Jobs-To-Be-Done

I hired my sadness today, a poem I wanted to write,

In which I could once more showcase, the abyss I daily fight.  

The poem needed a subject, darkness came to my rescue,

Pathos stabbed me in the belly, as if waiting on a cue.

 

I hired my sadness today, to process and feel good,

If I can make sense of my suffering, don't you think I should?

When my words disfigure the page, the ink becomes less black,

So I promptly pour it in poems, though I know the feeling will be back.

 

I hired my sadness today, to dazzle you with my art and skill,

Unmindful that the wound scraped, could shatter me, or even kill.

The poem needs an audience, you love poems of agony and pain,

To catch your eyes I'll happily scratch, and fester the wound again.

 

I go through my days hunting, for moments of sadness and shame,

I perhaps need to sit with them more often, not get lost in the healing game.

On Coming 2nd

John Doe felt lonely, I figured he lived alone,

For the cracks in his society, he has to but atone.   

But when I looked at Ram Kumar, living in a family of four,

He too felt torn apart, with relationships gone sour. 

 

Almost all live together here, with families or friends,

Yet no one notices the foul smell, till the year ends,

The woman living by herself, post death of spouse and child,

Is literally unseen by the people around, is this a matter mild?

 

Each tie rendered asunder, is a soul that's lonely and sad,

It's a skeleton waiting to be discovered, while being inwardly dead.

Feeling alone brings sadness, that may morph to a depressed state,  

If we want to break this vicious loop, keep checking with your mate.  

 

Be the friend they can promptly call, when feeling blue at night,

That loneliness defines our collective identity, somehow doesn't feel right. 

The Friendship Files

Survive school or college together, chances become great,

That you'll become BFFs, proximity seals your fate.   

Even when older you can still attend, to opportunities to socialize,  

That you can't make friends at work or in neighborhood, is a pack of lies.  

 

When you notice someone of your vibe, be vulnerable and intend,  

Take actions to bring them into your fold, be caring and to them tend. 

Make them a part of your daily life, a regular book club or kitty,

And schedule a monthly zoom call, for those not in the same city.

 

Friendships can take many forms, why over family they must take a back seat,

You can switch jobs together or live nearby, it can get messy, it's not neat.

You may not be able to keep in touch, life often throws curveballs,

There's grace in making the first move, and breaking the imaginary walls.

 

I know how to revive and make new friends, I've learnt from the friendship files.

But of the one friend that I've lost for good, the distance stretches miles.

Black or White?

Bright light falls on me, I'm at my very best,

Showcased for others, I laugh and have to jest.

My light gets reflected, it can travel a hundred mile,

The mirror blinds vision, so I haven't looked in a while.

 

Darkness engulfs me, I with my shadow merge,

Hidden from others, baser instincts emerge.

Confronted with the abyss, no one dares to light a match,

The stakes are so high, that none can the black hole catch.

 

Dusk and dawn are liberating, I can finally myself be,

When others are equally hazy, there's no pressure to clearly see.

In the orange and red light, I am but a bundle of shades of gray,

The dewdrops capture delicately, the rainbow that's there to stay. 

 

Paint me in monochrome all you want, I'm neither black nor white,

The more I observe the grays in me, the more colors appear in sight.

Should I, Or Should I Not?

Poems of love, or poems of pain,

She lurks in the shadows, I'm the hero main.

Alexa kindled memories, I quickly changed the song,

Today I've been poked, excuse me if I paint her wrong.   

 

She keeps tugging at my heart, that's her cardinal sin,

She receded from my life, still this battle I couldn't win.

Perhaps she is suffering too, maybe there's grief in her art,

For she has cut me off totally, though we never did part.  

This has made me stronger, is a tale I've spun,

That reckless e-mail, destroyed my friendship for one.

Couldn't settle for less than love, aut Caeser aut nihil,

How to catch your eyes again, is now a battle uphill. 

 

I'm so sorry because of my love letter, you lost a dear friend,

To mend I write sonnets daily, without this time hitting send. 

Creating Luck

The door is not opening, have I knocked enough times? 

Do I need to master the art, of making lemonade from limes?

Let the door remain shut, can't I move to another door?

Unless I keep knocking, how will I know what's in store?

 

Knocking again and again is rude, disturbing many surely a sin,

If the road to riches is by trampling others, would it still count as a win?

Not being acknowledged comes later, I have to make the first move, reach out,  

Catch their ears amidst all the din, even if I have to my lungs shout. 

 

They say if one door closes, another will open soon,

What if the door I'm banging against, takes me to the moon?

Will I be happy with the other door, which lands me instead in a star,

Or should I barge through the door to sun, though my wax wings flying bar?

 

 Knocking many doors may lead to luck, not when you're aiming as high as me,

 Enough of waiting for doors to open, it's time to break, and fly free.

Sentience

The worm is hungry, at the other end an inviting odor,

The terrain in-between noxious, a single neuron inhibits crossing order.

That I can explain on the basis of a neuron, the behavioral response,

Makes me treat it as non-sentient, to be crushed as a sponge.  

