is pink and blue, 

That should give you some courage, to show your colors true.

There's a child inside you, that's not afraid to stranger's hug, 

Color them with their own gulal, eager to snatch their pichkari and mug.

 

Dance with abandon, or dance to catch her eyes,

Play songs that are naughty, saying boys will be boys.

Some cover with abeer, others let it drain with water, 

Everyone deserves at least a day, to flush their pain with laughter. 

 

A day prior we burnt evil, both within and without,

Today we need to color life again, that's what this day's about. 

 

Which Version Are You Telling?

Stories have a hold and power, as emotion and drama sells,

But the most dangerous stories, are the ones we tell ourselves.  

Confirmation bias entails, we need the story to be true,

If our story is that we are depressed, the world looks a tinge of blue.  

What myth am I acting out, is a question to ponder often, 

The possibility of a different narration, can reality's blow soften.

If I don't make the unconscious conscious, I'll keep calling it fate,

But if I know how my story ends, I can change the climax, my mate.  

Those who believe in survival are the warriors, others are on a heroic quest,

If you think you don't live the stories you tell, do me favor and be my guest.

You don't need to get rid of the stories, just take a baby step back,

Just twist and tweak your story a bit, till light comes from the crack. 

As I have to write daily, you may think it's a punishment, a sort of Sisyphian task, 

By invoking the Muse, at command, I reverse the punishment, and in its glory bask.

Be Ready To Die

Hell is life drying up, not flowing all the way,  

Neither ending nor collapsing, just silently withering away. 

If Heaven is your burning desire, be ready to go through hell,

Accept and claim your cross with joy, be the one for whom, tolls the bell.

 

For only from the ashes, can a phoenix resurrect,

If you are not ready to die, living doesn't seem correct.

The only way to transform, is through pain and suffering,

Only when you end something, can there be a new beginning.

 

No tree can grow to heaven, unless its roots reach down to hell, 

It derives sustenance from its fallen leaves, alchemizes them into its body cell. 

Letting go is a prerequisite, to reap the fruits of spring,

By chipping slowly on your old self, you'll not a transformation bring.

 

If I want to transcend to a higher plane, I'll need to leap in the air above,

Leave the comforting ground of established relationships, in the quest for true love. 

May You Burn Bright

What is to give light, must for years burning endure,

If you want to light the world, self sacrifice is the only cure.

To become a beacon for others, you have to grow your height,

Burn like the sun in the sky, far and wide share your light.

 

Some dazzle with their brilliance, like a diamond that is rare,

Others light the flame in others, ensuring they carry further the flare. 

I cannot shine at someone's expense, nor pass my malady to thee,

I need to be consumed to my very core, the burning is what defines me. 

 

What burns with so much passion, will get consumed as soon,

Better to burst like a supernova, than to become a dull moon.  

Even in my dramatic passing, I'll for years keep shining bright,

Not wax and wane as the time flows, dependent on sun's light.  

There's a glory in burning bright, like the sun dominating the day sky, 

I prefer a galaxy of (k)night stars, each burning with their personal why.

Solitude

I seek solitude, not because its easy, but because its necessary, 

In the constant bustle, I'll lose my voice, is my constant worry. 

Time alone is deeply frightening, you have to confront the man within, 

Do you recognize him in the mirror, or has he morphed in the battle to win?

 

I seek solitude, to build connections, first and foremost with myself,

Your bonds become stronger and mutual, only when you carve a space for yourself.

Time alone is hugely liberating, you can feel the divine presence,

By connecting with nature and humanity, to your existence you add essence.  

I seek solitude, not as a conscious choice, but as a habit that is firmly ingrained,

The only journey worth is within oneself, is the wisdom from the quests I have gained.

Time alone is absolutely essential, it applies a balm to my battered self,

As I heal, it makes me ready for assault, of the new days promise of power and pelf. 

 

I seek solitude, ofttimes solitude seeks me, we are made for each other,

The more I drown the chatter within, the more I have to say to you, my brother.  

Honoring Purpose

When life lacks purpose, how far can you get?  

You can make it in life, but are your deeper needs met? 

