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.


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.


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.


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.

The stupidity of Mr. Mangam

In those universes where they lived,
where time and space weren’t a thing,
Mr. Mangam was the supreme being,
A God full of awe and power to the lowly mortals.

These mortals never aged, no they didn’t,
because poor Mr. Mangam forgot to create time!
Without time how will they ever live and die?
Oh this is all very bad indeed.

So Mr. Mangam, now erred ofcourse,
believed in spirit and soul and for death he thought,
He thought and thought and did, for ways in which he’d kill,
kill those mortals, because they were called just so.

Funny that but, Mortals do not die now?
Oh Mr. Mangam, you are indeed Mr. Stupidity now.
Comical it may seem, there were dire consequences
Fathers and sons fought, and fought, and fought.

Brothers and sisters forgot that they were, and Mothers,
no longer remembered their own sons,
But wait a minute Mr Mangam said,
how can mortals who don’t die forget the past when there’s no time?

Bugged by his creation, Mr. Mangam did decide,
to beyond he’ll travel and consult the all-knowing,
the all-knowing was the supreme creature,
for it was the one earthlings label as the creator of the cosmos.

Who is he? Where is he? What is he?
These spiraled in Mr. Mangam’s thinking organ.
But unfortunately for him, he didn’t have one.
The illusion of thinking without thinking, is a rare art indeed.

So Mr. Mangam does find out about the all-knowing,
And he travels to Heavens that are beyond the known universe,
where his sources say, lie Mr. Supreme Creator of Cosmos dude,
In a deep meditation, so deep that the mind is one with the body.

But Mr. Mangam had to travel through and through forever
and ever forever, because from where he came, time was, remember?
Space wasn’t a thing too, right? Er, what?
Confusing it may seem, there is stark simplicity about this, hear.

Travel through space, takes time correct?
Travel through time, takes space correct?
But how does Mr. Mangam travel to the heavens?
Truth isn’t the truth anymore, not that it is now, but is it?

Aha, and Aha! Said Mr. Mangam,
“You mortal who doesn’t die, will never know this trickery of space-time.
Because when I created these universes without space-time, I didn’t really.”

Did Mr. Mangam really create such a universe?
Did he really come to meet whom we call God to correct his errors?
We will never know for sure, will we?

Indian Glory

The pride of being a denizen
Of the country so vast and magical
And glory as its epithet,
Is ignited.

Beyond the realms of mankind
A god in whom we trust
Laughs, for he knows
He has flawed in his greatest creation

A flaw that we must
Introspect within us
And when we realize the truth
Our faith decides destiny.

And in this land of mystery
A land of immense power and magic
We battle,
A battle for our survival

A flaw that coerced joy
The battle deluded the mind
and the fate that followed
Is decided by him and only him.

Diversity is a humble word
To express the magnitude of man
Enduring the lifestyle it has to offer
Bearing, enjoying, relishing.

In this cycle of emotion
There is darkness.
A profane enemy lurking,
Waiting for his gamble.

The flaw, a twisted mind
And of no respect to human values
A pervert aroused.
For he lurks in us, beware.

And we introspect, this very moment
To curb the deviant, and a desperate plea
O lord! Help us defy the flaw.
And fight the virus which has the potential.

And thus does faith determine
The true road to destiny.
But the shield that still binds us
Is that we are still denizens of this land.

And when we fight, we unite
Against the profane and the pervert.
The enemy which has lured us into battle.
And thus we are, true to our kind.

Faith, unity, and Mother Nature
The elements intertwined,
Gives us a light, the answer
To man’s supplication.