 

The fly is courting and mating, there's a dopamine rush,

The dopamine inhibits the circuit, that makes it fly when I crush.

That levels of a neurotransmitter, can explain its readiness to act,

Makes me treat the fly as expendable, put them in the non-conscious set. 

 

The worm and the fly, are pulled between pleasure and pain,

Between a catastrophic loss, and possibilities of gain.

If chemicals and cells, can explain all their feat,

Are they conscious, have agency, can they choose or feel?

 

I think they are sentient, we can give them the benefit of doubt,

They suffer and pine like we do, though they may not cry out loud.

 

PS: This poem was inspired by reading this article today by long-time blogger-days friend Bjorn Brembs.

How Many Tabs Are Optimal?

100 tabs in my browser, I keep flitting from one to the next,

With each notification, I switch context, I'm monkey mind at best.

The Dionysian within me wants to jump, play all day around,

Can't stay in the same place for entire day, routines do not me bound.

 

I work with a single tab open, which leaves me deeply engrossed,

The topic is arcane and specialized, interaction leaves me grossed.

The Apollonian within me needs to hide, behind structure and routine,  

Only the home is a safe and familiar place, to venture out I'm not keen.

 

I can have 50 tabs open, organized in groups of 10,

Enable important notifications, take control of attention again.

I can balance my boundless energy, with calm and thought-through restraint,

Can schedule novelty on my calendar, daily make room to write and paint.

 

Between the monkey and the robot, lies a space for me to act,

I can be intentional about when to focus, and when to let dreams distract.

Eat, Move, Sleep- part 2

Eat the super foods, and you will live to see a hundred years,

But what if I don't recognize you, my brain constantly fears.

I read, do Sudoku frenetically, all to keep dementia at bay,

If only I had danced instead, that would have saved the day.

 

Move and hit the gym daily, to lower Cortisol,

Track like a maniac your steps, always be on a roll.

If you want the blood to flow, and vessels to dilate,

Laugh multiple times a day, with silliness mandate.

 

Sleep like a log for 8 hrs, it buffers against stress,

By conserving your energy, you can fight any duress.

If you are exposed to cold, and want to boost immunity,

Just hug a loved one regularly, let touch be in your kitty.

 

When you sing in a choir, or hear a poem, your hearts come into a sync,

Eat, move, sleep is fine, but live, love, laugh is the real deal- let that sink. 

Tackling Dissonance

I can win at this game of life, code my way to the very top,

Can go back to college, accumulate degrees, and never really stop.

I can publish my book of sonnets, put my money where my heart is,

I can abdicate all worldly aspirations, and just follow my bliss.

 

I must however raise a unicorn, make my Alma Mater proud,

Must become a world authority, not just one in the crowd.

I must write a sonnet daily, take time to hone my craft,

I must self-improve, not be satisfied with the unpolished draft.  

 

I am but a fighter, have picked up AI and stuff,

Am a self-taught psych expert, have read more than enough.

I am a poet par-excellence, who can invoke the muse at will,

I have made peace with the human condition, by heart know the drill.

 

My experience of life, at times doesn't fit, with my beliefs of who I am, must or can be,

At that moment I bridge the gap, by being flexible, and changing my definition of 'me'.

Here and Now

I have been swept awash in the past, with fear, hurt, rage and grief,

Many were never reconciled with, I dwelt on them but brief.

I pushed them deep in the recesses, of my unconscious mind,

They surface now and then in new contexts, how to suppress I'm in a bind.

 

 Healing feels like a loss of self. what I'm sans my patterns and quirks,

 When I start doubting who I really am, re-opening the wound works.

This accumulated energy is painful though, it holds a sway on me,

Will continue to dictate my reactions, till what it is I learn to see.

 

When I'm once more sad and angry, it's rarely about the issue or you,

It's old pain asserting its right to exist, not bound by what's in the moment true.

If I were to lessen its hold on me, I've to deal with the long-lost stuff,

Be aware of and accept what I'm feeling now, the pain of memories old and rough. 

 

The trauma that once kept me captive, if I process can set me free,

Each trigger is an opportunity to be in the now, and change what I'm unfolding to be.

The Clash of Mythologies - Part 2

Gods are on their Mt. Olympus, all is right with the earth,

At times they mingle with the mortals, and to heroes give birth.

A gulf divided Gods and men, that Prometheus tried to surmount,

Driven by passion, he tried defying fate, was on a torment at last count.

 

When Gods don't have all the answers, and Oracle of limited use,

You start asking your own self, what's all this for, what's the ruse?

Miles away, seated near the master, Nachiketa asks similarly Yama,

What's the secret of immortality, we are born again, how come?  

 

God is but one immortal, there's Atman in each of us,

The microcosm mirrors the macrocosm, the Brahman we are thus.

The gods permeate our body, are our breath, our speech and sight,

You can keep saying no to questions, till you get the answer right.

 

Gods may be indifferent and external, or they merge with us as one,

As long as we keep asking questions, we'll arrive at conclusions some.

Chicken or Egg?