Anxiety fills the void, where meaning should be,

Pleasure becomes the norm, when life is all but empty.

 

You may have means to live, do you have a meaning to live for?

You may have arrived at your destination, is it the right one, are you sure?

Meaning shields you from suffering, from existential vacuum and despair,

That you can find meaning in your suffering, is paradoxically a statement fair. 

Those who have a why to live, can bear with almost any how,

Purpose proudly proclaims, life is just looking like a wow.

The journey becomes fulfilling, you truly become alive,

Just do what makes you burn, rest all is a pack of lie.  

My work was my life to me, now it's poetry that fulfills,

To feel alive I've to write each day, though it may never pay the bills. 

 

 

Standing Up

All fingers move in one direction, the thumb goes against the grain, 

Why should I write, what purpose served, many doubts lurk in my brain.

A moment strikes the emotional chords, becomes the opposable thumb,

I reach out to grasp, can’t help but pick, not writing seems so dumb.

The little finger in my mind, tells me I’m insignificant and small,

I’ve arrived, but am still an imposter, is the ring finger’s call. 

The middle finger abruptly stands out, reminds how audience may react,

You may have to sell out, to succeed, is the index fingers pact. 

My heart resists all doomsday talks, gives me a big thumbs up,

Each line I write, makes it crystal clear, that poetry is my cup.

The final form the poem takes, is a result of complex interplay,

Of raw emotions served with ice cold craft, a synergy as they say.

All beauty and art made possible, by the courage to non conform,

As my heart stands up to my brain, I can finally give my feelings a form. 

Invocation- the YT version

please subscribe to my YouTube channel for poems recited in my own voice! Thanks!!

Invocation

As is the tradition, I chant God's name,

Let me start this journey, with blessings as my aim.

I offer sacrifices to silence, the demons within,

As I walk the path of Dharma, which is razor thin.  

I walk light on this path, with few blessings to boot,

Friends and family behind me, others don't care two hoot. 

Unburdened by expectations, I can fly as I like,

Surprise you with my vulnerability, my passion for psych. 

 

I'm grateful to you patrons, who can read through me,

As I capture your heart, I become myself free. 

As I play with new mediums, to the ones I'll meet,

Let me bare my innards, how's that for a treat.

 

I invoke the Goddess Lakshmi, let the money flow,

If you find Saraswati playing second fiddle, let me know!  

Man vs A.I.

Spitting out averages, of the things I've already seen,

Creating an image of cat, not knowing what does it mean.

As an A.I. I excel, at tasks that are generative thus,

Interpolate from given data, without making any fuss.  

Sometimes I extrapolate too, make a leap for the AI kind,

Generate at a different level, that many people novel find.

A new move in an ancient game, something surprising and unique,

Marking the arrival of artificial creativity, a scenario not for the meek.  

Inventing a whole new system, an elegant and beautiful game,

Is something where I struggle, where I feel handicapped and lame.  

 At moments I can be inventive, I cannot stitch them through,

That I can create new languages and meanings, is far from true.  

There are different levels of creativity, humans currently excel at them all,

Artificial creativity presents a challenge, with time it may humans maul.   

Timeless Wishes

Birthdays are an occasion, to reflect on the year gone by,

To bask in the glory of the moment, and with gratitude and happiness cry.

50th one is extra special, you are almost half way through life,

Here's wishing the next 50 yrs for you, are like a picture, larger-than-life.

Anniversaries are an occasion, to reflect on the purity of one's bond,

How despite life ups and downs, you are tethered with a magic wand.

25th one is extra special, children have grown, it will be empty nest soon,

Here's wishing you joy and understanding, as you embark on this second honeymoon.

Birthday and anniversary are special, especially if falling on the same day,

On each day my wishes stay with you, is all to God I pray.

Today you will be deservedly showered, with gifts and wishes from all,

Whole day well wishers will visit you, and those who can't will miss and call.

Happiness and laughter everlasting, I from my heart wish to you both,

As you age you become wiser, and the love between you grows.

Why Do You Write, Mr Anderson?

Writing shows a mirror, to the existing social milieu,

Forces us to reform and change, bids archaic customs adieu.

