The Absurd Practice

Only a few get discovered eventually, most remain invisible and obscure,

That you'll get recognition posthumously, are you confident, are you sure?

The world is not malicious, it simply doesn't for anyone care,

You cannot bridge the chasm, no matter how long you stare. 

 

A deep abyss stretches between, your desire to make sense,

To capture in your poetry,  all matters light and dense,

And the indifference of the universe, that you cannot capture in verse,

You may not matter to the world, but the world perturbs you- for better or worse.  

 

You constructed an elaborate ruse, with poetry at its core,

Which may be systematically dismantled, with random events in store.

You get a lucky breakthrough, land a high paying job,

Poetry practice goes for a toss, your serenity the work robs.

 

When I say the world is indifferent, it's not cruel, it may land a jackpot,

So just let me write poems daily, never mind if they are neither read nor sought.

Poised Precariously

You are what you pretend, so choose your mask wise,

It will fuse with your face, so better embroider it nice.

The veneer of self confidence, makes your face shine and glow,

Doubts may gnaw at your belly, but you can't let the upper parts know.

In the midst of a winter, pretend you have discovered an invincible summer, 

Keep smiling through grief and loss, authenticity- what a bummer.

Your body doesn't really keep track, whether the smile is genuine or fake,

Your mind is already saturated to brim, there's only this much that it can take.

 

In projecting to be emotionally centered, I have imbibed that role,

Seeking help is surely for losers, being anti-fragile my goal.

I purposely practiced for this adversity, in my mind I've figured it all,

If I neither win nor lose this round, I'll just proclaim it as a close call.

 

Pretending to live, life on the edge,

Like Humpty Dumpty, I my sanity pledge.

A Tribute To Shukla ji

I want to write an elegy, but I'll keep it brief,

I'm still absorbing the shock, of the unprocessed grief.  

In the space between paperwork, and the funeral rites,

I'm emptying my feelings, to get some respite.

 

Adored on all occasions, whether big or small,

Would it sound cliche, if I say he was loved by all?

He was the life of society, of our walk group,

He drained the life from all of us, in one fell swoop.

 

My loss is perhaps little, compared to the family's plight,

To spare us all the agony, he quietly departed in the night.

The guiding light that he was, he's now watching from afar,

Giving my poem the usual thumbs up, this time from the stars.   

 

No poem can do justice, to the person we'll miss,

We pray to God he finds peace, and everlasting bliss.

Unsinkable

All the water in the world, can't sink my ship,

Unless I let it in, then it'll be gone in a blip. 

So I toil day and night, to keep intact the hull,

With waves breaching daily, there's not a  moment dull.  

 

Even a hairline fracture, can eventually flood the room, 

Lowering my guard for a moment, will lead to inevitable doom. 

Imagine therefore my horror, to find a severely cracked plank,

I fill it with golden lacquer, and with beauty reach the bank.

 

You can't stop the waves, but like a captain you can ride,

Allow what to seep through, and how to fight the merciless tide.

If you pay heed to the voices, you'll surely drown,

When you build strong walls, you'll smile not frown.

 

You say to survive this world, I need to grow a thick skin,

What use are swords and knives, when I can be burst with a pin. 

If Money Were No Object

If money were no object, I'd be hunched at desk,

Writing poems of love, from dawn till dusk.

But the lure of money, is real and strong,

Selling poetry is OK, writing poems wrong.

 

If status were no object, I'd forever be in school,

Wade and wallow in what I love, with the naivety of a fool.  

But your reputation precedes, the work you do,

So I'm tempted to amass degrees, to shut the likes of you. 

 

If duty were no object, I'd just laze all day,

Run agents to do my work, and with ChatGPT play.

But responsibility is a tech debt, keeps you awake at night,

The program keeps running, till it gets the user intent right.

 

If impact were no object, I'd be stuck at a dead end job,

But I'm letting the entrepreneurial grind, my mind peace rob. 

Why So Prolific?

I craft poems, to keep getting likes, 

Modifying the themes, if I perchance get yikes.

I daily endure, to ensure you come back,

The dip in views, guarantees my comeback.

 

I craft poems, to ward off guilt, 

Around invoking muse at will, my whole life built.

If the muse deserts me, I'll die of shame, 

I pride on writing daily, it's not a hobby or game.

 

I craft poems, because I value the art,

My daily practice ensures, I can play the poet part.

The daily discipline, is now a part of me,

If I'm not a poet, who am I, you see?

 

I craft poems, because I find it fun,

I get deeply engrossed, and time doesn't run.  

Career Quests

Scuffle between offshore and onshore, strife between team and my boss,

A Hero-Saves-The-Day syndrome, that was leading to organizational loss.

I was a new dad at that time, a rookie manager at workplace,

I quietly made a lateral move, to manage life at a slower pace. 

 

Good manager replaced with an average one, that left me under utilized,

I thought I deserved, but didn't get, the promotion that was prized. 

So I ventured forth as a freelance coach, where my skills could be better used,

Aligning my work with my values, where psychology and leadership fused.

 

My new boss only talked sweet- didn't pay me for a whole year,

The ethical lines kept blurring, I felt powerless my dear.

So I decided to start afresh, I was looking for an escape hatch,

A calling that can make me live again, to which I could latch.

 

I've mastered the entrepreneurial journey, I'm ready to take the next step,

It's time to write a new chapter, let me now for poetry school prep.

 

PS: Today's post is inspired by, and tries to map, the 4 career quests identified in Lenny's substack (though not in the same order) here. 

IPO On The Horizon?

Writing poems, without a GTM plan,

Polishing drafts, for an imaginary fan.

Sliding in a bottle, letting it drift away,

But hope is not a strategy, the wise men say.   