It's not who you are underneath, but what you do, that defines you,

A painful reminder intentions are sterile, until you act and make them true. 

You may wish 'Sarve Bhvanti Sukhinah', believe yourself to be noble and good, 

All that will not exonerate you, if your actions didn't the test of time stood.

 

Don't judge a person, but his actions, is a dictum I hold dear,

If he repents and mends his actions, he can become better is clear. 

So if I want a couch potato to be healthy, should I ask him to daily walk,

Or revel in his new identity of a walker, and on his earlier identity baulk.  

 

If I ask someone to vote, they may vote to a small degree,

But if I ask them to be a voter, they'll internalize that decree,

And vote in large numbers, cause actions follow the self-concept,

If I want to change my actions, working on my 'self' works the best.  

 

You may re-conceptualize yourself all you want, at the end it'll still be true,

It's not who you are underneath, but what you do, that defines you.

The Clash of Mythologies

Fall from grace, then return to paradise, 

On the day of Judgement, from the grave rise.

Enjoy eternal heaven, or be condemned to hell,

Depends whether you sinned, or acted pious and well.

 

Only a single God exists, one life to live and pray,

He created angels and devil, like night and day.

There is another possibility, that there are more than a few gods,

You fall in one life and atone in next, the goddess gently nods.  

 

Nothing by itself is right or wrong, dharma depends on context and role,

The law of Karma keeps you in check, with the threat you may be reborn a mole.

All around you are brimming with consciousness, each soul potentially divine,

Infinite lives to master the cosmic play, and become godly and sublime.

 

Time here is cyclic, this world but one of many,

God is all around you, not patented by any.

This or That?

Isolation is terrifying, no one gets you,

No bridge to the other, except in moments that are few.

Isolation is exhilarating, you can't the other control,

No matter how close you get, it doesn't take a toll.

 

Meaninglessness is disorienting, you have nothing to lean on,

When nothing's sacred upfront, grounding frameworks are all but gone.

Meaninglessness is empowering, on each act you can put your stamp,

You can find meaning in your suffering, as to why you are in a concentration camp.

 

Freedom is a lifelong sentence, you are condemned to choose,

No one to pass the blame on, when in life's game you lose.

Freedom is a privilege, you can be an author of your life,

Continue smiling, even when the joker wields a knife. 

 

Death is an abomination, makes you tremble and wither in pain,

Death is the ultimate liberator, makes you choose life over and over again.

What To Do (In The Therapy Room)?

Interpret dreams, let them free-associate, look for that occasional Freudian slip,

Like an Indiana Jones excavate buried tombs, and let their ghosts be exorcised in a blip.

They may latch onto you, like they did to their parents, arousing feelings and passions in you,

They may be heavily guarding, what even they don't know, your mission to resistance breakthrough.

 

Monitor each phrase, keep asking what does it mean, till you arrive at their core belief,   

Let them challenge their thoughts, and when it changes how they feel, heave a sigh of relief.

Like Socrates ask many questions, paraphrase, listen deeply but sans judgement,

In the beginning your task to make connection, towards end letting go without sentiment. 

 

Look for stunted growth, accepting them for who they are, a potential waiting to be realized,

As per original plan, they were meant to flourish, it's not their fault if God downsized.

Just walk in their shoes, for a mile or a while, ease their pain without hurting your sole,

Jump into the encounter, without ifs and buts, bringing your body, mind and soul.

 

You've lost your way in the labyrinth, enough of techniques and doing,

Your presence is more than enough, all your life haven't you worked on just being?

My Walden

Meditate in awe of the forest, build a cabin by the pond,

When you center yourself daily, you won't react, but respond.

The illusion of busyness stripped away, fill it with food that you can grow,

Read obscure tomes to your heart's content, and wonder how little you know.

 

Nature acts as the faithful clock, you are a master of your time,  

Your actions answer to your own needs, nine times out of nine.

Needs reduced to a bare minimum, a bed, a desk, three chairs,

Cut-off from the world you muse, if there's someone who cares?

 

You have pruned but all connections, are in touch with just a few ,

Now free and unencumbered, does that decision you secretly rue?

The point of the experiment was paring, to get rid of all the stuff, 

Couple of years of living alone, and you're ready to leave in a huff? 

 

 The thought experiment is quite revealing, as all the masks I peel,

 Of programming, psychology, philosophy, only poetry remains, I feel.

Ready to Pay?

Buying Whey is not enough, if good health is what you care,

Pay daily with your morning walks, and do push ups, to be fair.

Steal time from work and meetings, there's a tradeoff to be made,

Invest instead in leisure and love- that's a price worth to be paid.  

 

You may have all the time in the world, leisure won't come for free, 

First pay the price by plunging deep, discover who you're meant to be.

When you start attuning to yourself, hobbies will like music heal,

But before you can rest and rejuvenate, 'Who Am I?' you need to deal.

 

Love won't arrive on cupid's arrows, you have to become a soul mate,

Lay bare your soul and innards, can't leave tenderness to fate.

