The Song of the Raging Sea

Only the tumult of a raging sea,
rocking our boats to places it needn’t be,
who dares whisper a few good words and conciliate?
For mighty is her resolve, and feeble her invaders.

I

Beating against our aged wooden hulls,
her stories she forces us listen,
of conquerors who’ve tried quelling her ire
and soldiers who wished not to partake.
Songs of past surface under the raging storm,
as she cries louder into the setting sun,
and our vessels are but dumb dots,
lost in a mighty gale, drifting away with no desire.
The heavens gather, to listen to her fables,
that which needs be told to every sailor passing.
She sings, in a majestic low soprano,
that the men have made merry in her midst,
carrying goods of war and crime,
that her song is the only redemption, she roars
in a frightening contralto.

II

The old few those who’ve listened with care,
warned us of her ire before we sailed away.
Like seasons weathering old rocks to dust, their lore,
distant and washed away,
little did the forgotten wisdom give us hand,
our wet faces, now bereft of any realization,
piecing the parts only to fail.
In the frantic cadence of her waves,
in her wild cosmic dance,
in the fearful tremors of her ballad,
we solemnly pray for the tale to twist our way,
to the young and true, she’ll say,
listen again, listen again!
That your understanding of this divine tale,
of man and his destiny shall see the light of day.

III

In a desperate bid for a final confluence,
we merged a raft from parts of the now wrecked hull.
She is the canvas for our dreams,
in her we float free like in our mothers’ wombs,
her story too ambitious to comprehend, we let go,
and like a violin soundtrack to God’s elegy,
her rage turns to deep sorrow.
The last voice of this universe,
like the distant hymns of a hindu sage,
she sings the song of the raging sea.

A Cataclysmic Candor Of A Possibly Broken Kind

The system, I have not broken.
The system, I haven’t understood.
It is in this system that I live in, parts and full.
And to this system that I say, oh you crooked beast!

What is this system you ask?
What of it, and what within?
Who makes it, who breaks it, when and why?
Yes, to this bloody system I say, oh you bestial beast!

In its path, it preys on relentless,
Ferocious and Unforgiving it relishes the weak,
A curse unfolding and forever, it is but a monstrous menace.
And to you, my dear filthy love I say, oh you malignant beast!

In its candor I see chaos.
In its candor I see peace.
Of those who have transcended this system, come set me free.
Yes, my love, my life, my religion, my kind, oh you filthy beast!

Who am I, and who am I really to say,
To hearsay lore and hitherto unknown,
You bag of banal bore and yet unfathomably occult,
To your days and seasons I say, oh you cabalistic beast!

Are you broken? Are you madness? Are you the answer?
Are you freedom? Are you reason? Are you the way?
Are you my ride to a heavenly abode of joy, are you?
Let me in on your secrets, oh you deific beast!

This is your system, your way of life,
In your religion, In your devilry, let me see light,
Hellish paths can be conquered but for your say,
Let me in, oh you! You magnificent beast!

Your praise I’ll sing, Your word I’ll spread,
Your darkness I’ll let linger and light pervade,
You are God, you are wisdom,
I will be your servant, oh you opulent beast!

I will live, I will die, I will pass unknown,
I will see, I will tell, I will pass unheard.
I will be joy, I will be sadness, I will pass undone.
You and I, and this system, we’re the beasts of life unsung.

The Prophecy That Is

If only i had a chance to make things better
For they aren’t any fair now, never

Oh, i could build cities n’ kingdoms
None too many to eradicate our ambits
Love and plenty in each and every
Young and alike, no more foreboding

I have tried, and i will so on,

Had i had a say, in his divine play,
Augmented on this reality of our tale,
Dancing, merry, and a concord, yet faraway.

A wisdom, stark, and on my face.

Crimson, and raw the dusk sets
Higher powers in its play
Anger, Age, and no other humanly in the fray
Nigh, the time draws, so slow and soft
Creeping unto mortality, bare, and bitten
Elegies and sobs, and an old violin say

Together and only thus, a song is sung
Of erased pasts and a united dominion.

Make a wish, and whistle into the air,
And listen, listen close, she’ll say,
Kings and commanders have come this way,
Enduring what i have bequeathed.

The days that were, and those that will be,
Hurdles that there were, and those that are,
Incepting the fact, of pervert men and sinful too,
Notwithstanding a force this strong,
Gore and death that followed, a bout of blasphemy
Sans a box, to put these sins back in,

Beloved and all, see it and sing, a song of accord,
Edge it out of your lives, the sorrow and ire,
Transcend beyond, for we aren’t meant this way,
To a happy life, and no qualms or despair,
Enervate that greed, and do it now,
Reality will not last for another epoch.

