Archive for March 2002:

Treasure

As children oft we lose a step, fall down n bruise
We cry if someone is close by or else just cruise
Swallowing our hurt as no one has paid us heed
We are born survivors and know well our need!

We happily blow soap bubbles blissfully insulated
Nothing touching us n our joy abounds unabated
Adolescence acquaints us with our growing body
Mental and chronological age tussle for supremacy!

We cross the threshold of adulthood into freedom
With reluctant relinquishing of reins loosened seldom
We are giddy with happiness grabbing greedily
Like a duck takes to water ever so speedily!

Alas, freedom comes attached to responsibilities
And we have to tow the line n observe sensibilities
There are strings attached to everything we desire
And we learn to discriminate in what we acquire!

Our bubble can burst in a split second without warning
When life comes in various shapes n forms a knocking
Be it illness, or demise or misfortunes or a huge quarrel
All make a dent, hurt n we find ourselves in dire peril

We have to face the music taking every blow on the chin
Our soft pained inner core questioning fate’s twisted spin
Adversities strengthen us once we reconcile with our loss
Realizing that it is all a game n we can win or lose in a toss

So, why worry, just grieve, mourn and move forward
Past happy memories can be visited whenever dared
They are your own private treasures that none can grab
And this journey can be taken whenever life is drab!

Our vessel of happiness will always be replete
Nothing and no one can ever cause it to deplete
It is our oasis locked in our secret recesses
Our personal domain with no free passes!!

“Memory is the diary we all carry about with us.”- Oscar Wilde

The Sphinx

She sat in her usual spot in glorious splendor
Dressed in the same mink coat and matching hat
The worn out bench coming into its own with her in it
Her regal and gracious looks transforming it into a throne.

Wisps of gray hair frame her mysterious inscrutable face
Making others simply falter and hesitate to share her bench
Spidery blue veins cover her wrists n the backs of her palms
Her faded blue eyes constantly scan the passersby avidly

Whence has she come from and what does she seek
Her courage and stiff upper lip somehow forbid intrusion
I am full of questions and sheer untrammeled curiosity
Which refuses to be tethered or firmly denied

I somehow picture her as the doyen of the Czar’s family
Surrounded by opulence of gold dishes, cut glass and Faberge eggs
Priceless chandeliers, gold icons and numerous attendants underfoot
Caviar, fillet mignon n gourmet food n wine and vodka flowing freely

Riding a beautiful open troika with the royal insignia
Drawn by matched pair of the finest full-blooded Arabian steeds
The crisp cold air misting her gentle breaths billowing amidst
Tinkling bells, swirling snowflakes, twinkling stars in clear skies

Perhaps she is on a mission of finding a missing dear one
Perhaps she has a rough idea of the last location of this person
Perhaps she hopes against hope in finding this person from her perch
And perhaps hopes by some miracle to succeed in this relentless search

I just don’t know and lack the nerve to intrude!!

“curiosity killed the cat, but for a while I was a suspect.”

                                                                  -Steven Wright

The Itch

I have this budding writer’s itch

To continue scribbling without a glitch

Come hell or high water or a deep ditch

Write I must as it makes my soul rich!

I have this over riding ambition

To see my efforts come to a fruition

But my impatience is quite an aberration

That has to be curbed without hesitation

This itch has now taken the proportions of a malaise

All activities other than writing give me no solace

Thus I have become a recluse and an unknown face

Which is counter productive in this publishing race

I have turned into my own worst enemy

Living in a world that is unreal and daydreamy

All figures have become shadowy and creamy

And I am hard put to snap out of this life so dreamy

I need an urgent CPR for instant resuscitation

That will infuse new blood n oxygen for rejuvenation

Thus I will come up for air and achieve my ambition

To become a successful writer of some recognition!

Yet I pray that this itch stays with me forever

Even if it becomes more than just a fever

I can endure it gladly with nary a demur

As it is the linchpin between the ever and the never!
      “When the itch is inside the boot, scratching outside provides little consolation”
 Chinese Proverbs quotes
 


        “When once the itch of literature comes over a man, nothing can cure it but the scratching of a pen.
But if you have not a pen, I suppose you must scratch any way you can.”
 Samuel Lover
 
   

 
      “Three diseases without shame: Love, itch and thirst.”
 Irish Sayings quotes
 


      “When I was very young and the urge to be someplace was on me, I was assured by
mature people that maturity would cure this itch. When years described me as mature,
 the remedy prescribed was middle age. In middle age I was assured that greater age would
calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight perhaps senility will do the job. Nothing has worked.
 In other words, I don’t improve, in further words, once a bum always a bum. I fear the disease is incurable.”
 John Steinbeck quotes (American Novelist and Writer, Nobel Prize for Literature for 1962, 1902-1968)
 
 
 
 
      “One learns to itch where one can scratch.”
 Scott Reed quotes