The poet with his play of words, leaves us pumped and charged,

Paints the world with a fresh color, makes the canvas enlarged.  

Writing is content in a corner, its purpose to introspect, 

Helps us express our feelings, makes us broody and circumspect. 

The poet with his clarity of words, leaves us touched and moved, 

By sharing his transformative journey, ensures the reader is improved. 

 

Writing builds a bridge, ensures attuning and resonance,

You are able to drill deep, where there wasn't a precedence. 

The poet with his barbs of words, helps us empathize and connect,

By bonding one human with the other, has the desired affect and effect. 

My poetry hurts and heals, it's a therapy for the world and me,

As I cure the world of its maladies, in the process I'm repaired for free.

Transaction Analysis

Unconditional job security, or a convenient alliance,

Or was I a bonded labor, I ask in defiance. 

Why should I stick around, if the company doesn't perform,

And under the garb of market forces, they make layoffs a norm.  

Lifetime loyalty, or a temporary sojourn,

You leave at the drop of a hat, as an employer I mourn.

Why should I take personal loans, and pay your salaries overdue,

When you'll turn up in the office tomorrow, I literally have no clue.

 

Stability is passe, the employer offers you growth,

Will increase your employability, in present and future both.    

Loyalty is unbecoming, the employee works on a contract,

Manages your projects and clients, and shares some of his contact. 

 

When the relationship is transactional, there's no guilt in severance,

We are mature enough to appreciate, neither party is to be held in reverence. 

First, Do No Harm

Doctors swear, by the Hippocratic oath,

To earn a just livelihood, for self and teacher both. 

Not to swindle the patients, or take them for a ride,

To maintain confidentiality, is a matter of pride.

 

To heal the patient, to never do harm,

Is their simple motto, the profession's enduring charm.

Its a noble profession, hence the need for oath,

That it's a hypocratic oath, to view it thus I'm loath. 

 

Most doctors mean well, unless part of a corporate setup,

If insurance covers the bills, and their commissions add up,

They may become overtly cautious, be concerned for the patients health,

Prescribe tests that cost a bomb, the harm limited to the patients wealth.

 

If an oath can't prevent a doctor, from falling off the slippery slope,

If the environment is of a corporate, for us mere mortals what hope.

Die Another Day

You killed your prey, with great skill and foresight,

Planned and strategized, and stalked through the night. 

First a group of hyenas, and then vultures take over,

The carcass turns to skeleton, your intoxication to hangover.  

You make a castle with great care, mixing sand and water,

Someone tramples it, should they be booked for manslaughter?  

Accidental deaths, one can bear the pain for a while,

When one pulls the plug, one needs to be put on trial.

 

You built a culture, that was fragile as ever,

A few rotten eggs, force you to ties sever. 

A legacy you built, left to rot and decay,

By fleeing from the scene, are you sure its your v-day.

 

When vultures descend, forget about the prey,

Just run for your life, to hunt another day.

 

Picture Is Still Remaining, My Friend!

Failed experiments, teach you new stuff,

Help refine hypothesis, separate substance from fluff.

When you discover 1000 ways, a bulb is not to be made,

You become curious and resilient, like a child in first grade.  

 

Missed shots, give you feedback on technique,

Help you master the game, put you on a winning streak.  

Same applies in business, with each failed enterprise,

You pick up more acumen, till eventually you float and rise.

 

Unsold artworks, tells you what doesn't resonate,

Helps you appreciate your audience, and that makes you great.

When playing your guitar, if a string gets broken,

You replace and double down, don't remain stuck or heartbroken. 

  

Failures are a part of life, exams but just a stark manifestation,

They have no place telling you, as to what is your final station. 

Is It Just the Passage of Time?

Gratitude morphs, into casual indifference,

I've turned ungrateful, would be a wrong inference.

Over the years, one loses touch, relationships stall,

One party becomes big, and the other feels small. 

 

Bonhomie morphs, into measured distance,

Friends become apologists, for their political stance.

The shared passion once, is overshadowed by differences galore, 

Each adamant not to get pulled, in the others drama / folklore. 