Ticket Master Mr. Kari King

Bold n’ beautiful Mr. Kari was
Emerging from his abysmal sleep, yawn!
Agape, he sat, darn it was three, and cloudy too
Unswerving routine that he has had, for years now
To the loo, and then, when, who?
Yet time till four, the arrival of the rail engine

Boohoo, and the ever long list
Egregiously beckoning him, oh la-di-da-da,
Yip yip he sipped his usual dark coffee
Out and about, wearing his black coat
Nonetheless, his white collar tie too, mind it please.
Doing his thing, waiting for the four-o-clock train,

Dull and quiet the afternoon was,
Reverberating the siesta town the train roared in,
Every man’s dream, a quiet afternoon’s sleep
And Mr. Kari with his ticket-check list,
Moved through the compartments of the 80’s beast,
Seasons and trains, and of ticket master Mr. Kari King.

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This will be my contribution to Jingle’s Poets Rally Week 34

Oh, Do read the first letters of each line too 🙂

Life of Code

include include my head
the fat code said
define i did its scope
giving it some real hope

and then the main, sweet
decorate, indentate, neat
calls, and passes were made
and some benchmarks laid

time to compile it squealed
Big Oh! of one, i kneeled,
flawless, pristine, and dense
it all finally made sense.

and now to cross platform
as reckoned it did perform
Gee, now to shoot trouble,
the code, indeed very subtle.

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Please forgive me, for i know this is the most preposterous piece of words i’ve written in a long while. i really had no choice. 😐
P.s try sitting in a C++ class after heavy lunch 😡
gah.

Mind-lore

I have, unabashed, soared,
from underneath a stifled dream,
I was, as in, repressed, by ’em,
and a lore of life hidden in me.

and now as i walk among,
a breeze that comes with,
brings a halcyon memory forth,
for a life that lies beckoning.

of the many colors that remain
untasted through my days,
in my land i will,
a brief affair, with the strange.

I will, oh certainly do,
see ’em all, drink and taste.
pleasures of the vim,
oh come along, define your life.

and when the wind hit,
as it took away my repose,
or so i thought, I veered,
from a path, of inertia and torpor.

of that scraggly life that i led,
i forget, and i think, and i think,
this new freedom biting its way in,
the devil in me laughed.

I shall, through and through pass,
culling, for life throws ’em aplenty,
affluence seeking its way home,
this myriad mind of mine.

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is my contribution to Jingle’s Thursday Poets Rally Week 31

The Earthly journal.

what if, i walk along
as the world looks on
why can’t they see me?
see the candor in my speech?

I only want to say,
its a bloody huge place.
I only want to say,
its all in his grace.

Here comes, another man
with his demarcated mind,
why do, we argue so
for the world isn’t deprave.

think about a world,
where there are no norms,
no one to question,
no one in power.

All the terrains, in an accord
chugging along, and waving
to the distant past
a past with maps, and atlases.

Oh please open your eyes,
Nobody’s wise, so please realise,
its all in the mind,
the way you think, the way you divide.

is the hue really black?
on the skin of an African man?
because, its only the land,
where the sun shines!

where do we go?
go all the time,
go to our offices,
and go to our homes.

what is this loop?
an insanity,
please enlighten me,
for i dunno the system of this town.

I only wanna say,
its a beautiful place,
a place where we dump
our carbon excretes.

when was the time?
the time you breathed
a gulp of fresh air
of pure oxygen?

and yet we live on,
in our own little space,
heedless to the way,
the system unfolds.

I only wanna say,
its a bloody huge place.
and there’s lotta space,
for everyone to stay.

I only wanna say,
just think about a world
a world without constraints,
the whole world, a single tribe.

Would you really want,
a place where in,
evolution overtakes, the pace,
the pace in which we grow.

its all in this strife,
a strife that started ages ago,
of survival, the fittest of ’em all.
but we beat it, and overtook.

we all survived, we grew brains,
we helped each other,
we sorted it out,
we were the humans, which they were afraid of.

the crops that we grew,
we sold it to the few
who figured in the cycle
of life that supported the farm.

a giant cycle, of departments
each parasite, to the other.
we chugged along, very fine,
but untill now, the problem arised.

the world at war, we lost trust
trust to the kin,
the kin we sold our crops to.
so it was all done, a bloody mistake.

now that those lines,
won’t allow us past,
to be free, to go beyond
and this binding of ourselves, is eating us all.

so we tuned,
tuned into the system
and heeded less,
about the world, the world free of carbon excrete.

I only wanna say,
its a bloody beautiful place,
why dump the cycle, the trust
why dump it all?

I only wanna say,
please think it through,
’cause we’d look damn cute,
harmony befallen upon us.

The Tale of our spin

The moon, up and about
when time hit its note
pale and abstruse he stood
his demeanor, wise and kingly.

but there he was, and then wasn’t
dawn it was, as the clock ticked on
And thus he came,
eponym to the billion or so.

The Sun in his chariot,
golden and glowing, smiled down
on his nine minions, for now.
everything was happy and glorious

so near he stands now,
swelling on his own fodder.
to act paladin, and yet that
look, savage and baleful

for without the cloth
on our mother’s bosom,
the yin unbalanced, he flares
his ire, and his life, lurks.

the existence itself, an infant
for now he isn’t pervert enough
but surely, we have misunderstood
for our father, isn’t a bloody cheat.

is it all a fabric woven before?
seemingly incapable of adjustments?
oh please do answer,
the reason of the system.

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– is my contribution to, Thursday Poets Rally Week 27