Let the price of vulnerability sting, there will be rejections galore,

You have to still be ready to undress, not afraid of the wound in store.

 

Writing daily is not enough, if a poet you want to be,

Be ready to pay the price, that not many your poems will see. 

Liberation, anyone?

I hunt in a pack, track my prey, wolf is my totem god,

In the name of the wolf, I kill the elk, and even gods applaud.

I kill them with their permission, it's all for the greater good,

Their sacrifice enables I survive, not perish in this wood.

 

I farm near rivers, pray for rain, earth is my mother goddess,

I kill the plants, plant the seeds, regeneration is earth's prowess.

From the seeds springs new life, even cut-n-dried trunks regenerate,

I let the husk turn to compost, don't leave the rebirth to fate.  

 

I herd and roam, search new lands, Krishna is my patron god,

My flock may graze, till it kills the land, but Gopala frets not. 

I move ahead, the land lies fallow, it sure as sun will flower again, 

That I invade and plunder is a minor trouble, for the mountains and the plain.

 

All life is but violence, you need to sacrifice an animal or a tree,

For tree, the trunk or seed begets new life, for the animal, he is set free.

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, but 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.

Time to Don Another Mask?

Living against the backdrop, of my own autobiography,

I tried to fit the labels - that I did science and philosophy.

A persona carefully crafted, the mask melted into the face,

The true self, if there was any, disappeared in the haze. 

 

Disfigured and dismembered, it grew ugly and bland,

No matter the clothes I donned, to look majestic and grand.

Sometimes a poet, a programmer, someone passionate about psych,

I had to justify my existence and catch your eyes, make sure you notice and like. 

 

When I started I was OK, to be exposed and without a mask,

To be a good human being, was my only wish and life task.

Over time reality dawned, that there were missing beacons in the night,

That the mask comes along with the cape, is something I no longer fight.

 

In trying to mold to your demands and needs, I've lost myself bit by bit,

I can still try to be a good human being, but that persona my face may no longer fit.

The Great Gambler

We are all enamored by the IPO's, and the million dollar exit,

At some level we understand its luck, and not all a result of grit.

But the 9 out of 10 that fold up, and in shame and disgrace go bankrupt,

They don't come to mind that easily, when you decide to launch a start-up.  

 

Everyone around you is a founder, building left and right,

How can you be left behind, and in a job keep sitting tight?

The stakes are high, and rest assured, you won't get a regular pay,

But whenever you'll get a client or funding, you'll be on seventh sky for the day.

 

You've invested a lot already, money, time, yourself,

To think of quitting after all this, is a betrayal in itself.

What are you if not a founder, you take risks, you gamble it all,

Even if your venture is just limping along, you start again, after the fall. 

 

I can name all the biases and heuristics, that compel me to again and again start,

That may be the way the gambler's mind works, but I'll master the winning jackpot art.

Taming the Shrew

Wild like the forest, I tempt you with my nerve,

The river within overflows, with joie de vivre.

My heedlessness unsettles you, mocks you no end,

You *have* to domesticate me, to your will bend.

 

Nourishing like the field, I satisfy your whim,

Like a canal I'm straightened, and become bound to him.

The one who plows and injures, reaps the reward,

Until I become barren, and he can no longer afford.

 

Desolate like the fallow land, I'm all but ignored,

The stream has dried up, maybe he has become bored.

I'll bear fruit again, just give me some time and space,

Let my wilderness seep out, I'll become fertile by God's grace.

 

No one has asked me, what *I* want to be,

Label me all you want, I just want to be free. 

Fighting a Crisis

A crisis is brewing, I'll rise to the occasion,

I'm getting dehydrated, sapped of my passion.

Will I magically overcome, when the crisis becomes real,

Have I trained enough for this day? Were my priorities clear?

They say to live in the present, is what we human beings are meant,

The past and future will remain, but the moment will soon be spent.

I have instead found it wise, to prepare diligently for the future,

So when the crisis is finally upon you, you don't end up being a loser.

If you want to emerge stronger, better prepare well in advance,

Or you might not even survive, so don't goof up and take a chance.  

It's in peacetime that you can prepare, not when surrounded in wartime,

To enjoy the present, and not sweat, is to bleed when fighting, and a crime.

I have a long time seen it coming, and now this crisis I've finally hit,

My training has prepared me, not to flail, but in the moment sit.

The Three Metamorphoses

I carry the weight, of tradition on my back,

I must obey the rules, the freedom to explore I lack.

I'm a camel providing stability, like the solid tree,

I defer without questioning, to the powers that be.

In time, I rebel, question every 'thou shalt ',

In the flame of my defiance, I myself melt.

I'm a lion roaring, I will turn to ashes if need be,

I bring down the structures, but struggle to be truly free.

I play with the ashes, mix the soil nearby,

Create new forms and rules, to the past say bye.

I'm a child beginning anew, there's innocence in my stride,

Like a phoenix, I keep rising, from freedom I don't hide.

I've grown through the stages, I know what being free is like,

I both accept and create my fate, can be the wise old man or childlike.

