when i tried to tell

when i tried to tell
it was not enough
the words, prose or poem
went astray
the guard asked me to pay
the tax to enter
the house
once mine,
but i had empty pockets
with no desire to count
what i never could
ind, the curency of care, concern

and compassion
had taken its toll
of the wealth
i had lost,
now you ask,
if i will let the
tide sweep away
all the nests of animals
that bury their destiny under the sand
on sea shore
with no allowance
for disquiet
i have no answer
may be i do not need an answer
am i afraid
or is it just a trade
of love, respect and devotion
with goals, sacrifice and passion

when will you say, it is the end of the day

when will you say, it is the end of the day

the spring is far away

and the work is really without pay

when will you say

that life was useful

and the mistakes were meaningful

you can now sit back

rest and retire

let the smells of roses

lure the bee

share the honey

and assure thee

my life could not be as transparent as it needed to be

but then life is still there,

i will walk more

please help me stand

on this cliff of thorns

without wavering for moments lost

i will try and reach there

where it does not matter,

who is in and out , where

a handful of flour

why should i ask you to contribute a  handful of flour, instead of larger contribution, asked he, the walker on the thorny path. He then replied, lest i beocme too dependent on those who contribute mounds and thus start influencing the minds.

festival is over

festival is over

rich menus and richer were the eaters

i am sure that some were the beaters

of the drum


telling whole world about what we did not know

that taste is not the tether

and we should really bother

about life

and its lost meanings

who knows

when will we have

the next round of festival

when spring will surmise

and the summer will surprise

winter will wait

as if

the monsoon has found a mate

in the clouds of twinkling smiles

over the high tide

let me hope,

we will find

the essence of taste

in the aroma of breaths

that are and will remain

reminders of the recluse

i lured the squirrels in my garden

with little berries
i lured the squirrels in my garden
did not mind when sparows came
why will i bother about
the intrusion by babblers

now that i have squandered all the bread
cat comes and asks her share
what can i give her
i have no bread
but then i have the spirit
and the will to give
will wait till
the crop matures
and i can make bread again

morning meditations

morning meditations on deeper meanings can only demonstrate what we wish to know but cannot know, for our search is often punctuated by unwillingness to be surprised

unbound, unasked, and unsuspected

wonderful thought

may be time has wrought

a small idol

of peace

let it adorn your window


who knows when will it shine by

the rays of morning

unbound, unasked, and unsuspected

of singing

songs of delight

sunrise today

why is the light so delightful today

has sun given way

to its insistence

to shower glow without its fury of heat

or is it just the dew’s delusion

to survive in the lap of hopes

which are nourished by

meandering river

may be the stones have been wrought

as if the time has sought

leave of you , O Kalli today morning

please bless all

who pray to you, with palms big and small

fill their haert with compassion for those

whose mornings bear the plights

of deprived nights

on roadside

in slums

0r a widow’s clums

of dried grass

woven into a basket

to bring flowers to your temple

commitment is not easy, but concern is

commitment is not easy, but concern is

the journey is tough

but the retreats are relaxing

why should revisiting be easier

and designing new paths  be so tough

is it the uncertainty which makes it complex or

the lack of readiness for surprise that takes it toll


let me ask myself, what would i love more

being taken for granted for what i was known to be

or given a chance to be inconsistent

for what i do not know at all

seeking solace in sun dried shadows

seeking solace in sun dried shadows

does not last for ever

listen my friend, look at the past

when imprints of your trust

had shrunken the path ahead

ship will sail again,

sails have rested still

on the faltering mast