Dull and Void

Everyone, Everyday,
captured in the Media Gaze.
Every sound byte, Every image,
recorded and ready to be replayed.

Every click, Every comment
filed away in little black boxes.
Every phrase, Every snap,
twisted and transformed into a legal trap.

Everyone, Everyday,
trying to stay out of the flaming fray,
Every like, Every favourite.
a chimera growing by the minute.

Every story, Every tale,
bent and twisted a hundred ways.
Every thought, Every buy,
traversing a million miles.

Everyone, Everyday,
trying to find a place to aim.
Every second, Every hour,
shoulders chipped, easier to look over.

Writes of Life

We are what we read,
what we heed,
what we believe,
what we breed,
what we seed,
what we reap,
what we feed,
what we need.

Note

Heh. The previous one may as well be titled "The Night Before Poetry Class". I know enough people who feel this way about poetry, and trying to convey its contemporary relevance is one of the reasons I started this blog.

Also: New Poems will be published once a week, maybe twice. Stay tuned.

Poem about Poems about Poems

It seems self-defeating,
To write a poem about a poem.
When, confessing to lack of topic
One tries to turn art into irony
And produces, somewhat miserably
a senseless soup of linguistic idiocy
with a measure of metaphors thrown in
for the sake of self-esteem.
As if to say, I tried
But my rather inadequate mind
failed in its attempts to find
a topic worthy my words and time.
Never mind that I cannot rhyme
any better than a kindergartner,
Something needs to be written
to write is all that matters.
As to artistic merit, well
that is of no concern
at this rather late and very delayed juncture.

Flux

We live in a time,

When the lines are thin.

Boundaries and borders,

Sensations and skin.

The defining edges,

Are blurring into non-existance

There is a loss of layered reality,

with each echo of each experience.

Each reality is separated,

We move on alternate planes,

Our lives intertwined threads

Weaving through the Internet, Earth and space.

The landscape is changing,

Shifting with the sands of time,

As countries and courtships,

Bend and break archaic lines.

The world is morphing,

Flat maps are obsolete,

Four dimensions with manipulations,

Increased possibilities. And cruelties.

Slow Going

Please look into my eyes,
At the feelings I tried to hide.
Please show a little surprise,
At the thoughts I held inside.

No need for anything grand,
It's enough to take a chance.
No haste for golden bands,
It's enough just to hold hands.

So let us dream of distant lands,
Futures filled with true romance.
Let us see where we land,
Before we fill the future with plans.

Enzymes

This one was written as a joke in English. It's pretty cute:

There once was an enzyme named Kate,
Who lived in the Natural State,
She met a dashing substrate,
So the two went on a date,
But when their bond ended in a break,
They could not help but separate.

Notice

To the readers:

I apologize for the delay in publishing anything new. Exams were eating my brain out:)

Note

Dear readers,
I have been grappling with this for a while, and I have finally decided to publish a few of my more intimate poems. Hope you like them.

Statues

It is sad to be set in stone,
ideas and ideals never rewrote,
same colors in the same tone,
visions and viewpoints recited by rote.

Iphone Addiction

Screening our thoughts,

boxing our lots,

portable, veritable digital blots

stifling creation

Gray screen,

duller dreams,

boredom streams,

through our pixelated vision.

Impersonal glow,

Communication slow

Emotion in stagnation,

with the dearth of compassion

Falling into Chocolate

Linda Maron said it right,
because nothing can quite delight,
like a highly sweet and caffeinated square,
be it solid, nutty or a filled eclair.

Melting into a liquid bliss,
lovely on the tongue and lips,
incomparable in its perfection,
ubiquitous, delicious sensation.

Though a commonly irresistible temptation,
when consumed in a little more than moderation,
it does wonders for your soul,
feeds the heart and satisfies both.

And so it is a universal truth,
that the best way to enjoy youth,
is to occasionally forget fleeting love and hate.
Wouldn't you much rather fall in chocolate?

Whispers - An acrostic

Walking through shadowed woods,
Hearing a low keening,
Icicle fingers down my spine,
Scared beyond all feeling.
Peering into the fog ahead,
Eyes of gold are glowing,
Rustles sound off the side of the road
Silence.