Invoking the Muse

Go ahead, read that book, connect the dots,

Unleash the inner vulture, feast on the thoughts.

There's nothing original, just regurgitated rot,

To repackage old wisdom, is the human lot.

You can summon the muse, at your will and behest,

You take great pride in your craft, you are the absolute best.

A creator par excellence, you lean on others' shoulders,

A David sculpting himself, you chip off on their boulders.

One day, what happens, when their ideas don't appeal,

Do you suddenly realize, you are human and can feel?

You don't need to synthesize, just pour what's in your heart,

The poem may turn out empty, but you'd rediscover your art.

Enough of hiding behind sonnets, written as a reaction to others' views,

Let emotions ooze down as ink, filling the page, and your life, with blues.

Down, and Almost Out

Relationships get tangled, the web crumbles down,

Caught in the cross-hairs, you're fearing a meltdown.

You are struggling to escape, freedom comes at a price,

By severing the suffocating ties, you are no longer 'cool' or 'nice'.

The heart gets wounded, there's blood all around,

The Shylock hasn't forgotten, he's out for his pound.

You carve a piece of yourself, try to settle the debt,

Wrap a bandage around the emptiness, a secret well kept.

The spirit gets broken, the whole universe looks strange,

What was once within arm's grasp, is now out of range.

You crawl, you scramble, the world simply doesn't heed,

The one mocking from afar- to let go is what you need.

When you're pinned down and out of breath, it's OK to concede defeat,

There's glory in being Knocked Out, but wisdom in getting back on feet.

Dreams Unlimited

Dreams deferred, are but dreams lost,

To dream itself, is to pay a high cost. 

You lie awake, not sure what's true,

Sneak back to sleep, feeling blue.

Dreams recur, or are they nightmares?

You miss exams, are unprepared, who cares?

Finding yourself naked, in the street,

Or falling from heaven, on your feet. 

The dreams haunting me, are quirky and strange,

I'm at a buffet party, stuffing my plate to the edge.

A momentary lapse, the plate is toppled and gone,

I'm hungry as before, the party's over, and I'm alone.

Do dreams have meaning? Should I have added what I need?

Does the overflowing plate, signify my bad luck or plain greed?

PS: This poem was first published on Medium here. 

Maximising the RoI

Subscriptions galore, a silent guilt hangs on,

New movies to watch, the month's almost gone.

That's money down the drain, for every serial I don't watch,

In a bid to recoup investment, I watch drivel non-stop.

A pile full of books, makes the load of guilt high,

Their price depreciated, still lying unread, I sigh.

Every waking moment, I don't read and assimilate,

The knowledge becomes outdated, arrives a bit too late.

  

I need an AI assistant, to squeeze the best RoI,

It would watch movies for me, and not just curate for my eye.

It would summarize books and seasons, I'll be able to talk smart,

As it optimizes my attention, I would have mastered the art.

They say to gain control over your life, sometimes you need to do less,

Make peace with the unwatched movies, and of unread books don't stress.

Amor Fati

What is, is; enjoy the present,

Don't overstretch, or be hellbent,

To create your future, give birth to a new time,

Or drown in misery, on having lost your prime.

10 years back, you pined to be here,

Don't spend the next 10, trying to be there.

Don't spoil what you have, by desiring what you lack,

Rejoice in the moment, get your life back on track.

You had a blueprint, but territory differs from the map,

There'll always be a chasm; stop living in the gap.

Between the ideal and the actual, life gently slips by,

To the perennial new aspirations, you need to say bye.

Amor Fati, learn to love your fate,

Appreciate the earth, heaven can surely wait.

Which One is Supreme?

As you sow, so shall you reap, is the law of Karma,

Bad deeds can curse you to eternal hell, good deeds can elevate your varna.

The world is determined; every effect has a cause, you can't beat your destiny,

Deeds from the past can haunt your life, crown you a hero, or bless you with ignominy.

Desire is the root cause of all beginnings, is the law of Kama,

Be it a child or novel solutions, one has to get sucked into this world drama.

There is free will and agency, of course, you can make a random choice,

When everyone's driven. by their passions, there's unpredictability, chaos, and noise.

To place society's interests beyond one's own is the law of Dharma,

It's to be guided by a sense of duty, which doesn't change but is sort of perma.

We're neither determined nor totally free; we are bound by constraints and laws,

That if we choose for once, we choose for all times, should give us reason to pause.

The Vishnu is stuck in a Karmic loop, Brahma's desires leave him disgraced,

The Shiva performs his duty, come what may, the Trinity within me be praised.

Daring Greatly

Problems galore, it’s a literal war front,

The call is strong, to pull off a stunt.

The economy provides cover, lets me lie low,

In the age of AI layoffs, passion needs to burn slow.

If not a prisoner of the economy, I would have gone for the kill,

Let the situation improve, before showing valour, pay the bill.

It’s not just a risky proposition, where there’s a probability of loss,

It’s daring greatly despite knowing, your life may go for a toss.

It’s true that the more I dare, the more I vote for myself,

The economic excuse cripples, this adventure I can’t help.