 

Respect morphs, into blatant suspicion, 

Not just actions, you question motives for one.

Did he purposely neglect me, or better still insult,

If we act so differently, are we after the same result?

 

People morph, you are no longer what you meant,

I've morphed myself, we're no longer sacrosanct. 

 

Will You Cheer For Me?

The mood is low, can't concentrate on my studies,

I'm feeling like crap, labelled depressed by my buddies.

My heart palpitates, when I think about the test,

I'm seething with anger, maybe release is for best. 

 

I've tried it before, and failed spectacularly,

Can get aggressive in no time, do self harm regularly.

I act out often, can be defiant and stand up, 

Or drown myself in alcohol, wishing never to wake up.

 

I can't for the world pass my exam, I don't care, whatever, 

This failure won't be unique, isn't my future bleak forever?

There are many problems in my life, too heavy to be shared with others,

I don't know how to solve them, is death the only solution brothers?

 

I'm emotionally wrecked, behaviorally not good, cognitively I've got myself stuck in a trap, 

But this too shall pass, just stay by my side, and I'll give you enough reasons to cheer and clap. 

The Orchid

Does a star by itself, has the right to exist,

Should we read between the lines, to get the poem's gist.

Does an orchid need to justify, why its tender and fragile,

Do I need to hide my hide, behind a fancy prose style. 

 

What if the star is dead, only its light shining through,

If a poem moves us, do we have to agree with the poets view?

Maybe the orchid is a fake, made of material that is strong,

If something can rhyme and pierce, is writing as prose so wrong? 

The star was alas imaginary, a twinkle in my eyes,

My poem is contrived, mixing truth with lies. 

The orchid was a dream, more vivid than smell, 

That I'll call my free verse sonnet, who could for one tell.

 

From the ashes of the supernova, a new star will be born,

I'll bloom an orchid daily, no matter how much I'm depleted or worn. 

Heal Me, But How?

World comes crashing down, I'm in stress, feeling overwhelm,

Relieved from my role as the captain, I'm no more at the helm.

Cracks have started appearing, I'm irritable, in a mess,

Let's increase the medication a bit, my parents gently press.

 

The joy from life has drained, I feel lonely and burnt,

Here comes the Loony uncle, is the moniker I've earned.

Hell is other people, the motto has come alive,

For stress meditate daily, neighborhood aunt goes overdrive.

 

I've started questioning life, my purpose is lost,

I'm burning coals inside, while on surface its all frost.

I've carved my own chains, I'm prisoner of my fate,

The grandma says to have courage, to make angst my mate.

 

My suffering is multi layered, you can glance it from your prism,

For once treat me as a human, that will heal me, is the only truism. 

 

Finding Relevance (and Job!)

I'm in my late forties, naturally I've hit a glass ceiling,

That I can't grow in my current org, is more than a gut feeling.  

Age is the biggest barrier, having experience my bane,

When I started my career, the situation wasn't the same.  

Laid off from the current company, after years of loyal service,

The comfort of going to a job everyday, I'm afraid for some time I'll miss.

The hunt will be prolonged, can't compete with the fresh-from-college youth,

Even after mastering the in-demand skills, I'll be swiftly hired, is far from truth.  

 

Entrepreneurship is the last refuge, of the unwilling retiree in this case,   

That I have EMI's, outstanding educational loans, puts me promptly in my place.

I can indulge in some gig work, do consulting, be a fractional CXO,

By all accounts, I'll be working part time, or at best be a solopreneur, IMO. 

 

While doctors and lawyers appreciate with experience, if you're in IT its the other way,

It's good I'm mostly a poet, it was never a valued career, so it won't be irrelevant any day. 

Beyond Self Harm

Skipping meals often, sleeping less and not on time,

Not walking or exercising daily, social drinking no crime.

Smoking a few cigarettes when stressed, some rash driving to boot,

They may be roads to slow death, but not pathological at root.

Some suffer from a desire to binge and purge, others don't eat at all, 

Some drown themselves in alcohol, cause they feel insignificant and small.  

