Without poetic seed there won't be prose. The entire network of branches, twigs, flowers, fruits and leaves is nothing but a commentary on the small poetic seed. So all ye wannabe writers, nurture the poet in you, who understands the value of pause in life, who moves slowly to watch everything, sight and smell everything. Brushstrokes of poetry softly touch the soul without disrupting its restful muse and bring out nuggets of love, compassion, harmony and peace. All content © Sandeep Dahiya
Saturday, March 28, 2020
Thursday, March 26, 2020
Croakings from the cot
Little
Master Corona
O
thou little master,
The
world was a bit faster,
You
now force brakes,
Lions
turn into drakes,
Even
newspaper is scary,
No
longer a news carrying fairy,
It
comes from Delhi,
Fear
pinches my guts and belly,
With
inhibitions I touch,
A
fearful world is such!
The
Story of a frost-beaten tree
The
winter has'n brutal and harsh,
And
my struggle turned almost a farce,
Lost
all my leaves,
With
loss my soul grieves,
Still
not all is lost,
For
greenish life finds a host
in
the wheat at my feet,
They
pay a respectable greet,
My
loss and my pain
doesn't
go in vain,
Tumbled
down as my leaf
with
pain and grief,
Blossom
thousands around,
Wheatlings
like daughters doth surround,
Fell
where my tear,
Many
a smile this earth doth bear,
Doesn't
go waste my pain,
Sows
it the prospects of gain,
If
not for me,
Definitely
for thee!
The
Light
The
light does hark,
beyond
the deepest dark,
There
is a day bright,
after
the ghostly haunts of a nightmarish night,
After
a barren famished fight,
there
blossoms a springed delight,
After
pining pangs of separation,
there
is a worthy end to the desperation,
After
crashing in the gutters,
there
is a surge and rise to bathe in holy waters,
After
crying convulsions on the lips,
a
smile takes honeyed sips,
After
the last defeat,
still
there is an undying urge to accomplish the feat,
Even
when blind with despair,
there
is hope hiding and cajoling somewhere,
Even
in hate, love still lurks somewhere!
Lost
It
has been months since
I
last lit my faith's lamp,
So
many days have passed since
prayers
chimed in my dark den's air damp,
My
meditating self,
Now
gives atheistic yelp.
Lost
my faith!
Lost
my prayer!
Lost
my rituals!
Lost
my meditative trance!
The
story told by the soul to its own corpse
Once
I flew and frolicked high,
Now
the flesh and blood gone dry,
The
real me withdrew with a painful sigh,
They
say, 'I was destined to die,'
It's
but the biggest lie!
The
Night
Too
far and deep, I have gone into the pit of gloom,
And
lost in the cavernous folds of the impending doom,
Even
the brightest big suns now appear too far,
Faint
stars these now and just flash their inspiring rays,
Feeble
raylets reaching me cannot take out the ship caught in treacherous bays,
I
know the futility of the beckoning light,
Even
in its brightest folds outside, hope was always out of sight,
Now
i go deep into my night,
With
nobody as a witness to my plight,
All
cherished dreams out of sight,
A
wingless bird that tried to fly but then crashed from its struggled height,
Now
I just silently walk into the dark hold of my night,
Alone
and
forlorn,
Musicity
of my soft moan,
Carrying
me into hitherto unreachable zone!
Darkness
Too
far and deep, I have gone into the pit of gloom,
And
lost in the cavernous folds of the impending doom,
Even
the brightest big suns now appear too far,
Faint
stars these now and just flash their inspiring rays,
Feeble
raylets reaching me cannot take out the ship caught in treacherous bays,
I
know the futility of the beckoning light,
Even
in its brightest folds outside, hope was always out of sight,
Now
i go deep into my night,
With
nobody as a witness to my plight,
All
cherished dreams out of sight,
A
wingless bird that tried to fly but then crashed from its struggled height,
Now
I just silently walk into the dark hold of my night,
Alone
and
forlorn,
Musicity of my soft moan,
Carrying
me into hitherto unreachable zone!
Holy Fire
I
am the moth
and
I love my flame!
My
fire!
But
I feel the burning core of
the
glow around which
I
helplessly circle around!
I
know that I cannot stop
the
fire from burning,
So
I throw myself in a fiery pit
to
forget my dear flame's burning plight!
I
throw myself in a bigger fire
so
that I forget myself
and
my flame's cries!
Wednesday, November 21, 2018
The Voice Inside
The Voice Inside
Forget about the hoot and holler
emanating from the world outside,
And give an ear to the soft and murmurous
cooings emanating from the soul,
It has a soft and sympathetic
message for you only,--
your most personal message,
meant only for you,
Listen to these delicate chimes,
It’ll help you in finding peace in chaos,
In getting a foothold in the stampede,
In feeling rest, repose and respite
in the face of constant buffeting by the world around,
It’ll help you in breaking
the hardest of superficial layers,
which suffocate and limit your identity,
And put you face to face with
your true self, your
real worth,
Listen to it, close your eyes,
And pay attention with all your heart,
Just for a change,
don’t look far, look closest at yourself,
It’ll be as uneventful as looking
at a dust particle around your feet,
But it changes the universe for you,
You will have the biggest message
in the softest of whispering phrases!
And
it’ll help you in finding yourself.Saturday, November 17, 2018
My Mind, My Buddy
Be the
seat of my strength, not weakness.
Be the
seat of kindness, not cruelty.
Be the
source of light, not darkness.
Be the
source of energy, not idleness.
Be the
source of creativity, not limited vision.
Be the
source of love, not hate.
Be the
source of smiles, not tears.
Be the
source of happiness, not suffering.
