Prayer

I am an atheist but I do believe in a Power that governs all. This not exactly a prayer, but more of a definition of God from my POV. My grandfather is an eccentric man no one listens to; he was telling me stuff and I was listening. He spoke about all things: God, religeon, the world, politics, people, nature,science. They were from his perspective. I listened and I respected him more. This one gets its inspiration from some things that he said.

What are You? Or, Who are You?
Where are You? And, Why are You?
Are You the Omnipresent,
the Omnipotent and
the Omniscient?
Are You the Creator,
The Destroyer or
The Preserver?
So many beliefs, tales and myths
mar my belief, my portrait of You.
Are You truly the God we talk about
in religeon and in faith?
Or are You just the figment or a reflection
of numerous pagan songs?
Did You create The Universe, The Worlds and man?
Or, Are you created by man as a power behind
the natural forces with which he could not compete?
Did he make You, prayed, sacrificed to appease nature?
You are Hope, in the heart of the hopeless;
like sight is to the blind
You are the rekindling passion
that makes man civilized
You are the faith that keep one going
against all odds to keep up the fight
You are the pace that essentiates
motion of all kinds.
You are in all minds and
in all conciosness, making all human.
And so I pray, be with me always,
make me human, let me not stray.

Failure

This is not one of my best but still posting it because I wrote it. It's about a sad man (a very very sad man), but not about me.

I had once looked down a cliff
to the rugged rocky bottom
The vertigo overpowering me, preventing me
to take a step closer to the edge.
I have looked upon speeding cars
as messengers of death, but
My muscles restrain me, control me,
like a puppet I cross the road.
Now here I sit in my room, alone,
spent, ostracized, my mind clear.
I sit with my wrist bare
and in my other hand a blade,
I draw the blade closer, mentally
marking the spot, touching, but not pressing;
I think...of all that has been and all
that is not in my memory left -
My life has been a chain of frustrated events
interlinked by my failures.
Failed I have in everything, and failed
I have myself, my pride, my life.
I like to think myself the reason
to all my failures, makes me feel
Braver to open up my wrist
slowly, painfully; I will not cry.
I think...with no family to leave behind
there is no one who would cry
My absence from the world unnoticed,
I would fade away in time.
Too much thought flows
too much time wasted
Are there any last wishes? I ask
Yes. To end the punishment of existence.
I grimace, grip harder
the moment of truth
My muscles restrain like steel chains
some force overpowers my determination.
Not a drop of blood flows
no pain, and my life slips not away
The unknown force, the force of life
to see each day, day after day
Through the drag and the grime
of worldly displeasures.
I fail even in my last endeavour
I am a complete failure.

To Newton

This is one that is not like my others. It has a rhyme and is not dark. It was written to celebrate Newton whose classical ideas are dying (not really though). This I intended to have a childish humour about it but I lost my continuity near the end.

Sit in a place and think
give birth to a radical thought,
A thought unborn in other minds
yet so modern others believe not.

How many such thoughts you think in a day?
Or even in a month or year?
I bet you think, "Why think so hard?
Life goes on, my dear."

One man, so great a thinker
We live by his rules and laws
From science and maths, to life and religion
Newton his name was.

Force is mass times acceleration
He said that this is true
That's why all bodies move about
In the fashion they really do.

Light he said is seven colours
And travels in particulate beams
Before he said such a thing
The world was black-n-white it seems.

He said that there is gravity
Obeyed by each and all
That's why the planets revolve and rotate
That's why the apples fall.

He solved the puzzle one by one
A huge jigsaw puzzle I dream
In whatever places he placed the pieces
They joined at the edges and seams.

The greatest man to have ever lived
And greater even, I might say
To write his greatness in glory fullest
Leaves one lost for words, I pray.

A Birthday Wish

This I wrote on a person's birthday because I can't buy birthday cards. Now it's for everybody. Yeah!

The men who are considered wise bless,
'Live a long life, my child'
But if he be wise, he ought to know
what a life long lived offers
Live long and you see your body shake
and then break
then your mind shake and break
then your senses shake and break
And then the Earthly temple crumbles.
Live long and you grow wise
Wise enough to learn that in store
lies pain and suffering and misery.
Wise enough to learn that the same
lies in store for beloved ones
and for children, who will live long.

