THE CIRCLE OF LIFE

Wait, my friend! Slow down, don’t run so fast;
Can’t you see that the quickest ones are coming in last?
Sit down awhile, keep your worries aside,
And come with me on this merry ride.

Watch them, moving about as though in a trance,
Treading the same circular path again and again,
What comes their way by design or chance,
Is more often than not treated with disdain.

A businessman just kicked away a diamond that lay
In his way, he was too busy screaming on his phone;
An angry boy picked it up and flung it miles away,
Thinking it to be just another ordinary stone.

A scholar passed this way sometime back,
Looking for something he’d already found,
“If only I could remember where”, he said,
As he frantically searched the ground.

See that young woman, sitting there dejected,
In the middle of that little river of tears?
A young man is standing nearby with a lifeboat,
If only she would open her eyes and ears.

That man, must catch a bus to get on a train to board a plane;
No wonder then that he seems to be going a little insane.
A thief has just managed to nick a pretty looking purse,
But the cops have seen him at it; his day’s only going to get worse.

For this is the circle of life, my friend,
A bittersweet journey with no start or end;
It cannot be explained by the mind’s logic or the intuition of the heart,
For the faster you move, the faster you’ll come back to the start.

But this mystery has to be lived to be understood,
So get back on your saddle and put on your hood,
And I’m sure you’ll enjoy this novel ride;
Just, once in awhile, leave the circle and step outside.

SEVEN DROPS OF RAIN

Seven drops of rain
land gently on my hand,
each one, I see,
has its own, unique beauty.

The first is so well groomed,
and perfectly round,
it looks like it’s seen the world
and traveled all around.

The second moves mischievously,
like a playful child,
naive and trusting,
but carefree and wild.

The third sits quietly
on my palm,
perfectly still,
content and calm.

The fourth is simply lovely
to look upon,
to mesmerize the senses
it seems to have been born.

The fifth seems awkward
but also has qualities rare;
it shields the others
with great love and care.

Number six appears to be in a fix,
for it knows not what to do,
but when it finds its niche,
it will surpass the others too.

The last, hollow and empty,
has everything all the same,
the nameless one,
to which you could give any name.

-Written in 2011

I’M ALRIGHT

Things will be okay, I hear everyone say,
But though the prices are rising, my wages are not;
Even the mice that stayed here have run away,
For a loaf of bread is all the food I’ve got.

I was told in a dream, just this afternoon,
That I need not worry about dying anytime soon,
For Heaven is overbooked, there isn’t a single available berth,
And Hell has been reserved for the policy-makers on Earth.

My wife is weeping, the floor needs sweeping,
But the broom was sold last week for a bowl of rice,
And all my possessions are in the landlord’s keeping,
For everything, even memories, can be sold for a price.

But these bad times will pass, they say,
And Frankenstein’s monster will go away;
But I fear that Dracula will take his place,
And Mr. Hyde will show his face.

I’m used to this, I’m alright, I’m okay,
But I wonder if the greedy and corrupt know,
That by exploiting others in this way,
It is the seeds of their own destruction that they sow.

Because, for every silver platter that may shine,
In the palaces of gold where the rich do dine;
It is the poor, who with their hands of grime,
Have wiped away the mud and slime.

– Written in 2011

SMALL WONDERS

The mesmerizing, magical melody of music,
A song full of warmth, like a gently burning wick;
The sound of silence, full of wisdom unbroken,
A word of comfort and hope, well spoken.

Giant, dark clouds bringing the welcome rain,
A roar of thunder that dwarfs Earthly pain,
The whispering of tides on an ocean vast,
The whistling of the wind, full of memories past.

The comforting chirp of a bird on a lonely stretch of road,
A helping hand out of nowhere, to carry half your load;
A night lit up by the light of many a radiant star,
The mirror of self-awareness, revealing how lovely you really are.

-Written in Feb 2012

THE GOLDEN GRAVE

There was once a man who had a brilliant mind,
Innovative and clever, they say he was one of a kind;
But in living his life he was not very smart,
For he distanced himself from those closest to his heart.

He had no time for his wife, for work was all he did;
And though he was a compassionate man, they say,
He screamed and shouted at his young kids,
When asked by them if he would like to play.

Gradually, he built his empire of gold,
Making “friendships” for mutual gain;
And he lost touch with friends of old,
Those, who had walked with him in the rain.

And slowly, he climbed the corporate ladder,
And got everything that he had ever wanted;
But strangely, it only made him feel sadder,
When, his impoverishing wealth, he flaunted.

His children filled their plates with their silver spoons,
And wined and dined away the days and afternoons,
And as they raced down an empty street one night,
They found the Reaper waiting in the pale moonlight.

And one day, his wife went away,
He never could understand why;
He’d given her diamonds and pearls
And everything else money could buy.

He breathed his last, one beautiful summer’s day,
When the grass glittered like emeralds in the Sun,
And as he had willed, in a golden grave he lay,
But to grieve for him, there came no one.