Due to a lack of courage, I can’t put my life on hold,

Never mind the bourses crashing, or tanking prices of gold.

To dare greatly within constraints, is not a foolishness or crime,

You’ll never be able to leap, if you just wait for the right time.

PS: This poem was partially inspired by reading this Medium article and was first published on my Medium blog here.

To Pee or Not to Pee

I have a mild urge, to urinate,

No restrooms in sight, it'll have to wait.

I'm firmly in control, calling the shots,

But the experimenter, made me drink a lots. 

The urge has become moderate, pressure building up,

Have to control my impulses, can't leave in a huff.

The impulse control spreads, to other self-control domains,

I give up a small treat now, so tomorrow's luncheon remains.

The urge is now urgent, I have to bladder void,

Experiments like this, in the future, I'll avoid.

I'm almost like a drunkard, deprived of sleep,

Can't think through straight, or my attention keep.

The urge is fulfilled, now I no longer need to pee,

This research got an IgNobel, not everything's about me.

PS: This poem was inspired by the research that got awarded the IgNobel prize for Medicine in 2011. 

An On-Demand Poem

I've all but forgotten, the art and craft,

Some rhymes, some rhythm, just add to cart,

On checkout, don't forget, to add the coupon code,

Enjoy within minutes, a limerick or an ode.

Most days it's the standard, 14-line drills,

I can tweak the format, or make a quick one, no frills.

I'll customise the sonnet, to suit your taste,

Please savour the delicacy, don't gobble in haste.

You demand a sentence-long poem, and I certainly can,

Maybe Haiku is the template, worth your attention span.

I can stretch the sentence long, or make a short,

In the age of reels, I need to adapt, you exhort.

Playing with words but losing its soul,

Hashtag WorldPoetryDay, I have met my goal.

Being a Poppy

Don’t be afraid to be a poppy, in a field full of daffodils,
Be it their scorn or enchantment, it's all grist for the mill.
They laughed at Einstein, they also laughed at Bozo, the clown,
If you don’t blossom or break through the cracks, on you I’ll forever frown.

For when a poppy pushes up, through the dark earth to the spring,
It just knows in its heart that sunshine spring will bring.
It shows courage against odds and deeply values life,
And believes in miracles that are born of strife.

When Lady April brings the daffodils, the springing grasses, and warm April rains,
Does your Poppyness torment you, fill you with doubt and pain?
Would it reassure you if I pointed, I’ve been the odd man out,
Does that message assuage you, so you can stop whining and shout?

Whether to be a poppy or a daffodil, I have not given you the choice,
This whole piece is a dramatic monologue, where, my dear, you don’t have a voice!

PS: This poem was written as a response to this prompt on Scrittura and first published on Medium here.

Fallen

When all around you is winter, it's folly to grow shoots,

Let go of the leaves and flowers, just focus on your roots.

In summer the leaves are assets- they give you bread and wine,

In winter sans the sun's sweet help, losing them would be so fine. 

Oh behold the twist of fate, they are now a liability,

By losing water, to leave you dead, is their new ability.

When you brush aside, let leaves fall, is that being opportunistic?

Are you ashamed, of your giving up, as you're reduced to a naked stick?

I might be dead on the outside, I am growing my roots deep,

I know I'll welcome leaves again, so on their passing I don't weep.

I use this time to build reserves, I trust the wheel will turn,

The fallen leaves become compost, that's the way I churn.

When all around you is winter, surely, the spring is round the block,

For all my bravado and wisdom, the fallen leaves still mock.

Holi Fun

From my 7th-floor balcony, I watch the rowdy crowd,

Close the soundproof windows, to drown music that's loud.

A part of me wants to come down, join in all the fun,

But for the most part, I look down, at the nuisance for one.

Throw colors on passersby, greet strangers with a warm wish,

Observe religious prohibitions, like not eating meat or fish.

Haven't I evolved beyond this? I am no longer a child,

How can I let my hair down, and like others, become wild?

Doorbell rings, I'm surrounded by hooligans,

They drag me down, and make me play with water guns.

I hesitate initially, then let all hell break loose,

Drench the others at will, and paint them as I choose.

In a crowd to lose yourself, is so liberating and free, 

That the festivities are fun and harmless, is the real key.

Product vs Service

Let go of the service mindset, become a cool product,  

Your value should compound over time, and scale you must.

To remain a coach is a folly, when you can write a how-to-coach guide,

To sell, you must be visible, and not beneath your client work hide.

For a coach has limited time slots, while with a guide, you can motivate,

And fill your coffers with money, and have a larger impact, my mate.

That the how-to guide needs a different skill, is besides the point,

You'd better transform and get the Midas touch, don't dare you us disappoint.

You say you have packaged yourself nicely, the trick is how to distribute,

How to capture the heart of young coaches, who will be floored by your repute

To shape them and their clients, you can author books or create a course,

You can go on speaking engagements, and thereby set forth the discourse. 

If money were not a factor, would I make myself a product?

I'll write poems for impact, and for healing relational work conduct.