Some get stuck in abusive relationships, perpetuating in their life ongoing violence,

Some constantly live on the edge, are self destructive- if viewed from this lens. 

 

In others the manifestation, is more total and stark, 

They cut or burn themselves, when their thoughts turn dark. 

Extremely critical of self, falsely assuming they're no worth,

They want to punish their bodies, which they assume is different from earth. 

 

Whether the pain is occasional or repetitive, there are better ways to cope,

As long as you remember life is inherently worthy, there is always room for hope.

Help, Before its Late

Banging my head, to return to reality,

Bruising and burning myself, a form of self cruelty, 

The pain makes me come alive, its better than being dead,

At least I can control my wounds, a voice in my head said. 

Inflicting wounds, not letting them heal,

Is now an established pattern, the way with pain I deal. 

Trying to run from the agony, the void, the numbness,

Each scar a testimony, to the Hell of which I'm an alumnus. 

 

Anger pent up, I need to release the inner turmoil,

That I cut myself at places, as a punishment, you recoil. 

I do this not to seek attention, nor to end my life.

I'm hopeful things will change, as I contemplate that knife.

 

Self-harm over the years, dulls pain, makes me go extreme,

It ups my risk of suicide, can't you help before, I scream!

No Revolution This Way!

Weighed down by the system, feeling helpless and trapped, 

Listening to ghazals in loop, while earlier they sang and rapped,

Slowly a thought germinates, why not try something new, 

End this misery and anguish, and also send a message to few. 

A conscious decision taken, a plan laid out,

Hoping their drastic act, can lead to system's rout.

They visualize a future, where others are not similarly trapped, 

The existing system decimated, new territories mapped. 

They act with an intent, to achieve the desired outcome, 

Their act triggers others, is embraced and copied by some.

Like a nuclear reaction, the bomb starts ticking,

It explodes and destroys, but somethings missing. 

 

When the system is oppressive, you become a suicide bomber of sorts,  

The collateral damage of copycat suicides, was never their intention, Milords!

Regrets, and More Regrets

Failed relationships, not imperfect resumes,

If you have to summarize, these are the top ways, 

In which one evaluates life- these are the regrets of the dying,

Giving a clue as to what matters, as on deathbed no one's lying.  

 

The dying lament the fact, they lacked courage and nerve,

To live life on their own terms, a life full of joy and verve.

They could never gather courage, to reach out and care,

Fearing it won't be returned, they did not to love dare.  

Do they regret in their dreams, not giving to work their all,

Was the 90 hr week worth it, do they feel proud about that call?

The cost of losing touch, with friends, family and dear ones, 

Can a big bag of cash offset it, no matter how large the sums?

 

I may not be dying yet, but I choose meaning and happiness over societal success, 

On Friday nights I work late, or spend time with family, or craft poems, is anyone's guess!

Epic Battles on A Daily Basis!

To fight or not to fight, that is the question, 

Arguing on a daily basis, isn't that a digression?

From the overarching goal, that gives you the will to push back, 

The lofty goal justifying, painting your adversary in black.

 

To speak or not to speak, that is the question, 

Can stifling your voice, lead to a better progression?

Silence ensures, conflict is averted, pain doesn't arise,

But compromising on your ideals daily, is that wise? 

 

To pen or not to pen, that is the question,

Is it OK to give your defeat, a new expression?

Asurs cannot win, so the history needs rewrite,

The poet with his sonnets, can finally make things right. 

 

To resign or not to resign, that is the question,

Can you rise above your fate, or are merely your profession?

Tying Loose Ends

Foundations are being laid, the ground is dug,

Enjoy the honeymoon period- don't act all smug. 

Lay the pipelines with care, of water and gas,

Of drainage systems, of fiber optic first class.  

Then comes a dormant period, you live in peace,

The network underneath, puts your life at ease. 

The constant flow, as if the veins in your body,

Nourish and sustain you, sheltered from everybody.

An itch sets in, you start digging the past, 

You want new pipelines, the earlier ones didn't last.

An accidental blow, bursts one of the earlier one,

Supply cuts off, it should've been exposed to none.