Magic

A little bit of magic,
as the guiding spark,
for Sacagawea,
who led Lewis and Clark.

A little bit of magic,
inspired them to flight,
crossing the boundaries of doubt,
the biplane was built by the Wrights.

A little bit of magic,
shone in that blue light,
that lit the Curie's laboratory,
on a dark April night.

A little bit of magic,
let the alarm bells ring,
when Rachel Carson,
published "Silent Spring".

A little bit of magic,
gave aid in emancipation,
in his salt marches and satyagrahas,
till Gandhi helped free a nation.

A little bit of magic,
filled the written words,
from the pens of all the writers,
whose writing united the world.

A little bit of magic,
was in those that went before,
the giants of generations past,
whose discoveries are now part of lore.

And a little bit of the magic,
that stuff of childhood fantasy,
lives on in the hearts and minds,
of people like you and me.

This one is for my little brother, who has finally discovered that books (and history) are not boring.

Roads

I walk along windy roads,
that float without end or beginning,
Shifting across the sands of time,
extending beyond the farthest reaches of sight.

Ceaselessly, the terrain shifts under me,
blanketed by the clear darkness of night,
or the golden fleece of morning light,
speckled with frothy oceans and frozen lakes.

Wispy in its form, invisible to my eyes,
uncertainty the only certainty of what lies,
beyond the misted veils drifting over hills and vales,
silver cloaking destinations obscured.

Those airy roads weaving through heavens,
twisting paths high above the dry earth,
liquid mercury shining impossible to make solid,
with the warmth flowing from human hands and hearts.

Lofty goals and accompanying woes,
line the oft trodden path in the sky,
streaked with a rosy palette of dreams
in the first glimmer of sunrise,

Note:

Considering the increasing work required on my part for upcoming tests and projects, I am going to post only on Wednesdays.

The Progressive Era

In the late 1880's,
America was a mess.
The lack of regulations,
put many in distress.

One issue was child labor,
for in the factories,
little toddlers slaved for hours,
to support their families.

Their lungs were filled with smoke,
which was the least of their pains,
but as there was no other work,
they did not dare voice complaints.

And there were the monopolies,
in railroads, steel and oil.
While millionaires threw lavish parties,
immigrants were forced to toil.

Yet despite their contributions,
the "greensleeves" lived on a pittance,
and were forced to dwell in the illness,
of filthy, stinking tenements.

Then when they formed unions,
their bosses sent them packing,
because (thanks to Nicholas II),
refugee workers were scarcely lacking.

Besides the labor problems,
lay that of packaged meat,
which, as Sinclair eventually showed,
was not even fit for cockroaches to eat.

Beef was made with minced rat,
sausages were filled with sawdust.,
and when workers had accidents,
their appendages were added to the mush.

Slowly, society changed,
as people began to fight.
Protests and pickets became popular,
means for demanding human rights.

The right to education,
and to equal housing.
But despite winning those battles,
there remained the small matter of voting.

Frederick Douglass and Ida Wells Barrett,
wanted to vote for president,
and the perseverance of the African Americans,
led to the ratification of the 15th amendment.

So now all mankind could vote,
Be they black, brown or white.
But what of the women,
to whom this action was denied?

In 1848,
they gathered at Seneca Falls,
and pledged to band together,
in their quest to get into the polls.

The speeches and spirit of Stanton,
and Susan Anthony,
paved the way for female suffrage,
and the progress of history.

Holding golden banners,
they walked the streets in protest,
though some of their personal lives were strained,
as the inevitable consequence.

Some people were just incredulous,
while others focused on suffrage for blacks,
most of the opposition continued to think,
that suffragettes were too weak to have a chance.

Yet when the activists were imprisoned,
Every gender and every hue,
they continued protesting in jail,
by refusing to consume prison food.

When the state gave them pardon,
they were back out on the streets,
proudly marching in every place,
straight toward imminent victory.

So through the efforts of many,
from Roosevelt to Anthony,
immigrants, Africans and women alike,
were finally given legal equality

With the passage of reforms and time,
America has come in leaps and bounds,
and the progress we have made since then,
continually tends to astound.