Work Leisure Integration

A poem a day, I choose to write,

As night befalls, ideas take flight.

The inner drive, bleeds through next day,

I strive hard at work, and longer stay.

The hour spent juggling, words and rhyme,

As I hone my craft, lose sense of time.

The same absorption, I take to work,

The mastery mindset, becomes a quirk.

The finished product, bridges hearts, hooks you,

Makes me bond with audience, that's sensitive too.

The service orientation, and the community high,

Reaps dividends in workplace, makes me the cool guy.

It's more than a hobby, it's a serious pursuit,

That it makes my days bearable, is a point moot. 

Man and Superman

Bent and broken, into a better shape,

Adversity moulds me, into a man with a cape.

I don't become bitter, use it as a springboard, 

To release the strength, that was inside stored.

I still dread and wonder, am I worthy of my pain?

Sacrifices notwithstanding, did morals go down the drain?

To survive and emerge stronger, is not always good,

I suffered, but in vain, for myself did I stood?

Would it have been better, for me to destruction choose?

Than to survive, or even flourish, and myself bit by bit lose?

What use is victory, when I am no longer myself?

In the quest for future, should I not on the past dwell?

When I started my dream, was to be a good human being,

To remain human despite setbacks, is incredibly freeing.

Setting the Mood

Tune the strings first, then set the bass right,

Fiddle with the gain, till the sound's to your delight.

Practice solo daily, before that electrifying performance,

To set the stage on fire, first go through the hell of endurance.

   

Sit on a bridge for hours, catch waterlilies in varied light,

Mix the various pigments, till you get the hue that's bright.

Sketches and notes yield, to the masterpiece in oil,

You have to paint a million perspectives, can't shy from toil. 

Detach from what the day served, write to a prompt few lines,

Let the dust settle down a bit, to uncover what the heart pines.

Scribble in your diary or online, variations on a theme,

Discard what doesn't nourish you, make it last more than a meme.

If you wish I'll pen another poem, at your whim and my will,

But first I need the day to set mood, so that with 14 lines I can kill.

Being Gritty

The goal is clear, mocks me from afar,

Guides my actions, like the North Star.

Can I exchange the dream? Have I traded too low?

Should I burst like a nova, or keep burning slow? 

The passion is apparent, makes me come alive,

Every step of the journey, I give myself a high five. 

Energy invested here, could it other parts drain?

Should I hoard the thunder, or let it pour and rain?

The persistence is astonishing, I've walked a mile long,

To abandon at this juncture, on many levels, is so wrong. 

Could I dig a different place, where my efforts will bear fruit?

Is calling out the sunk cost fallacy, to myself, a bit rude?

If you insist, I'll reassess, but I know I'll stay the course,

This work is so important, that for all lives I'll endorse.

Heart Brain Tussle

Seen through my wounds, the world appears red,

I want it to fade and disappear, as I toss in my bed.

The morning sunrise, doesn't feed and sustain,

My heart has stopped beating, it's all the way brain. 

The brain calculates, who to trust and how much,

I'm always on the lookout, for new wounds as such.

Once a victim, now a survivor, the label doesn't help,

At the slightest slight, I get triggered, and go for the scalp.

My past defines me; I can't afford another defeat,

I can't let you cheat me; I'll never get back on my feet.

You may be an angel in disguise, I'll give it a pass,

When I'm bleeding profusely, cauterization seems a farce.

You want to hurt me further, when I'm already hurt and clearly in pain,

My heart is not convinced, though my brain realizes it's for long-term gain.

The Golden Pursuit

I need to rake in the moolah, life is short, 

It'll ensure stability- you gently exhort.

Wealth once accumulated, takes time to diminish,

The race is about survival, from start to finish.

I need to rake in the moolah, life is uncertain,

Without money to flaunt, it's a tad less fun.

I need to up the Joneses, have discretionary spends,

With me on the top, alone, is how I know it ends. 

I need to rake in the moolah, life is unlived,

It's an empty canvas, that with money can be filled.

Untethered from work, I can write sonnets at will,

Do charity, create impact, with a note two birds kill.

Money is not the enemy, it is the reasons we covet it for,

Pursue money all you want, don't let it tarnish your golden core.

Different Lives, Different Masters

To sit on a pile of cash, or bond with someone dear, 

Some aspire to be on the top 10 lists, others leaving no legacy fear.

Some are drawn to how they can drive others, others driven by personal growth,

Some want to attract and be beautiful, though they may get burned in the process like a moth.   

Fame, power, wealth are the anchors, that keep many a people afloat,

That love and service could be a lifeline, they don't know- they never sailed that boat.

All their life spent to earn enough, so they can pay a higher bill,

It costs them health and peace of mind, and increases their chance of being ill. 

You become what you aspire for, you become what you behave,

When goals are not steeped in your soul, even after achieving you crave.

When you are driven by care for others, and want to serve and deepen ties,

You are happy and more satisfied, you can overthrow materialist lies.

On the death bed you never regret, how you could have earned even more,

Only that you could have loved and lived well, and left this world better than before.

