Insecurities
Tiny rashes surface from time to time
Hand in hand with emotional outbursts
Forming irritant scabs on mind’s skin
The only emollient that can assuage
And provide relief, is not forthcoming!!
Injection of some iron into the backbone,
Learning to stand straight and upright
Unaided, can be taught with the help of
A Pavlov if one can be had and who is
Willing to mold n reshape the persona
Trills of fearfulness and insecurities
Are so embedded that to iron them out
Is a Herculean task as neither is one
Willing to relinquish them, nor one
Desires to part with such quirkiness
Our individuality is based on these
Very insecurities, that lend a sort of
Suspect character to our being, making
It unique n exceptional as we gloat n relish
Them with intermittent self flagellations
Almost like a sort of guilty pleasure
We recognize these insecurities
Eyeball them and moan that we cannot
Shake them off, yet privately, we enjoy them;
Our very own inconsequential obsessions!!!
The man who looks for security, even in the mind, is like a man who would chop off his limbs in order to have artificial ones which will give him no pain or trouble.
- Henry Miller 1891-1980, American Author
Originally Published: October 19, 2007
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Wistful Musings
Wistful thoughts stirring up
Like steam from a boiling pot
Thinning and dissipating into air
Woeful thoughts rise and rise like
Leavened bread cresting, hardening,
Demanding they be heard at once
My innate sense of self-management with
Tightening and adjustment of mental screws
To deal, fails and wins over, alternately
My outward mien shows great calm
And sublime peace, belying the rising
Panic, bubbles of stress, great unease
My conscience knows that my thoughts.
Intentions and goodwill were all lacking
Somehow, hence my inner SOS signals
The challenge now is to calm this disquiet
Make amends to gain once again the serenity
That can be had, with a little bit of catharsis!
To once again achieve a sense of peace
Within and without, creating soothing oasis
With a mere glance, touch or presence
The world goes whispering to its own, ‘This anguish pierces to the bone;’ And tender friends
go sighing round, ‘What love can ever cure this wound?’ My days go on, my days go on.
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Originally Published: October 18, 2007
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2 Comments by readersFiled Under: Contemplative, Emotions, General, Poems, Spiritual
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Homing
Anything and everything
All rest
Somewhere
Sometime
Some place
Invariably
Homing is innate
Instinctive
Built-in
Happening
Happens
Invariably
You get comfortable
Wriggle
Ease in
Settle in
Settle down
Invariably
All creatures have a place
Be it a lair, a coop, a den
A nest, a house, a boat
Be it in water, land or air
Above ground, below ground
Invariably
Such is the nature
Of all things
Mammoth or miniscule
Seeking a habitat
To be in and nurture
Invariably
The happiest moments of my life have been the few which
I have passed at home in the bosom of my family.
- Thomas Jefferson …
Originally Published: October 14, 2007
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Aspirations
My aspirations lie dormant, not dead
All I need to do is to set them afire and
Achieve my innermost heart’s desire!
My placid nature has placed a writer’s pen
In my willing hands, an instrument to be
Wielded freely to drive home my points!
This has now become an ongoing endless
Love affair, a flirtation between the mighty
Plume and the great assemblage of words!
I have to kindle the spark of creative flair
Make sense out of the nonsense, delving
Deep into my core and bring it up for air!
I have to spill everything- the good, the bad,
The ugly, sins of omission and commission
And be free and light to soar to lofty heights!
Thus unshackled of heart and head I can weave
Magical plots of story telling one after the other
Immersing completely in my craft sans leave!
Infusing new blood in all my aspirations
And then some….
“I am only one, but still I am one;
I cannot do everything, but I can do something;
And because I cannot do everything
I will not refuse to do the something
That I can do.”
Edward Everett Hale
Originally Published: October 14, 2007
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Old Puppets
We sit in the wings quietly
Without a murmur or a demur
Patiently we wait our chance
To come out of hibernation
That has been thrust upon us
With no tacit agreement on our parts!
Our filial ties hang by a thread
In your not so caring hands
Being the master puppeteer
You cannot set us free either
As the fluid in your veins
Deters you from doing so
Ever so often you magnanimously
Let us come up for air and a display
The early days and years of nurturing
Do not hold a candle to your new ties
Which mesmerize binding you tightly
Now your whole world is tinted!
Your vision is a borrowed one
Your companion’s eyes see for two
Your tolerance is laced with ridicule
As we have outlived our usefulness
We are just an old diehard habit
Relegated to the back burner of your life
We have to be thankful for such crumbs
As this is how you feel today
You draw the curtain quickly
The puppets have to disappear quickly
We may be old but still have thick blood
And we feel bewildered and bruised
Cherish us and love us today
Our time is running out and all we ask for
Is a pinch of love and affection
Sprinkled over a bowl of precious time
Seasoned with wry humor and gaiety
Letting past hurts be forgiven n forgotten
Life is dynamic and soon we too will be history
And no manner of wakes and memorials will bring us back
No therapies would be needed as there will be no guilt
Is that a lot to ask, Is that selfish?
Is that possible?
We query in anguish!
“Parentage is a very important profession; but no test of fitness for it is ever imposed in the interest of the children.”
-Bernard Shaw
Everybody’s Political What’s What
Originally Published: October 14, 2007
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