Pathetic Woes

(Sometimes, money matters are so worse, and sad...)

I remember the cry of a child
While the night was still young
She was just a poor little kid
Living across the neighborhood

Fatherless she grew, for
As a child she never knew,
Of so many of her mother's
God forsaken friends visiting

Her anger was visible
As she dared to call
The very young kids
In the neighborhood
"Shut-up ye A$$holes."

Was she even ten, or
May be eight or nine
With pent up anger
She would hit just to
Make her point, the
Rude kid that was

What can a poor soul say
When each night she has
To stay up until late
Just so she could sleep
Alone in her own bed

The kid was tired each day
There was nothing her mom
Would protect her from
She was a daily scape goat
For those who would pay

What weeping was that,
I did not call them who guard
It did not occur to me that
She was their bread winner
Each and every night, in need

Two days later, they left
Never seen in any town
Or city that I have known,
May be the mother knew
That I was to call someone
Who would protect her
From the dingy sad home

Wonder why the high school
Kids, visited them during day
As the woman stayed out
And the beds banged all day
She had yet to pay her bills
On some days she would lay..

Freedom For All...

I see the blue skies
Over the swinging trees
Near a home in the meadows
In the eyes of the pit bull
Very hurt and dependant
Entirely on his master's kindness
With looks that show his sad state
Unable to hide them although he tries
Still hoping to run freely in that field
Of freedom and joy, even though
It is in his imagination..
Irony how close we are and similar
Despite living in different forms...

Magical.... Musical Gift

Let me keep looking
At this unopened gift
That my beloved sent
From yonder with love

I nay not know what it holds
Is that a letter, or a box of gold?
Tied in a beautiful velvety cloth
Soft as finest silk gold bordered

With a hue that matches the sky blue
Spreading a mild perfume of berries true
Or apples in spring with vigor and swing
Green and sour as would a mango bring

Each time I look at it, I hear Him call me
With love from days bygone yet as new
I hear Him from the yard, or from stairs
I run outside or glancing through window

I know it is Your fragrance that I so feel
Krishna, it is Your love I carry in my heart
When I close my eyes, I hear you play flute
Spinning melodies, weaving music to heal

Lo, I feel His kindness encompass my life
In the darkest night, bringing the light
Of millions of stars sparkling the skies
Shearing any triste with plenitude of smiles

Watch "lord krishna flute music |RELAXING MUSIC YOUR MIND| BODY AND SOUL |yoga music *9*" on YouTube
https://youtu.be/HkAtsPqcCL8

Spirit Like A Beacon!

Like a bubbling spring she was, the first time when I saw her!
Laughing, running, and playing was she everywhere!
It was as if you wanted to hold a bunch of flowers all in your hand
Some would go out into the cold as you handle them tender!
She was ethereal, I thought, her spirit so bright and beaming
I saw some time later, she was a soul that seen many things
Like the river ganga near Varanasi, she bears all the responsibilities
Like a vessel full to the brim, never showing if she is grim
Her people around her as if travelling in tranquil in a vessel
Life is kind but not always, when I saw her later, she was
In a huge turmoil as if her vessel was struggling in a typhoon
Yet her poise was great, as she served them with generosity
Generating out of her lovable spirit, and bearing all the weight
Yet never feeling afraid of the thunderous floods that followed
He left her company after a long life with care and spirit,
Even when he could not get out of his bed, he supported her and heard
Controlling with a glance, as kids were uneasy with the care bestowed
As she vested on them and they grumped.
She was shattered, but not in spirit, standing against all odds,
She supported her children and gave them solace, and strength
Little does she reflect on the unstoppable past, she like a guiding light
Is always showing the path following his lesson of Karma siddhant,
Never complaining of the hurricanes, the wonderful person that she is!
How blessed am I to be their loving child!                

Writing Tips

I plan writing

A Haiku each morning

Shed some laziness

Continue writing

As the day Progresses

And Dusk enters

Revise and rewrite

If possible, a masterpiece

Of letters unspoken

Is that difficult

To be more productive

And call it a day!!

Of course you can

It is so natural to you

A star you are! Yay!!

An Attempt To Paint A Portrait

I want to imagine painting a self portrait

With eye lashes so long as to almost 

Touch the skies, 

Eyes looking like sparkling jewels, 

Radiating looks that can create 

Waves of love, hiding in some

Inner corners of the soul.

I look into the mirror to find

My eyes, lacking luster, over the years

And tears all dried leaving a residue

Of degenerative macular vision, veins

Almost drying out and leaving

The image dusty, tampered, 

On the tearing retina and mind,

A reflection of what a soul felt, 

Despite covered in dust.

Levering a hurt that is a constant agony

Hidden burden over ages,

Through cycles of countless lives and deaths.

That look, those eyes once had, witnessed

Countless number of souls fall to the ground, 

To be an image in those gleaming lenses, 

Are now, dense and deep seated,

With cheek bones protruding up, 

As the facial muscles wore out.

A face that once was as fresh as 

An apple of the eye, 

Turned saggy, wrinkled, with chopped lips

Laughter that once would resound music

Of hundred sitars, was working hard, 

In keeping the voice without 

Creating a hoarse, reverberating 

Heart wrenching cough, spitting out

Yellow base phlegm from the inner walls 

of the corroded sacs of Lungs, struggling hard

To remain alive, and keep a form, a smile

To that bag, that holds the toothless smile, 

Pretending to be elated by the failures

As if indicating the spirit 

Of an unkempt body, 

With a withering, frail, skeleton, 

So flawless, that 

It shines through the dried eyes

With a recognition of seeing the relative, 

A long lost son, a prodigal child, that was

Never ever seen in life,

The unborn, to face the world

With faces forlorn, for raking the traditions, 

Breaking rules, exploited, raped, and helpless

And young, of a scared unwed mom, 

An extradition by closed society 

Sans compunction, pity or love...

For a millennium, until the spring rose and spread

The beaming light from the blue bonnets, 

To heal the heart, and the soul and Universe...

From a distance

I saw you, raising out of dust

Crops to feed the people, cattle,

Pets and birds and some fish

I saw you hurry before dawn,

Caring the hard working oxen,

Tilling the land to create the grooves, 

For sowing seeds to raise golden crops,

Carrying fodder and fertilizers

Sometimes pesticides, 

Mostly engine oil, to help draw

Water through the engine pipes, 

Reaching the barren lands, 

Irrigating the soil giving birth

To lush green paddy, pregnant

With golden seed pods, and kernel, 

While humbly drooping their backs...

Alas, the crops..did not raise

In one corner of the world,

When the morning rose..

The dusty winds, pouring rains, 

Flooding the lands striking

Tornadoes, whither is the farmer?

Harvesting, not grain, but husk

Lost everything in a blue moon

On the lands, lying high, 

The grasshoppers and beetles, 

That cleared the endeared harvest

Leaving him with loads of loans

For buying fertilizer to burden...

Most venerable farmer, who has

Caused you this? Why have you

Turned yourself, you- who feeds 

The many, and tills for many, into

A lifeless body, a statistic?

I hear about you and visualize

The pain, unable to reach you

Other than seeing you in heart, 

From a distance...