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Collection of Poems

Some poems which I hit upon...as I was sifting through the ole rubble of matter...was happy to explore whether i wd like em if read em now......and whether there cd b more 30-40 poems which i can lay my hand upon.....cheers!!

that then is plan for 2010....get all the ole diaries into one place....n pore thru the ole pages...re-know what i had forgetten abt myself...sometimes get marvelled, sometimes bite the lips with more of magnanimous amusement...u know what i mean..:)...

at the end...pick up 30-40 poems....which can be shared with others in the form of a book....n if there wont be such nos to boast of...then write some more....or beg/borrow/steal from others ...with due credits ofcos....infact i definitely want to hv 'Scar'...in my list.....

here u go...my first 3.....u wd hv known by now, am always a bit lazy for edits....so am glad to let go the poems in their raw form....but ll certainly do the needful..or hv some dear friends do em...before i wd hv a collection formally out...Njoy!!!


Strings – ver 2 july 18, 2005; ver 3 –minor edits on jan 22, 2010

Broken and un-stringed. The long unused Guitar,
Its worn and dust coated. Personifying silence.
For a good time, not moved by the singing star
As if pondering over solitude’s solace and wafting incense.

Tuneless tapping, seemingly, have had the Guitar unstrung.
And the violent stringing, her desire undone.
Its poetic justice that the rockstar’s songs remain unsung.
Let Guitar choose her own time in turn.

But get disheartened not! Thy onlooker
Music is her soul and whole
The Guitar is in trance, not in stupor.
It is in play, churning the whole soul.

Let her mingle with her ocean - her wisdom’s deity.
And have her travails washed away. Steady or slow.
And let her get back on her own, her uninhibited spontaneity.
Rhythm will then again flow.
-----
In One Of Those Lazing Hours… October 2, 2006; Version 2

In one of those lazing hours, during
The cool of the pre-daybreak night
I find myself playfully
Tossing my mind abound, like
A colourful bottle in a mirthful lake

Feeling myself. Tip to toe.
More tip, than toe; though. With,
Thoughts and dreams. Nestled-ly,
Enough to traverse the long miles.
Forward and backward. Sublimely.

Being amused by the tribulations, and
Embracing the gift of their
Wisdom and wholesomeness.
Rehearsing with and remembering
The beautiful people and times.
.
Flipping back and forth
The pages of the un-written
Diary. Imagining to
Fill them up – meanderingly.
Whatever they may mean!

Pleasing reveries
Or unstretched philosophies
Have to but wait, to be etched
Later sometime yonder
In another dark beauty moment

For it is time now, to relish
The joyous dance of the morn promise
The fresh embrace, of the New Sun
The smiles & touch around.
The awakened chirps.
-----------

Moods Unfathomed ..– August 30, 2005


In the passing train
I meet the lively verdant coconut leaves,
Seemingly smiling and waving
As if, beckoning me, to stay on.

Sometimes its is the
Smoking chimneys and
Concrete jungles and jeering urchins
Behooving me to stay away

I seem perpetually perplexed
Like, the ignoramus in me
When I close my eyes to see you.
And talk to you silently.

When I try to relive
Your cheers and jeers
Your coo and cacophony
Your stance and distance

Clueless about what
Stirs you and what tears you apart
Clueless about when
You miss and want to be missed

Your moods are like my unquiet madness
To fathom your mood. Both,
Our moods and madness. Fathomless within.
Like, unknowing the known

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