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.