Be the
seat of optimism, not pessimism.
Be
the seat of gain, not loss.
Be
the source of help, not obstruction.
Be
the seat of leadership, not just sheepwalk.
Be
the seat of a better human being.
Be
the source of a more loving person.
O my
mind, my seat of potential, take my journey further.
Please
choose the better half of all the dualities for me.
Keep
reminding your mind. Repeatedly. Daily. With eyes closed and fervent request.
It’s a very nice, nutritious pre-breakfast food.
Choosing the better side of the pair of our actions and feelings is as easy as flipping a coin in our fingers from head to tail. We are pre-conditioned for the negative end of dualities. The instinct can be broken. Just early morning practice is sufficient. It’s needs much as reminding the self. Repeatedly.
Friday, October 26, 2018
Thursday, October 25, 2018
Holding a dream in my fist
Staring at the
misty past
and forcing
myself not to see the future eager to unfold itself too fast,
I wave at the nostalgic
strains still beckoning and faintly alive,
How I wish I
could dive
back into the
pools of the past,
To have my
moments last
at a place
that held me in its cradle soft,
That pious embrace which still holds me aloft!!
Tuesday, October 16, 2018
Love loops on an early winter day
The mighty lord whispers in a softest voice,
My son grow thou strongest and sire chances for those without any choice!
***
Though your enemy, I am sweet!
My neck thus deserves a softer treat!
***
Tuesday, October 2, 2018
Prose in praise of poetry.
Without
the seed of poetry there won't be any prose. Just like without the tiny seed
there won’t be a tree. The canopy, the full foliage of the tree is just an extension
of the dream lying with its realistic potential inside the small seed. The
elaborate network of trunks, branches, twigs, flowers, fruits and leaves is
nothing but a commentary on the small poetic seed. So all ye wannabe writers,
nurture the poet in you, who understands the value of pause in life, who moves
slowly to watch everything, sight and smell everything. Whose senses are open
to the inclusive interplay of wonderful harmonies of the supreme song, the universe,
the one song. Brushstrokes of poetry
softly touch the soul without disrupting its restful muse and bring out the
nuggets of love, compassion, harmony and peace. If you are a poet by nature
then you have the potential to be anything because all these elaborate
extensions of your life, your dreams, your professional and personal goals,
your milestones, the world around you, all these and more are nothing but a reflection
of that poetic pure seed. Love yourself as a poet.
Autumnal Awakening
Oh God, that Hollowness!
Oof! That soul entombed in misery,
The ragamuffin, the beggar,
Great potter’s potsherd he was,
Those decaying, yellow teeth
splashed and sprayed this world
with misery and incurable jaundice.
His trifle weight could outweigh
the fat chickens over the globe,
And eyes ever so colourless
could gobble down springs all.
The ears like the deepest gorges,
could accommodate a billion sympathies
and countless words soft,
The tongue would talk to millions,
if the opportunity arose,
Alas, the milling humanity around
pretended not to be visible at all,
People scampered past with the
careful eyes of a cautious thief;--
saving both their conscience and money.
His emotions lay buried deep
in his famished breast,
This was his treasure trove,
He kept it safe,
Afraid to take them out,
lest they slay these as well,
His bleeding heart would have
painted this planet in gloomy red.
A dog, cat poop, wrappers, dust, snoot, phlegm,
And he just another addition to these,
Almost indiscernible among his insect kingdom,--
Dusting, rottening petty cast-out.
The accusing emptiness,
And the hallowed universe around,
Holding his mocking lighthouse,
Throwing feeble, exposing light over the
fallacies lolloping under the abounding waves
of the booming sea of hilarity and well-being.
The Feminizing Man
Fragrance scented and colours prismy,
Flowers seduce with surrendering softness
and intoxicating aesthetics,
This alluring, sweet poison slays many,
Parasitically it creeps into
the hibernating, sleepy male vitality,
And the red, gushing blood of sense and sanity
turns into silly swirls of bluish oblivion and foolish
torrents,--
A marvelous decolourisation of
flesh, vision and potency!
The woman does the same with the man,--
Her moves lie under the surface,
letting loose tremors and shakes of
tamed beast clinging to feeble, unmanly chains:
the emotions, cooings and the mellowed stone,
Then she slaughters the prey most manly,
Bravo! Salutes to the femininity:
hardest heart under the shield softest.
Weakness has its strength in vulnerability,
Don’t mistake power by the steel in muscles,
Soft flowers and seductive women
thrive on the dew shower of temptations,
Eyes thirsty, pining senses;--
The altars of the insected, infatuated masculinity,
More the offerings on the altar,
more the Goddess thrives,
So many wither to bloom a smile
in her sly eyes.
But her demands from the worshipper
are never satiated,--
Greedy Goddess!
She thus hunts around,
But greed can never make one complete,
So she just remains a fraction,
Men cut themselves to the same
to complete her missing portion,
Happy Goddess then
laughs at the follies of the maimed.
Black bee, man sacrifice to
prove the worth of an ounce of femininity,
Rivers eat mountains, while the stone
cherish the fluidity of the majestic masseur,
The woman meanders to fragment the man,
Making round, harmless, coddle-able pebbles.
As the feminine apostles web around,
The caught caterpillar hums the songs of love,
The spider salivates and chuckles,
The trap of seduction,
The cobwebs of death,
The river thus triumphantly
rolls on with mighty boulders,
The song of macabre swirling
among the torrential giggle and macabrous moan.
Femininity wins through its weakness,
The flowers smile and bloom on showers of tears,
The woman makes the man a means to her end,
Travels on his strong back
to reach her destination
and
find the purpose of her life.
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