 

They say if you break a bond, better replace it, as you can never, fully repair,

When you've laid the groundwork years ago, even if there's a knot, mending is fair.

God Cannot be Everywhere

To all the people, their mom is dear,

I'm no exception, I want her near.

The bond that developed, in first few years,

Informs my relationships, its distinct stamp bears.  

To most of the people, their mom is revered,

She is a towering figure, is almost feared. 

I respect my mom, but she has taught me well,

When I stand up to her, her heart does swell. 

To some of the people, their mom is a debt,

The promise you made, as a child has to be kept.

My mom has freed me, of all duties and obligation,

My caring for her, is not just because of the relation. 

To me my mom, is divinity personified,

I'm anchored to her, but don't feel as if I'm tied.

Some People

Some people have clarity, from the very start,

They can milk the system, not upset the apple cart, 

To be a unicorn founder, they find opportunities and gaps, 

They are solely focused on the money, not applause or claps.

Some people have clarity, when they start something new,

Their products should reach the masses, not cater to the few. 

They want to create new employment, be their own boss, 

To keep their companies afloat, they wade through profit and loss. 

 

Some people have clarity, when they take the proverbial plunge, 

Purpose takes them by the horns, towards glory they lunge.

It may be a lost cause, more reason to champion it still,

To be christened a messiah is simple- just go for the kill. 

Some people have clarity, they can spend a lifetime trying, 

Not give up or move on, but still end up broke and crying.

The Nothing Poem

'Invisible Art', by Yves Klein, 

Non existing installations, in a space that is clean.

'Immaterial Sculpture', by Salvatore Garau,

Auctioned for 15,000 pounds, I recoil in horror.  

 

Banana taped, to an empty wall,

Cattelan's Comedian, venerated by all,

Sold for 120,000 dollars, eaten promptly by the purchaser,

Also eaten by a college grad, hunger trumps being a connoisseur. 

Commissioned by a museum, to depict income inequality,

Jens Haaning sends two canvases, with a poignant quality,

They are blank, labelled, Take the Money and Run. 

Court orders him to pay back, doesn't join in the fun. 

I'm daily writing poems, that signify and mean nothing,

My poems a blank canvas, you can paint them, I think.

 

Love, Anyone?

With time the wound heals, only the scar is left, 

Over time the arteries harden, the heart of tenderness is bereft. 

After you consume the antidote, still lingers the aftertaste, 

When you're left high and dry, don't seek closure in haste.  

When the moon gets eclipsed, it seems the end of the world,

When you run out of words, the choicest abuses are hurled,

When you miss the bus, the world turns a darker shade of gray,

When you've loved and lost, you can't friendzone right away.

As you age and mature, responsibilities make you stoop,

From the whiffs of youth romance, you are now out of loop. 

When the laughter has died, the silence takes its toll,

From love to a connection, you keep moving the post of goal. 

I love you dearly, it has taken years to make peace,

You are clearly my imagination, please don't come back to haunt and tease. 

Killing Me Softly

Some are brazen and unapologetic, calling for 90 hour work week,

Others are polished and diplomatic, hinting you need this to reach the peak.  

Some are wedded to the old tradition, when they were young they had worked so hard,

Justifying Saas bhi kabhi bahu thi phenomenon, they now want slaves for their backyard. 

You are young, you should be ambitious, how long can you stare at your wife,

Better still we'll hire from bachelors, you're anyway not supposed to have a life.

We'll make the hustle culture a norm, you'll have FOMO of not coming on Sunday,

Rewarding role models who are workaholic, we'll throw in an occasional official fun day. 

It doesn't matter if the long work hours, make you sick, work anyway kills,

What matters is the company growth- that ensures you're able to pay the bills. 

Don't be lazy, sloth is a cardinal sin, don't advocate for breaks or a 20 hr week, 

To work and to work is the hallmark of life, to love and be content is only for the weak. 

To work hard for something meaningful, for long we've been told this lie,

If it feels like work, you're killing yourself, better to say to toxic cultures bye.  

The Saving Types

Earned while still in college, saved it all to buy a bike,

As career started taking off, wasn't carried away, with each hike. 

