Child

Unkempt was the child.
Face was dirty. Come, the child was dirty.
Scratches on his arms and legs,
with blotches on his face.

Walked with a slow gait,
almost lazy one would say.
Hands moved as through water
and the head was bowed.

The plumpy cop on the beat
waved at the child.
"You! Make a hasty retreat!!"

And the look of the child was anger
Red as fire and hot as blood.
"No mercy!" screamed the look,
A smile his mouth took.

You could say that it was a child no more,
one who could smile at sorrow so bold.

Then, the child,
Walked with a slow gait,
almost lazy one would say.
Hands moved as through water,
But, the head was up.

Rage

A time of anger
A time of rage
When the world of assumptions
comes a-crashing

What does a soldier do
For the nation he saved
For the nation he loved
For the nation he lived for
For the nation that abandoned him to tender mercies of his enemies?

Quite commiserations yield zilch

In the end,
Betrayal leads to Rage!

But share not the anger
show not the rage
let your actions
show your outrage

The New

I crossed that bridge of long ago,
with shouts of Joy and pomp and show;
Holding hands with my angel of gold,
and Yes, that angel knows to glow.

She plays with my life as one who knows,
And lifts me away as one who flows.
I float, I fly, I rule the world,
With she who rules my dreams aloud.

Please, O please, Stop the time,
And please O please, speed the time.
And so confounded here I am;
Miles & Smiles here I come!!

— with Lalitha Sekar.

Cross_Road-

At once I reazile,
its time to prioritize.
But, here I stray
past known forays
Please hear me,
I cant graze...

Clear out clear out;
have to move junk out
Ha, but I have no clout.

Focus

Tyme to focus, no mere joke,
lifes a rocker, me on the prowl.
Sleeps a joker, keeps me slow,
and works a cracker, its time to plough...

My way, Today

In a land far-off,
with time to spare,
I make my way back alone;
With thoughts of home,
thoughts of friends,
and thoughts of love unhad.

In this place of wholesome grace,
I see happy strangers.
But try I may,
the best parley,
they remain strangers.

And comes a time, when all is work,
and work is all there is.
Ah that time when I could whine,
and get my way within.

A hint of spice, a smell of home
and thoughts of days begone
And I count my days
a million ways
to keep my smiles awake.

Through the day, I make my way,
I make my way alone.

Light, not Bright

Born amongst flowers,
cared for and cuddled.
Neither sadness nor pain
knew your name.

Then dawns the day,
when expectations are born.
Not aware are you
that a child grown is a child not.

And as small pleasures remain small,
nothing excites, nothing pains.
For all is old, not new.
The thrill of discovery
whips a poor lash
and time drags by.

You no longer care
for what you do
as do you
for what you are.