This mortal ain't wise; wont act wise
Neither is I a court jester
But he says, 'Live not too long
but live it well.
Till you know that you are important,
needed and loved,
Till you have done
all that you ever wanted to do
And seen and heard
all that you might ever want to.'
But this mortal pleads you
not to get his message wrong
And he wishes you
Many happy returns of the day.

Paradox

Not really a poem but something I intended to write since a long time. I personally never liked proverbs. This is where I try to show that they really dont mean anything in the long run but are there just to sound deep(something my friends say I try to do with my poetry).

Many hands make light work,
Too many cooks spoil the broth.
So how many many makes too many?
And how many makes for good broth?

Unborn

This one is my favourite. I really dont understand abortion and have not seen anybody do it on themselves but this is what I feel about it.

The seeds combine into one
a new life born, a new conciousness
Conscious of its existence
Conscious of its life
Conscious of bodily pains
The mother's womb a home
that nourishes, protects and loves.
Oblivious to the outside world but
not to love of the mother
blossomed with the new life.

Noncommital, nonconjugal
had been the mother;
Like many other
modern ripened maidens,
In one careless and hasteful moment
had loved into the night,
The man who would've been the father
of her child;
Her unwanted child.
Her damned child.

Unwanted, unneeded, unloved
he lies in her womb
Not knowing, not comprehending
through what fault of his
is he a bastard?
Why should he suffer for the sins
of one whore?
Sacriledge! Blasphemy!
for the offspring of a whore
is unwanted.
Be patient my child,
lie still and wait...

Murdered in the safest place, the womb,
before seeing the Earth born unto.
And what guilded grave for his
soul to rest in peace?
Unwanted, unneeded, unloved
extracted, mangled and impaled
Damn the surgical apparatus held by the hand
expertly seasoned in the same 'art'-
The 'Art' to end the unwanted, unloved,
unborn child.

Sense

This is my second favourite. Read on...

Hark. Listen. And you will hear
what I hear
Close your eyes. Look. And you will see
what I see
Do you hear it? Do you see it?
No, a fleeting glance shall not work
And don’t try to listen as if you are
trying to listen to a private conversation
in secrecy.
See through your mind
And listen through you heart.
I am not telling you to meditate;
More like contemplate, reflect
Be not shallow, be deep
deep as the ocean or the deep space
deep as the depth of the eyes of a
virgin, lovelorn, whose lover
at war hath not sent word
in a long time.
Listen. See.
Can you hear? Can you see?

Listen to the silence the world produces
the silence of stagnation
the silence of indecision
See the darkness of apathy, ignorance
and political diplomacy.
The world is stationary, just as she was
ten years ago,
if not worse, then nothing better.
Listen to the cries of people –
the rich man cries for
riches, fame and fortune.
the poor man cries for
clothes, shelter and food.
the common man cries for
happiness, satisfaction and recognition.
Nobody donate anything, hence
nobody receive anything – stagnation.
O Dream, Hope, Aspiration where are you,
now that they need you?
Can you not hear yet? Can you not see yet?
Rise and awaken from your restless sleep
and listen and hear…

Presense

Presence

When I was small and I was alone at home, I had this terrible feeling that there was someone "behind" me, never really got to see who it was, so now I take it for granted that there really wasn't anybody there. The other people are The Conscience and the Dream People and one's reflective form. This talks about the Psychological Self from different viewpoints. (I hope I dont 'sound' deep)

A voice in my head says,
“What are you looking for?”
I say to him, it?
“Not what; who…”
“Who are you looking for?”
He asks me, it?

“One who crosses to the next room
before I can see,
He who stands behind me
disappears when I turn to see
He who is there, waiting, watching
and testing me”

“He who is silent, yet he talks to me
He who, when I’m wrong, chides me
Silently
When I am in the right, pats me
Gently
He who teaches me, trains me
makes a compassionate human of me.”

“When I sleep he comes to me
His face a blur
and in speech a slur
I don’t recognize or hear him, and yet
I know him and I comprehend.”

“In my waking hours, he talks to me
In a language no man understands
but I do, and I think to me,
“Who am I talking to? me?
I share with him, he a better me.”

“He who is a being devoid of form
and of infinite understanding,
He who is full of mercy and patience
a lesser man, a demi-God
He is the voice, you and me.”