Category Archives: Poetry

Today, the morning is late

Today, morning,

Is not like every other morning –

Today, the morning is late.

 

But we understand –

We know it can happen sometimes.

We will wait.

 

We know who to blame.

Or maybe we don’t.

We have our suspicions, but we are silent.

 

The morning maybe sulking,

But it will come.

It cannot die. Can it?

 

We can learn how to live

Without light.

We are used to living with less.

 

But the morning will come soon.

It is only late today.

It cannot die.

 

***

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Words

Leave the words out in the sun

To dry;

Let their moisture be suck’d out

Let their texture be rough,

Weather’d.

.

Words will need a hard skin

To survive;

To face the heat

Of your apathy,

Your scorn.

.

Hide the words when they are young

Tender, innocent;

Wear them

After they die,

Like mink.

***


The Great Democrat

He always has a smile ready
Has that son of a gun –
And has a tear or two to spare
For the funerals.
 
He loves his people
And all that belongs to them –
He is their father and teacher
Rolled into one.
 
He is the greatest democrat
He has never lost an election –
Why, when people want to vote
He lets them give him two.
 
His wisdom is unsurpassed
All respect his legal mind –
And when the law fails to serve
He helps the lady blind.
 
A protector, a defender, a nationalist
He is the scourge of the enemy –
And the way he is a-going
In an year there won’t be any.
 
His name will be writ in history
(To that the History Department will see – )
He will set right the ancient wrongs
And set the country truly free.
 
The papers are full of his praise
As they should, for he does no wrong –
And the schoolchildren are glad to study
His autobiography.
 
And that his good work may not go waste
He teaches and prepares –
His wife and sons and daughters
With due care.
 
***

An Ode to Greed

We want more,
And more, and more…
 
How would this poem sound
If I added, “and more”
A few hundred times more?
 
Never mind;
The fact remains
We want more,
And more, and more…
 
***

 


Rumi

rumiLife is fire,
And hatred
And passion,
And desperation-
Life is not lived
With calm reasonableness.
 
The stillness of mind
Reason and balance
The shadowy peace
Of the quiet lake
Hides death, or,
Maybe, something else.
 
Let Rumi talk of love
And peace
And of miracles
Of faith – 
We shall ask Rumi of all that
When we die.

***


A long wait

In the death clutch of life
Hating love with all tenderness
Defying reason with passion
I live on.
 
Imprisoned within my ‘self’,
But free from loyalty or location
Driven, greedy, insecure,
I live on.
 
Waiting for the ‘sign’
And doubting reality
With the devotion of a fanatic,
I live on.
 
Never letting a moment
To linger long in memory; filling
The void with phantasms
I live on.
 
Brutally banishing beauty
And rain and rainbows;
Embracing the scorching desert sand
I live on.
 
All dawns are the same
All nights imposters –
Waiting for the true morn,
I live on.
 
***

I wish I were

I wish I was
Substantial, material
Solid, tangible…
Someone I could understand
Relate to, or
Describe.
 
I wish I was
Talented, or a duffer,
Rich, or poor,
Handsome, or ugly,
Brave, or a coward,
Successful, or a looser,
A leader, or led…
Or had any quality
That can be safely attributed
To what I call
Me.
 
I keep seeing
Different people
In the mirror – faces
That keep making faces.
I know for sure, I am not
The image that stares back
Like an actor
That forgot his lines.
 
The exact point in the universe
Where I seem to be,
Never leaves me;
I wish I knew
If this coordinate
Is a mathematical abstraction
To prove to someone a point, or,
A myth
Or my hallucination.
 
I only know this for sure,
Nothing exists in the vacuum,
Nothing that is substantial
Or unchanging,
In the space
That I call
Me.
 
***
 

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