Heap Of Words

On a birthday eve: "Age shall mellow me. Tomorrow." Observation: (not mine. Courtesy: Butter) "The body ages continuously, but the mind ages discretely."

The easiest to begin, the toughest to end, Procrastination, I think, is much like the Fiend That casts- of tempt and greed- that fine woven net, And departs with a wake, of sorrow and regret. The 'What if.."s and "Had I.."s, little more of use, Than that of lament, and an afternoon's muse. Yet, procrastinate I do, not learn to recognize, The dangling carrot, the fiend in disguise. Not learn from mistakes, no lessons from the past, "Oh! there'll be time...", Time that runs out fast. The eleventh hour that comes, a sob and a sniff, And there I go again- "Had I..", "What if.."...

It is like alcohol. So bitter at first that you want to get it out of your system that very instant. Addictive when it starts settling comfortably in your head. It establishes comfort zones. It makes you want to resist change. It engenders satisfaction; in the very least, satisfaction that allows you to come to terms with your ineptitudes. It provokes thought, leads some of us to effusiveness on inert substrates (like paper). Concurrently, it avoids arguments or defensive stances. It makes one dislike acquaintances and value the ones closer to heart. It looks like a necessary condition for growing up. On this note, though in an entirely different vien, I am reminded of Alexander Pope's Ode to Solitude: I 1How happy he, who free from care 2The rage of courts, and noise of towns; 3Contented breaths his native air, 4 In his own grounds. II 5Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 6W...

If there is one, of all emotions known, Inimical to the core, FEAR and FEAR alone. I fail to love, for fear of rejection, I fail to aspire, for fear of dejection. I fail to express, for fear of ridicule, I fail to be me, lest the '’me' is uncool! I choose the lesser peak, afraid I may fail, I chose the path most taken, all exhorts to no avail. I fight for hollow opinions, afraid of losing face, Yet put up with violations, afraid to attract disgrace. Afraid to be the first, I choose to simply follow, Deify the few less afraid, with servitude hollow. I avoid a moonlight stroll, for fear of the dark, I suppress my ebullience, for fear jealous neighbors hark. Oh! Was I to shed this mantle, this grounding chain! Oh! Was I to experience joys the same as pain! Oh! Was I to cast off fear, to make this burden light; Oh! Was I to experience life unhindered, unafraid to take flight.

They just walk into your head, They don't care to knock, or weigh timing, They whine for attention, other thoughts misled, And before you know it, they've begun rhyming! They lead you to aha! s, reduce you to aah! s, They cut you to quick; they elude when you hunt; They stoop to gibberish, worth less than Blah! They're the weapon of wit, best used when blunt. They drip with passion, tenderness, ecstasy, They explode with humor, or tickle like a child, They're magic carpets, woven of threads of fantasy; They the ooh! s and aah! s; screams of girls gone wild. They're the perfect expression, every woman covets, They're the power of a saint, oracle and presidents, They can mean the whole world, can be empty threats, They can uplift the masses, or charge up regiments! They can unite nations, yet put them into lots; Witty when measured, when unchecked- convey delusion. A score of weird symbols tied up in a knot, They bless humanity with the power of expression.

Sometimes, I like to feel the tear As it rolls down the cheek; Sometimes, When I get too much to bear, I wish that I were weak. Always, Proudly, Pride's the virtue of the strong; Always, Proudly? The Strong's too proud to be wrong... Sometimes, I wish that I were less Proud of the perfect self I'd one day be, Sometimes, I wish to accept the mess That the Present is- and so the Future be. Ambition, Indefatigable that it is, More of a burden, than a bliss. Never, I wipe the rolling tear. I'd rather let it dry Never, Abandon the Pride held dear, Nor give up the chance to try. In the age of innocence, when ambition was asnore , I read of the deer who set about to explore The perfume that teased it- day out and in- And wasted its days chasing, that ever lay within.

The pencil, Sharpened and ready. Fountains, Bursting to spring forth. Uncork The wine- let it flow! Dried up? Why is it so? "Come." I say, But today it won't. Pointless This exercise- I stop. "But do Come tomorrow." I implore. And thus A whim I chase; an abyss explore. I'll wait.

Ok so what do you do when you absolutely don't want to work? I write completely useless Vogon Poetry that would come in use one day when I catch hold of victims for my Poetry Appreciation Chairs. Warning: Don't read this if you can avoid. ahem ahem.. The Time has come, lady n gent, For Anarchy to be a form of government! We are The Mango People; of the masses And- kings of cliché- for the masses, by the masses! We want no kings, no ministers too, No Hitlers we need, nor would wannabe legends do. We want no rules- of Gods and law- no sir! I care not if the motor of the world stops to whir. I’ll work not if I want not. Period . You guessed it- the reason for this ballad. Still. I’ll work not if I want not to! I’ll sleep late if I do want to. I’ll want my share of grain I’ll contribute by way of refrain From useless poetry for its more than plain That all it does is fry your brain

The morn is here, you said you'd come; I have stories to tell, and news with welcome. I'm ready you see, for you said you'd come Your presence I feel, and my heart begins to hum. I'll know when you come, I'll hear your tread. Still I need to watch the road, for I dread The unspeakable- what if this shred Of Hope were false- Oh! I'd rather not instead. I hope it rains, it'll settle the dust. It mars my vision, for watch I must. But no! Rain may defer you! I'll just Bear the dust and my ears to trust. Have you noticed? Time stops when one waits. Otherwise, it just rushes in minutes, in hours and in dates. O the illusions that this Demon-God creates! But come you will, I know, no matter how late. The noon has gone, soon dusk will arrive. Its rather late, and I know you'll contrive Some silly excuse, and then as usual drive Me into the rage and from laughter to derive. But come you must, for excuses or not. Though punctuality was never your strong spot....

