Crusade on Humanity

Fie on man!Fie on man

cried the world in unison

good for nothing we all are,

preached men to one another

Ants go in a straight line,

bees sing eternal songs sublime

what we can do proper, sighs man

other than ebb away unto drowsy drain.

Cats  trust in their curious  mother

Monkeys can jump without any bother

Man, world scorns,good for nothing

for he believes few after much thinking.

Fie on man! Fie on man

cried the world in unison

animals are kept atop a pedestal

while man is thrown into padded cell.

I look at the face of world

and ask with concerned bold

"World, isn't human who made grid?

Is it not humans who decides good?"

Ants cant dream of cloud nine

Monkeys cant walk in great style,

Cats cant muse and bees cant perceive,

Man is the one who bestows world life.

Purpose for life, ,animals don't have

programmed they are by driver divine,

Eat, drink ,merry their only goals

but, man only can frown at gushing flows.

Fie on man you say not in future

for the most sinful in our culture

is better than most disciplined creature,

for the power of volition is only ours, my dear.

Crusade on Humanity

Fie on man!Fie on man

cried the world in unison

good for nothing we all are,

preached men to one another

Ants go in a straight line,

bees sing eternal songs sublime

what we can do proper, sighs man

other than ebb away unto drowsy drain.

Cats  trust in their curious  mother

Monkeys can jump without any bother

Man, world scorns,good for nothing

for he believes few after much thinking.

Fie on man! Fie on man

cried the world in unison

animals are kept atop a pedestal

while man is thrown into padded cell.

I look at the face of world

and ask with concerned bold

"World, isn't human who made grid?

Is it not humans who decides good?"

Ants cant dream of cloud nine

Monkeys cant walk in great style,

Cats cant muse and bees cant perceive,

Man is the one who bestows world life.

Purpose for life, ,animals don't have

programmed they are by driver divine,

Eat, drink ,merry their only goals

but, man only can frown at gushing flows.

Fie on man you say not in future

for the most sinful in our culture

is better than most disciplined creature,

for the power of volition is only ours, my dear.

The Whites In-Between

How I wish to stay there, a lone state
where the clocks wont decide one's run,
nor the people busy in deciding other's fate
Place where other's claim not from my life's urn.

Nay, it is not a sleep or slumber, I yearn for,
but a valley down there away from the sight
of force brutal and emotional, tossing ever
men into the abyss of mindless death.

I shall rest there, the secluded spot lush green,
which isn't smothered  by guileless guilt ,
and brook gaily caresses the pebbles clean
taking away burdens of unearned  sorrows built.

This place shall never be mapped by others,
for it is not of this world, full of activity,
but where body rest while mind builds
world unfettered, unclaimed by none for eternity.

Sitting there, under the lone tree afar
laughing with the free breeze  unspoken,
apparently inactive, yet living as a wild flower
in between the blacks shall hide I, unseen.

White cotton and black cats

Gazing at sky atop, I see myriad shaped clouds

that are prisms perfect , under the tree  I ponder

if these are nature's cotton or product of manufacturers'

Oh! white cloud, that makes purest snow blush in wonder.

Memories ah! those lasting moments in moving times,

that aren't vivid in facts yet clear in heart's trove

passes thro' fields of my colorful consciousness,

making me gape after it, in a lone state.

The memories are silver pure and emotions true,

I wonder if they really in the past existed

in this world mundane where we lived and live,

Perhaps, like the clouds up there, unnatural products of mood.

Oh! I pine for pristine past with glad grandeur

present filled of facts, what are thy?, I wonder.

Sky changes from clear blue to dreary black,

 Behold o man! the product of kindness slack 

Alas! I get drenched in rain that is real

providence, I say, you are very cruel.

Regrets, O God!, thorns that prick hard,

long after they die, in unseen places

the past is farce but pain, its gnawing

 like a slimy snail in apple, decimating.

How much I pine to realize

that white is true and rain a mirage,

child's smile playing on sweet lips

are truer than an old man's withering sighs.

  

Plates and palettes

I was for my mother waiting
with huge plate which would get serving,
ignorant of how I look then
but eyeing always the across person.

Shh... I hear the anklets of my beloved
I breathe the fragrance of thy beloved
the merry giggling so lovely
her, I saw with containers filled fully.

Her eyes are twinkling and a lovely smile
adorned her enrapturing unsullied face,
all the way came the ever loving she
just to serve her dear child, me.

Aghast and dejected I was
when she served my opposite mass
busy and bereft was I and forgot
to look at my own plate my front.

"Why is it mother that you didn't serve me?"
I moaned catching her feet and grasping her knee
She looked at me and laughed at my childish tantrums,
patted my cheeks to show the truth of conundrums.

Held down my head in weeping
and gazed at the plate of my yearning,
realized I my mother's laugh and silent sermon,
"World is image of you son,
open your eyes and stop being blind,
look its the mirror and smokes all around."

Look my comrades at thy opposite person
an image and reflection, not a moron.

Turn the torch within, O traveler!
thy shall hear mirth of mother ethereal.

A Blotch

There he is, swaying in midst of canvas eternal
flying past the disdain houses of cities mournful,
galloping away from the valleys silent and pure
he travels purposeful, apparently,to a destination sure.

He looks like a ink stain left by child
in impish impulse on the vast sheet spread
but, truly he made the art perfect
the sky is naught, without this insult.

"Where are you speeding my friend?
In this world, where all search for the dear end"
queried I my white bodied astral traveler,
white cloud, drifting over my head without a mutter.

The cloud paused at the hurdle I placed,
"Following I am my fellow brethren ahead
for they know the destination for this advent."
answered the blotch and away it went.

"Are you sure that feet, you should plant
on the same soil in the lands distant
where thy comrades weep in the end
to the un-felt rocks and trees hard?"

The passing cloud halted at my shouts
letting his fellow white soldiers  pass,
"Grateful to you my fellow voyager
for thy had revealed the truth always clear."

The blue patch revealed where a blotch was
sky still perfect and serene as it always is
for the cloud, started a journey to not afar
but to break the self confining  glass jar.

Blotch disappears once it sees purpose
of the impish hand that put him in place,
hand that holds the treasures of all
is waiting for us to pause and call.

Sky Perfect

Painting I was from above sky
so marvelous and unique it is
'things' which exist now,"Why?"
you sternly probe, answer is and was
'Will' of I after all, large canvas I
created called it 'World' to display art
done with loving brushes and many hues
sky as palette along with living heart

Painting I was....

Trees, shrubs,atoms,hills,oceans..what not?
at last, painting I was humans, cherished prize
of mine,I dipped brush in sky and white blot
it formed...I named it cloud white

Painting I was...

Its completing, my cherished prize
was being painted and oops!!
brushes fell up and vanished above
I thought of no full stops.

But how? I pondered and will
an answer for this pertinent question
to make it more work thrill
Simple, I descended into my composition

becoming a part of my painting
by body,mind and heart decorate
while I in this plane enjoying
my creation so brilliantly attune...

Painting I am...
From here- the present, future and history
watching from the window, sky my palette
I whisper,"Sky Perfect",part of my glory
I look at this world where I paint and live
smile and conjure my magic spell
of discrimination, devotion and many
but still, its perfect.. for it's work and will
of creator who is seen in forms many
'World perfect...the title of my final painting.

I am creator and I the created.