Chosen

Chosen

Flowers blossom bough to bough,

Pollen unseen cloud fields

Strapped to bees knees, gold;

Fruits unripe cradle seed

To ripen, succulent and gleam

With winds of change, the sands of time,

A clock within ticks and chimes

Waters run, babbling gay,

Wooded creeks and streams,

Running the lengths of land, flow

To join rivers and seas,

Cycling through sky and earth,

Showering down as rain

With winds of change, the sands of time

The clock within ticks and chimes

Creatures all, great and small,

Run free amidst the land,

Bound free, by invisible will,

In law, order and peace

All work by a rhythm divine,

With winds of change, the sands of time,

As the clock ticks on and chimes

Man alone, proud and feared,

Stands exempt to the chime,

Free to sin, cheat and lie,

And to repent, plead and cry

Through the winds of change, the sands of time

He stands alone bent, withered,

His back broken, forever he bows,

By Choices he Chose.....

Vivek

The Years in Our Lives

The Years in Our Lives

Barely does a calendar year draw to a close with hordes of slightly tipsy screaming people welcoming in the new one, that its claims to fame are rudely overridden.

Just as everyone is getting used to scribbling 2010 as the New Year, Pranab Mukherjee announces the new budget. Uproar follows with the headlines splaying the new budget across pages 1 and 6 while the poor, “Now Old” calendar year is restricted to a superscript in font size 4.

As our teeming population ranging from suicidal farmers to homicidal techies struggles to come to terms with the latest ‘Aloo’ prices, a new disease hits them out of the blue.

Armed with a virtual cornucopia of defences, the academic year is here. As tech savvy teens move into ‘Suicide Mode’ and dive into waters infested with Archimedes, Calculus and other such menaces, parents primarily mothers are hit hard by this disease.

“Mummy, Chai...” tea, coffee and maybe even Red Bull resonate from the troubled teen’s room. And Mommy Dearest, her Hawaii chappals flapping climbs out of bed, down the stairs and up in repetitive sequences.

Amidst all this, other less ambitious years announce themselves buried among the news; that this year will be a Solar Year or a Lunar Year or the yea1r with the last solar eclipse.

Observing all this, I am reminded of an eminent person’s words – “It’s not the years in your life that count, it’s the life in your years.”

Or is it the other way around?? Somehow I can’t seem to be remember....

 By Vivek

Illusions

Illusions

Like the sky azure,

Restless, Stagnant

Like still waters green,

Some distant pond unclean

Like the ceaseless motion

Of the constant sidewalk

Like the peaceful notion

Of a coming storm

Like sheets dusty in homes forlorn

Living off memories of pleasures borne

Like musty books on creaking racks

Silently demanding their yesteryears back

Like ageing toys’ cries

For reasons why they were passed by,

Like a depressed mind’s pause,

To search for suicide, just cause

Just so, my heart

Hesitates in its stride

Harbouring hopes, dreams

To break and build alike

Vivek

Ode

Ode

"What swansong, with what praise,

You, do I appraise

Someone, who in my every moment

Resides by my side,

These words meaningless, leaves

Brown, Dried

Yet I scatter at your feet,

To crackle, wither, rustle silently,

Saying I love you intensely"

By Vivek                                                                           

Petrichor

Petrichor 

Clouds clash together,

Dark, grave

As jagged swords

Of lightning fence

The din of applause

Gives respite, pause

Thundering between

Thrust and parry

The moist earth, wanton

Tendrils sends

Of vapours fresh

To meet showers imminent

Nature’s faces

Collide, collude

In unison waltz

To symphonies unheard

Teaching those

Cowering under

Macs, umbrellas, galoshes alike

To not differences see

And drift rashly apart

But let them lie

And in unison be

Of life’s symphony a part

                                                                                     

By Vivek