 

Writing poems, without a business model,

Ads may grant peanuts, is it worth the coddle?

You can build an audience, can it earn you bread?

How dare you dream and cross, a line that is red. 

 

Writing poems, without a rich bottom line,

You may earn some revenue, but does the cost seem fine?

To lap some crumbs, you have to mortgage your soul,

Address themes to their liking, constantly popular trope dole. 

 

Writing poems, without a FnF round,

No investors to pressurize, so I make every poem count. 

Hi, Hello

Sawubona, I see you, 

I'm present, I'm here, are you here too?

Nigikhona, I am here,

I see you, you brought me into existence my dear.

 

Namaste, I bow to you,

The divinity within you, is verily true.

Namaste, I bow back to divine,

The God within me, sees the God in you fine.  

 

Om Namah, I prostrate before the God,

His darshan blesses me, I'm overjoyed, I'm awed.

Om Namah, the God stares back,

Being perceived by him, now my life won't lack.

 

 Good morning, Good evening, lack the magic when we meet,

 Muttered absentmindedly, can without our whole being we greet? 

Don't Observe Me Yet

Like Schrodinger's cat, I'm both alive and dead,

I haven't decided yet, how to earn my bread.

I can be a poet or a psychologist, if I just make up my mind,

The specter of losing a self, leaves me in a perennial bind.

 

When stakes are so large, I can't embrace in a blip,

I can leave it to God and fate, or instead use a coin flip.

With nothing in my hands, maybe the regret will be small,

My future unencumbered of me, just due to the coin's fall. 

 

Can I live with that image, a creature of circumstance,

What happens to agency, about commitment what's my stance? 

Choosing one over the other, is painful now, and in times to come,

There's no getting around agony, whether I forego or choose some.   

 

I've made my life-and-death decision, I'll remain stuck in two boats,

If you'll allow, I'll pen psych themed poems, both my poison and antidotes. 

The Sign

My mouth is turning down, the eyes have started to swell,

As I think about you darling, not everything is well.

One look at my face, and it's as clear as hell,

I'm suffering in my bones, ready to retreat in my shell.

 

 My mouth is turned down, the eyes are filled with tears,

 I've learnt how to catch your eyes, over the passing years. 

 One look at my face, you'll come running to my aide,

 We attuned at some point, that debt has to be paid.

 

My mouth I turn down, the eyes I make moist,

I may not feel broken, but my sadness I hoist.

Could I be relieved, and happy that you're gone,

But to conform to society norms, feel sad and alone?

 

My mouth I've learnt to control, I've put on a poker face,

My sadness, if there, is for me, for you no external trace.  

The Invariants

Bothra yoga, or Dixit Diet,

Bend to each fad, with all your might.

Not sure how many, will stand time's test,

To me the invariant- daily walk, proper rest.  

 

Eisenhower matrix, or Pomodoro timer,

Amp your productivity, read a new primer.

I rarely follow through; so to tick off deep work,

I stay up late in night, being an owl my quirk. 

 

Box breathing, or JPMR,

Relieve stress, with the tool of the hour.

Daily meditation practice, can help you cope,  

For me writing a poem, my daily dose of dope.  

 

A vacation every 7 months, a date night each week,

Rituals and formulas are fine elsewhere, but in love it's all Greek.

Holding On

Pain wriggles through, it has a habit to be found,

Memories pierce and stab, as you're not around.

They say suffering is optional, it's how the situation you conceive,

That you can morph your pain into poems, and with art everyone deceive.

 

Guilt is an uninvited guest, that has overstayed its due,

Who left whom charred, is known but to few.

They say guilt can make you better, sculpt your future form,

That it can goad you till you transform, and rise above the norm.

 

Loss is a sneaky intruder, that can haunt once it's left your door,

With everything precious snatched, it can leave you lonely ever more.

They say loss leads to meaning, you realize what's worth holding onto,

That no future relation would suffer the fate, that befell you two.

 

It has cost me almost everything, yet I'm staying in the fight,

Giving in to despair would imply, that it was for nothing- and that's not right.

Writing's Side Effects

Writing helps me process, the pain of a withheld goodbye,

Each poem inches closer, but cannot bridge the gap, I sigh.

To catch your eyes is a fantasy, I've risen over that now,

If it's a formal closure I'm after, by myself I'll achieve how?   

Writing helps me reminisce, the joy of that fragile bond,

Each poem helps me manifest, that relation with a magic wand.

I can draw and redraw you as an angel, each time I pour my ink anew,

That a ghost from past can make me smile, who fathomed, who knew?  

 

Writing helps me reflect, with equanimity our joint fate,

Each poem prods me forward, to back down and wait.

In time I've started adjusting, to your absence from my craft,

By etching you in my poems, don't I risk losing you from my heart?

 

Writing helps me dump on my readers, my deepest, smouldering concerns, 

That they get charred in the process, is a cost justified to heal my burns. 

The Shifting Shape of Stories

I had a blessed start, with IIT tag on my head,

The techno-managerial jobs, I did not really dread.

The lure of a different calling, sapped my energy, left me dead,

With effort I climbed out of the hole, making psychology my bread.

 

I met psychology in college, it was love at first sight,

After decades of courtship, tying the knot didn't work out right,

My earlier passion vanished, it became just another job,

Now that I've started my own venture, this might not end in a sob.  

  

Venturing on The Fools Quest, is a Cinderella story, 

Writing poems that went unread, didn't lead to fame or glory.

Till there appeared a fairy, bestowing on my poems a magical power,

Disappearing at the stroke of midnight, but in my heart poems daily flower.

 

It's ended well for me in these stories, but perhaps at a cost and curse,

On my original quest to be a good person, did I slowly go from bad to worse?

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.