--Disclaimer: As against my own principle, I am making a lot of generalizations here. Caution.-- I read an interesting opinion today, about women. Quoting D.H. Lawrence, from "Women in Love": "And woman is the same as horses: two wills act in opposition inside her. With one will, she wants to subject herself utterly. With the other she wants to bolt, and pitch her rider to perdition." I won't be fair if I deny the first bout of horror (no doubt, feminist in origin) that came to my head; to sample a few- Not a horse, surely! And so judgmental! To define an entire race in mere 40 words!- and so the rest. But a calmer examination of these words opened up another universe of meaning to me. No doubt there is more to women than horses alone. Of course, men can't ride on their backs (and backs alone i mean). But come to think of it, there are two wills inside me at times; and I am a woman- though a poor sample set, but that is the beauty of generalities, who cares ...

A day won't pass without the wish, "Oh! Had I limbs just more than four!" "Oh! Could I cut miles with just a swish!" "Oh! Had the day just a couple hours more!" A night won't pass without the dream, "Oh! Were I the Kent with super speed!" "A personal robot with the laser beam..." "I'll just do this, then I'll be free-ed ..." The train has arrived but the crowd's too slow; Fingers don't match the speed of thought flow! Oh! Why does not the green light glow! No use any longer, of the horn I blow? So much to do, so little time; Oh! Gather cant you, from this hasty rhyme? Oh! How I hate that hourly chime! Tardiness my friend, is nothing short of crime! Entrained in haste does Humanity run; Nobody's noticed? We've left behind the fun... And where to? I see no ribbon No crowds that cheer, no trophy that's given. The stone just might be rolling downhill, No moss upon it- yes- but neither a will. Ru...

The ignorant child, hard at work; Building forts from grains of sand, Patting and pinching- that foolish hand- Ignorant yet of fates that lurk Amongst the brine, ready to leap And dissolve- ere he blinks- the clumsy heap. The dappled painter, lost in hues; Painting worlds and scenes and men, With patient strokes and skillful pen. The pointless reds, the useless blues That Time will fade and Humanity judge For but a moment, before the impatient nudge. The mumbling believer, chanting hymns; Counting rosaries; lengthy epics reads, Strangely penitent, for unknown deeds, Forever fearing imagined Gods' imagined whims. Pray, does he, and baseless ideas extol, Of Gods that rule, if they exist at all. The gilded dancer, forever chasing grace; Why steps in time to the tapping beat That cares a moment for her rushing feet, And cares far seldom for the ecstatic face? Dance does she to beat the beat? Or dance does she to liberate her feet? The joy of feats is joy forever When Soul does dabble i...

... this was prompted by the title that I cannot claim ownership to. thanx Amrut :)... What is it that dissolves the knees, That engenders a motive, but to please! Oh that need to be needed, that discovers fruition Oh that need to be pinched, lest it be illusion? Of the beliefs in mankind, sudden resurrected, Of the apotheosis, and of idols fresh erected. "Please dont explain via cerebral reactions, The brain's but brain, Hearts' the seat of action." The primping and preening, blest now with cause, The glow thereafter, following the applause. Not to mention, the endless hours of wait, The bloom's to blame, the final petal said "hate." Of hearts and arrows, scratched on all at hand, On stone- for forever; for expression- but on sand. The pride of possession, the relief to belong, The promises of faith, vowing loyalties strong. Thus marked by sweetness is the beginning hour, Ignorant of the approaching dusk, when Sweet turns Sour. Strange is this Love-Dov...

The star went out; the crucible- empty with yearning- Overflows with hope and the light of the burning Lamp of Desire; the shame of the Indifference That you, unaware of my Existence, Subscribe me to; as I grind myself into Oblivion; But for one Hope, just one- to become your minion- That refuses to die, even in the wake of the persistent And crushing wheels of cold cruel Reason. I see no future, Is there even a present? Yet, why my stammers That seek acknowledgment, Bear no fruit, yet refuse to dry; No matter how you ignore or how I try. At times I am jealous Of your heart- plain callous- Untainted by a pointless love, Free to fly as the birds above...