Pacing Myself

Suffering from diabetes, I have been advised brisk walk,

I prefer a leisurely stroll, where with friends I can talk.

Chats and gossips done, the walk feels less of a task,

Amidst laughter and tomfoolery, I can let go of my mask.

 

Walking collectively, poses a challenge of sorts, 

That the group mirrors my rhythm, what are the odds?

Some chug along fast, others force me to slow down.

I can't split the group in two, or all around me frown.

So I'm forced to walk, at a slightly unnatural pace,

With the athletes amongst us, I literally run to not lose face.

While with others who are, more carefree and laid back,

I have to goad them into action, lest they be left behind the pack.

In any human endeavor, there's a dynamic at play,

To walk beside the slowest person, I'd prefer any day. 

On Being A Survivor

Fired on an email, or en masse over a Zoom call,

Escorted out of the building, and made to feel small.

The reasons given are pragmatic- you did't perform well, 

We bulk-hired in anticipation, but the services didn't sell. 

There is an economic slowdown, AI has come for your jobs,

We need to label you the bottom 10%, never mind if that dignity robs.

Those of you who are spared, must be grateful, heave a sigh of relief,

That you become mistrustful, is beyond comprehension, what's your beef?

You are the last man standing, why be bitter and hurt?

Rejoice in the dry promotion, stop wondering if it's worth!

Why feel responsible and guilty, for the ones who have been laid off,

Don't even think of leaving the organisation, which has your interests sold off.

Anger, depression, guilt and resentment- it's more severe for those who remain,

We don't just have to support those impacted, but also hide and hoard our pain.

Getting Philosophical

Look inwards, acknowledge your past, inside lurks a shadow self,

For all your well-intentioned vows, self-sabotage you couldn't help.

Enough of curating and licking your wounds; they have almost become an identity,

Take one hard look and let go henceforth; don't keep wallowing in self-pity.

Plans collapse, you lose control, and hit the absurd wall of reality,

Your Sisyphean resolve to shoulder the boulder, neither the world cares, nor the city.

Stop repeating the lies, good wins in the end, the universe doesn't owe you nothing,

Revolt if you must, do what needs to be done, let your existence be by itself a thing.

They say there's no built-in meaning to things- you're not trapped, you can finally break free,

If the river of life has no bridge to walk over, you can create one and a Superman be.

Pour yourself into what gives meaning to you; let naysayers dismiss it as a frivolous fantasy,

Decide once and remain committed for life- life wasn't supposed to be all roses and easy.

Jung helps you drop the mask, Camus unmasks the absurd, Neitzche points what to do next,

I may think that poetry is my only salvation, but it's a daily salve for my soul at best.

Which Way To Go?

Lost in the labyrinth, the only way out is through,

The more I bided my time, the more the creepers grew.

They tightened their grip around, I'm feeling claustrophobic,

The feet are in full-scale panic, only the face is strained, but stoic.

The wiggle room is gone, there's nowhere to maneuver,

The shadow looms large, of the approaching Minotaur.

My hand tugs desperately, at the Ariadne's thread,

Should I retrace the path, or move forward and be dead.

For the Minotaur needs to be killed, but am I up to the task,

Should I risk my life and limb? Is being left alone too much to ask?

Why is greatness thrust upon me, have to either kill or be slain?

Either be a hero or die a martyr, can't from this drama I refrain?

You could have vacillated all you liked, before setting foot in the maze,

Now's the time for action- either burn or go in a blaze.

Not Another Techie-led Platform

Aren't you an IITian by background? How come mental health care?

You don't have the relevant degree, is building in this domain fair?

This space is already crowded, with technologists-founders at large,

Please launch a QComm startup instead, don't make of this field a farce.

There, you can exploit all you want, the gig workers and DPs,

Leverage innovative business models, such as commission-based or platform fees.

We deserve to be paid better; it's not just an hour of talking cure,

It's decades of accumulated wisdom, but you'll not get it for sure.

You may have the entrepreneurial bent, or the business skills;  

And the sad reality is, at the end, we all have to pay the bills,

But therapy work is exhausting; all we need is the human touch,

That you build an ethical product, is that asking too much?

My background disqualifies me; I may not have pockets that are deep,

But what I'm building will help, and not harm, is a promise I can keep. 

New Year Musings

Bash the resolutions, or bash the New Year,

A beginning is exciting, fills with hope, my dear.

The skeptics may forewarn, that by Feb-end it'll all fizzle,

Even if on the back burner, let your dreams simmer and sizzle.

You need a periodic checkpoint, however contrived and artificial,

Where you can assess anew, what's possible, what can be made real.

What you have already accomplished, what still awaits to be born,

What's sustaining and enduring, and what's a passing storm.

What breathes life as an intention, can with actions, and support, snowball,

If you want the glory of the Hero's Journey, you have to respond to the call.

If you hesitate, give heed to cynics, you'll never start on that Quest,

You may not become a public Fool, but will be crowned 'also ran' at best.

Some make it about goals, new habits, or fresh systems in place,

To me, a New Year is about New Quests, and renewed faith in God's grace.