I sip from rose, jasmine, bluebell I flit from field to wood Unfinicky, I like it all well Nectar or fruit, it’s all food. Astrology, quantum physics, Music or poetry, Philology or statistics, Brain science or podiatry, All fine, all good, all nice to eat. A cow I am, I browse. Each leaf is savoury and sweet, And full of sap and juice. I don’t dig deep, I scratch the surface For chance of striking gold or better, water in just one place is low, so explore, be bold. Be like the cow, and sample feed From all the fields and move On, fresher pastures wait, no need To linger, stuck in a grove. I fall in love but never wed. I pick a book on art, or take a physics tome to bed, And then I coolly part. I am a bachelor of science Or of humanities. I play the field with clear conscience, And so I keep my peace. Perhaps history is a bore, Or linguistics too dry. But less I know, I like the more, Their faults not mine to pry. I read, forget, I read again. A biological tidbit Is lost, makes room for a fine quatrain, But not if it strains my wit. It’s true, I don’t drink deep, but taste I shall the Pierian spring, For life is brief, no time to waste, Take the joy each day may bring. Postscript: be that as it may, one needs Home ground, stronghold, one’s own, Some comfortable field that feeds Sweet fruit from seeds long sown.
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You little whirlwind, gale force blast, tempest. From room to room you pass, you perfect pest And leave behind a vast and horrific mess. Your toys are strewn, all blown apart, headless Barbies and Kens, a truck, a soldier lame, a plane, a stuffed cat, all victims of your game. The telly’s broken, the dog is wet, the fish tank Is cracked, mud, how mud? you nature’s prank The garden soil's indoors. But now you sleep, An angel’s rest, soft breath, lips fluted, deep, No dreams, no plan or thought of mischief, regret. You stir, little fingers twitch, but no, all’s quiet, You slumber on, now’s time to clean, to make All fit to wreck, sweetheart, for when you wake.
I know now that nothing is certain Pick your God and plead and pray But search for truth and constancy in vain. We’ve been proven fools time and again Every belief shown to be a fiction and a play I know now that nothing is certain. There are laws, immutable, simple and plain But these are flaws, just fads of their day And you search for truth and constancy in vain. Yesterday, a ‘study’ says coffee is good for the brain Today’s word, bloody hell, is it makes neurons melt away I know now, nothing in this world is certain. And regretfully coffee goes down the drain I willy-nilly switch to tea without delay For you search for truth and constancy in vain. But now see, what do I like between the twain? It is tea, and so ends the habit of 40 years and a day I know now that nothing is certain You search for truth and constancy in vain.
You have, if lucky, twenty five thousand days And a million books to fill this time It is just a cute little joke that life plays. And then to spend six out of seven on work that ‘pays’! Truly work should be banned, declared a crime For you have, if lucky, twenty five thousand days. That stash of books, my treasure that’s all over the place Is an excellent gathering device for dust and grime It is just a cute little joke that life plays. When will I read all those Shakespeare plays And all those novels of crime and works sublime? For you have, if lucky, twenty five thousand days. And what of all the untrodden literary ways, The beautiful novel conceit, the unheard rhyme? It is just a cute little joke that life plays. Books numberless like the stars in outer space Why can’t I have time for the small share I claim? You have, if lucky, twenty five thousand days It is just a cute little joke that life plays.
As the clouds gather and the Sky lowers and looms Grey dark advances twilight The wind drives a leaf Lights come on, twinkling signals Of early night, a time For hurrying home to hot Drinks, cozy corners.
Through the night I’m prey to a thought Its soundless clamour presses in on my ears I cannot close my eyes against the dark I pile up sandbags against the tide But it follows its own timetable, rises, Ebbs, and I alternately drown and surface. I’m normal, all quiet on the surface But underneath like a shark is the thought When the moon is dark it is exposed, rises: A craggy rock harsh and unchanged for years And I’m the rock, unaffected by the tide Of my affairs, visible even in the dark. It is full moon but my fears hide in the shadowed dark When dawn breaks the sun gilds only the surface I fly, I soar, I’m free of gravity, but I’m tied I’m pulled back, cannot break the tether of the thought I close my eyes, I numb my heart, I stop up my ears Yet like a drowned dead thing it rises. I have seen all this, I have seen many sunrises And I have seen every sunrise give way to the dark Now there is no music that is new to my ears In triumph and elation notes rise to the surface And fall again in tattered discord like a thought That was fresh in the morning, wilted by eventide. Time is the thread with which my memories are tied Sometimes I blessedly forget and my spirit rises For the thousandth time I’m free of the thought Only because there must be light for the dark The cycle has its own rhythm, I cannot see beyond the surface There is no time, life has its own plot, and so pass the years. Now the moon is full again, the months become years Now the moon wears away and I’m tied To its moods, and like the craters on its surface Are the scars on my mind, each time it rises Less eagerly, it knows it must return to the dark And like a saturated blotting paper take up the thought. Over the years I have watched this thought In the dark and when revealed by the tide And always it rises to the surface.
Yes, I know you’re only a dream But that does not make you any less sweet And your smile is just as glorious as a sunbeam Yes, I know you’re only a dream But it is you who makes dull grey reality seem Like a beautiful technicolour treat Yes, I know you’re only a dream But that does not make you any less sweet
How quickly our dreams’ childhood slips by Only yesterday they were young and bold Now they are no longer bouncy and spry They are haggard, tired and so very old Not too long ago they were warm, snuggly, nice to hold We thought they would become big and real, by and by But now they just sit there and complain and grow mold How quickly our dreams’ childhood slips by We thought when their wings grew they would fly In the morning they fluttered and shone like gold But when we looked away they turned grey on the sly Only yesterday they were young and bold While we were waiting for the future the years rolled Like a film in fast forward, and then we think, why, It’s here already, with a paunch, blood that’s cold And no longer quite so bouncy and spry There’s the school fees, grocery bill and the EMI Who has money or time for dreams, that fool’s gold We smile at those fancies now, for adults don’t cry They’re haggard, tired and so very old How quickly our dreams die
Summer The days are longer The mangoes ripen, sweeten Water is nectar Monsoon The smell of wet earth Rivers flowing on the street Make your paper boat Winter The nights are longer Fingers wrapped around a cup Stillness, silence, peace Spring Trilling calls of birds Plants seeking the mellow sun The eyes of a child
It’s dusk, the sun has set, the west is still All gold and red; but shadows gather, lights Are blinking on, and pools of yellow spill From lamps and mix with indigo of nights My memory’s fond scenes, unchanged until This day, I came again in search of sights Of that magic old time, the house, the hill, The streets of childhood’s fields; all gone, just blights All starkly new; perhaps it’s just as well. I went to seek pictures two score years old And found a canvas layered thick with paint So many lives and loves, all piled pell mell. No traces of mine; no matter, safely hold Them all unchanged in mind; so what if faint?