...now the sequel... :) Adam's in Heaven- all's white and pink, Incidentally, and revelry and drink- Supplied with a cloud and wings and a harp, (And he's cut his fingers, for the string's too sharp.) Contented, nevertheless, he sets to explore, The treasures of Heaven, and Nymphs galore. Fairies there were none, though Angels untold, And wisdom they claimed, couple of eons old! Little use had he, for wisdom or for old, Though a smith he could use, to fashion out of gold A halo- much needed, and very much in vogue- With ample studded diamonds and carvings baroque. This purpose in mind, Adam set about to find ( Smart enough to bring a cloud- trailing behind- To hide into, if St. Peter comes to look For the illegal immigrant, surely a crook? ) A goldsmith ( hopefully a Princess too, Seeking some repairs in her golden shoe. ) Heaven being Heaven, he chanced upon a pair, Engaged in the very act of footwear repair. A Nymph came along, with a slab of gold, To whet out an egg...

... this one is with reference to a dear lawyer, who would have behaved similarly in a similar situation (would behave, rather) or so I believe.. . Adam when dead (may the Soul rest in peace) " Khul ja Simsim! ", the Golden Gates, if you please. " Hold it, dearie! " bellowed Saint Peter- pretty much To Adam's disdain- " the golden handle, please, unclutch. " " I have been good, loved my wife, Not hurt a soul, swear upon my life! " " Tch tch.. my dear.. you ignorant souls, Your road ahead is none, but breaks ans potholes! Good and bad, is but a poor measure To gain or deny, this House of Pleasure! Net Present Value of your life's worth- To the time of your death, from the time of your birth- Was taught to me lately, by God's own Minion, And jolly good it is, if you ask my opinion. Though too much math, and lots of operators, How thankful we are, to your human calculators! Number of people happy, minus the number sad On account of...

Is it just human nature, to seek appreciation? Or is it a weakness or dependent elation? Is the prouder one- who hides behind indifference- Better than the humbler- who seeks a barter of reverence?

Why are things in life, one ought to do, Juxt opposed to ones one's not to do? Why is chocolate sinful, but beans the best, Why is a deadline due, just when one wants to rest?

Imagine, strange a world it would be, Were, eyes, there not, nothing there to see! Appearances, i believe, would no longer matter, Important it would be, what's curved, what's flatter. Mornings would be, when the birds begin to sing, Night it would be, when the cold begins to sting. Faces would no longer, maintain a facade, Life would be simpler, devoid of charade. Touch would not be, so personal a feeling, Instrument it would become, for day to day dealing. Nature would not be something to write about, Unless its the chirps, or the sounds out loud. Senses would heighten, of hear and of feel, Though no image there'd be, before man to kneel. Maybe then would we judge, people by their sound, Or by the shape of their faces, angular or round. Then too, I wonder, would we learn, To get past appearances, and begin to turn Our notions and prejudices, to be based upon thoughts And hearts, that our senses today, so easily block? Reach would we then, to what's inside? Today whi...

... the context of this poem is a return jab for a certain sexist who believes (a matter of joke only, so the feminist may relax) that women can't read maps/ find their way ... :D I wish there was a rabbit hole, that, Like Alice, took you to Wonderland, A land so good or a land so bad, Nonetheless, not the one you've always had. Does the world ever tire you? Me, it does, through and through, Laugh when I don't, I find, Something amiss, undefined. Reason there's none, ennui, i guess, I need therefore not, this matter, stress, My tiny brain (without that extra pound, Of which, a certain sexist, so profound, Likes to gloat, that he may, Use that pound to find his way). :D

Null and empty, nothing whatsoever, Why's its founder deemed so clever? Round with a purpose? A cage of sorts? Lo! Empty inside! Neither lines nor dots! Engineers' delight, for unbalanced loads, Bankers' pain, when currency notes! An ambitious target, for cutting costs, An avoidable figure, when scheduling lots! Reduces to nothing, when sits above a line, But slip it beneath, now infinite! Improves tenfold, when occurs to the right, When put to the left, loses its might! The fact that it exists; so, nothing is something... Or does it proclaim that something is nothing?

' Deep '- is what i prefer to think- you are; ' High '- is where i hold you- and ' Far '- is where I think- you stand; ' Honored ' -I am- when you hold my hand. Of no God I knew or believed, I prayed to none, for none I grieved; My self, I held in utmost pleasure, Along you came, and in good measure Gave my pride a rise and a fall; I wished I was you, or none at all. I aspired to be you, yet didn't dare To touch your pedestal, or your honour share. Oh how I fought this superior intervention, Best I was, before that serendipitous introduction; For choose I can't between you or my pride, Make me not, i pray, my soul divide. I deserved you not, or you didn't me; Either way, part ways did we. But strange is this sorrow- or lack of it, I shed no tear, not the tiny bit. We knew the end, from the beginning, Fools were we? Gambled in the hope of winning? We took from us, what we won't miss, We are now ready, to seek new...

Pride- some might call it 'emotion' ; for me its a 'virtue'.

... (as) the silent waters bear the moon, She sits with latte, I with blue lagoon ; ...the ripple rises, ah, but dies, Hang on, for I see another arise! So with time does love renew, Afresh the canvas with novel hue; The ripples but moments on waters of emotion, Forever afresh, and bubbling with motion; So what if one doth die! So what if the moments fly! New ones in the offing! The bells that chime... ... mark the eternity on the evanescent time ......