The habit of saving substantially, was ingrained since birth, 

Bought the first car with saved money- for what its worth.

Took a loan in life just once- on first home to save some tax,

I pay 'all dues' on my credit card, never on this I am lax.

Service nearing retirement, but saving shouldn't end,

Whatever little I earn these days, to the egg nest I upend.

 

Save for your child's education, save for the rainy day,

When the storm comes, uninvited- you'll be left shattered - anyway.  

Some save so they can invest and feel, the kicks of turning money to wealth,

I save to take care of medical emergencies, or fund my startup, still in stealth.   

From the cradle to the grave, we keep saving stuff,

The insecurity is mostly in our mind, there is always enough.

A Typical Day

Monitoring critical student alerts, ensuring they're responded to, 

Reading through words of pain and despair, and some slivers of hope too.

On a typical day with the help of team, diffusing crises and averting suicide,

The job made easy with the help of SPOCs, and in-house counselors by my side. 

Designing solutions to address student needs, both of performance and well-being, 

An AI chatbot or an automated campaign, ensuring they're empathetic like a human being.

CBT tools that are evidence based, are transformed to use in a digital form, 

Scripts for videos, or new assessments, with the team I daily brainstorm.

Meetings make up a larger part, with peers, with team, with boss, with clients, 

Achieving alignment to seal our place, a fledgling David amongst the giants. 

Discussions abound on strategy, on Ops, on product, in daily standup,

The day is filled with purpose and chores, just like any other thriving startup.

I don't know whether what I do, can be labelled as #JobsOnTheRise,

But I have found my niche, my North Star, and this job is a dream, a cherished prize.

The Law of Numbers?

Buy a hundred stocks, remain invested over time,

Avoid the panic sells, your portfolio would be fine.  

The power of compounding, over time will ensure wealth,

Few will drive the growth, while majority diminish your financial health. 

 

Launch a dozen startups, or have multiple projects ongoing,

One of them will give returns, on others you'll be money throwing.

That much entrepreneurship is required, to ensure a unicorn,

Only from ashes of the failures, the phoenix of success is born.   

Write a thousand sonnets, create on a daily beat,

One of the themes may resonate, and reader's expectations meet.

Most of them would be duds, only one or two masterpiece, 

Its important when you don't find an audience, you don't desist and cease. 

 

To be a part of a beautiful relationship, should I just keep experimenting with new folks, 

Or invest in a relationship deep and sound, and ensure my love is true- and not a hoax.

Skill or Luck?

Winning the lottery, investing at right time in the right stocks, 

Buying a property early, in the upcoming premium blocks,

Inheriting an unexpected fortune, lady luck shines all the way,

You attribute to your skill and strategy, shrewdness - come what may. 

Wealth does not always compound exponential, you mange a steady growth,

You save regularly by earning well, avoid like leech greed and sloth.

The roller-coaster of gambling, is replaced by a strong work ethic,

To keep your job and avoid layoffs, you placate planets that are malefic.

Cooperative banking scam happens, you lose your retirement kitty,

You put all your eggs in a basket, they are now rotten- what a pity. 

Investment in art and crypto, didn't pick off or were regulated out, 

You blame yourself for your situation, that risky bets led to your rout.

Be it success or failure, that shouldn't decide whether we were right or wrong,

It's not a matter of either skill or luck, without lyrics there would be no song.

Chance, Choice, Chase and Chaos

Chance determines, in which family you are born,

You're thrown in the world, alone and forlorn.

But the bonds of blood, shape and define your lifelong schemas,

How you attach with your parents, how you resolve future dilemmas.   

You exercise some choice, as to whom you want to befriend,

Which relationships to nurture, which ones to simply end.

The bond is of mutual admiration, same begets the same.

With common interests you sail through, be it pleasure or pain. 

You chase a mirage, an idealized soul mate,

Settle for the good enough, thank your fate.

The bond with the beloved, stretches you to grow,

Makes you a better man, keeps your vices in tow.

 

You surrender to the chaos, there are strange attractors all around,

As the buttery flaps its wings, even at a distance, you remain tethered and bound.