Sisyphus

 

 

The night holds special charm for me, I can finally find the time,

To bring to closure acts of day - penning a poem seems so fine.

And on other days I manage to read, a few pages or a tome,

Soothed by this ritual, sacred and dear, the day's weariness is gone.  

The year end appeals to me so much, I can get rid of weathered skin,

Throw out the window, things that didn't work, take trash out of the bin.

And on other times I manage to go, to places far and wide,

return rejuvenated, just in time, to see the turning of the tide.

 

The death bed looks so romantic, I can afford to be just me,  

Know what matters, with whom to spend time, for the first time clearly see.

And in other lives I might just have, you standing by my side,

But for now your memories haunt and heal, now's no place to hide.

 

With each end comes a beginning, a beginning that with time kills,

I prefer those moments of brief respite, between pushing the stone up the hills. 

Incompatible

 A bunch of wires and cables, played around with them all,

To make the right connection, requires efforts - is no feat small.

35 mm jack at one end, the other an RCA male,

Would she be able to hear my beats, my heart starts turning pale.

Just connect the audio out aux, to the inputs of home theater, 

Let all and sundry hear my cries, imaginary audience in the theater.

The magic doesn't happen, I watch the YouTube explainer the nth time,

To be connected to someone, sans heart beating in sync, is a momentous crime.

 

Check the power cables again, amp up a bit, turn up the volume max,

One needs to keep working on it, cant afford to be easy or lax. 

Still no sound only fury, can the speakers have gone rogue,

Silent cometh, silent goeth, from cradle to the morgue. 

I tried my best to hook with you, but no sparks flew down the line,

In the next life, with wireless technology, we will blast a song sublime.

Dependency

Can't move forward, have an external dependency,

Can't write a sonnet, Oh! Muse have some mercy!

Stalled and blocked, it has been a week of dithering,

False oath of daily sonnets- now Furies to me are tethering.  

Would tomorrow be different? Issue finally resolved?

Writing become a second nature, I'm determined and resolved!

With some real progress, I can be proud of being productive,

The sound of a sonnet forming, Oh! its so deadly and seductive! 

Why wait so long for action, why not push the other one hard?

One needs to let the feelings ferment, to write poetry is an art!

One fears push-back, more stalling one's way, so prefers to use tact,

Using simple rhymes to send a note, the poem is almost ready, in fact.

I'm dependent on you darling, and I prefer it that way,

Would you finally make your mind, so that I too may!

The UnScheduled Life

Some meetings never end, others shouldn't have started,

We should have said goodbye, before we parted.

 New day, new meetings, sans agenda, hidden or otherwise

We could have left it midway, hindsight always makes us wise.

A calendar that's overflowing, a hesitation to accept the invite

We were so lost in our own worlds, not sure whether to give it a fight.

No conflict with an existing commitment, yet replying with a 'maybe'

We were tentative how it will turn out, not sure if we were meant to be.

 

 Some back and forth happens, but in the end, you have scheduled a call,

We used to fight and make up, and in love it made for us easy to fall.

The call drops multiple times, and to reconnect you rely on the Aloha algorithm

We missed the bus on multiple occasions, unsure how to make our moves in rhythm. 

Structured in time, spaced through the week, we were booked to the hilt,

Missed the counselors appointment - went down the rabbit hole of angst and guilt.

 

 

The Middle

The first step may be impulsive, and the last step due to sunk costs,

For the intermediate steps however, you need to run from pillar to posts.

Will they make a difference, take you nearer to your goals?

Or like the Sisyphean stone keep rolling back, haunting you like ghosts.

 

Passion may catch you the first fish, and desperation the last,

But if you want to catch fish daily, you need to wider net cast.

For days what may land your alley, is debris from the past,

The flotsam and the jetsam, don't get rid of them so fast.

The first kiss is oh! so vivid, and the last one tinged with pain,

It's the in-between that matter - but aren't they simple and plain? 

The daily ritual of kissing your wife, is it love or disdain,

By reserving the kiss for special occasions, would you be cruel or vain?

To promise the moon and deliver the stars, is a brilliant stunt,

When you promised 90 in 90, were you sober or drunk?

Can I ?

Can I churn out, a sonnet each day,

When it becomes a chore, will the sensitivity stay?

Will I write in a hurry, to meet the day's goal,

Getting the rhyme right, but losing the poem's soul?

 

Can I find themes other, than the usual love and pain,

By moving out of my comfort zone, what will I gain? 

Will the imagery be novel, not limited to caged birds singing

Will my poems soothe and heal, with just a dash of singeing? 

Can I keep her hooked, eagerly waiting for the next,

Or bombarded by so many, she might just not read my text?

With my daily pledge of love, would my chances go above zero,

If I keep writing till she relents, can I hope to be her hero?

A new year resolution, that only lasts till spring,

I'm wiser this time, settling for a 90 days sprint.

 

The little star

The star's light flickers as it watches the moon,

Do the dwellers of earth see him, he's filled with gloom.

Hunched small in size, he's consumed to core,

-as part of a moonlit sky, isn't he so much more?

Is he just one of many, although it looks as such,

Isn't down there a kid, who loves him much?

and considers him special, reminded of someone afar, 

- what if nobody follows him, is he still a lucky star?

Decked around the moon, or blinded by Sun's ray,

Is his fate to live in shadows, come what may,

Is he a marginal character in this tale from earth,

- will his story end in ignominy, just like his birth?

 

As he shines one last time, and explodes in a blast,

Millions cross their fingers, and make a wish to last.