In the progressive era,
poor children were virtually slaves,
but now, instead of sweatshops,
Millions head to school each day.

In the progressive era,
African Americans were often lynched,
then in the first decade of the 2000s
One became president.

In the progressive era,
women's place was hearth and heath,
yet feminism has opened doors,
for girls to dream big.

So to conclude this poem,
I think it safe to say,
that though there still are challenges,
there is hope for change.

 

Paper Napkin Poetry

Scraps are covered in scribbles
About things and people
Seen through street café windows and doors
As a pulsing brew of sound and colors
With all walks of life walking on their way
Passing through the contemplative gaze
Of the poet piecing words on paper napkins.

Speaks for itself

"Humanity" and "Sanity"
share a striking similarity
with "rarity".

Spring Showers

Rain falls like teardrops,

Cold reflections of sorrow.

Rain falls like dewdrops,

Wishes for a better tommorow.

The drops come during rain,

Striking on the pain.

The drops come during cloudy nights,

While the sun is caged by the absence of light.

Showers bring rainbows,

Beacons of shining hope.

Showers bring a crystalline clarity,
Curtains on past tragedies.

Weekend Poetry

These are recordings of a poetry reading I did on Saturday. It was sponsored by the Coimbatore Arts and Theater Society, and it was rather nice to meet other people who like words.

Hope you enjoy them!

(I shall apologize now for my little brother's photo-bombing proclivities).

Beyond the Window

Love

Signs

No one reads the signs,

On the roads or the faces.

The incessant media barrage,

Has inured us to things of importance.

Eyes can flash stop signs,

Yet in the rush of life,

No one even sees them,

In the throes of their own strife.

Eyes can flash hazard signs,

Yet they are always ignored,

And rather perceived as amusement,

By the busy and bored.

Eyes can flash stop signs,

Yet in the daily commotion,

People choose to ignore them,

Instead speeding to their destination.

Eyes can flash caution signs,

Yet people do not seem to worry.

They think it is just an overreaction,

For a problem that is temporary.

Eyes can flash crossing signs,

Yet some prefer not to acknowledge,

When others need their patience,

because they are fast losing it.

Eyes carry many signs,

That express not only actions,

But go farther than the ones on the road.

By blatantly showcasing emotions.

GMOs ("Genetically" Manipulated Order-of-things)

We live in a world of rampant customization,

Where everything has multiple variations,

Tailoring our major decisions,

To fit in with our conceptions of perfection.

And now we have moved from technology,

And its puzzle-piece properties,

To modifying the very food we eat,

And eventually, maybe our very own babies.

Genetic modifications,

Will be the catalyst of nations,

Bringing aid to those rife with starvation,

And more wealth to those who create them.

Already our production of corn and wheat,

Have been made globally surfeit,

By the introduction of more hardy genes,

That have enabled crop production to amply increase.

Yet what about the side affects,

The death and destruction of ecosystems,

As growth cycles are disrupted,

And the ground is stripped of nutrients.

What about the increasing flooding,

And as the population is exploding,

Climate change is highly concerning,

More food, more waste, more burning.

Modifications also cause problems for human societies,

For we are now putting altered genes into our bodies,

The repercussions are plausibilities,

Because proper testing is rarely a measure of propriety.

But even regardless of this disturbing situation,

Cloning and IVF have even greater implications.

When we can build our own human,

It heralds the end of natural selection.

Our genetic code was made public knowledge,

By the human Genome project,

And scientists are now rushing to harness,

Human genes for their own research.

And no more must people rely on their own genes,

To pass on traits to their offspring,

In fact, there are banks for gametes,

Where parents can choose cells for particular characteristics.

A child can be made intelligent,

By using cells from another parent,

Even athletics and appearance,

Are now in the hands of humans.

And as research races to decode,

The fibers of our being at the molecular level,

To learn what individual components are capable of,

And maybe even change the ones that are harmful,

We face the threat that the natural world,

May become unsustainable,

As genetic modifications become more available,

And the earth is flooded by something too stable,

For cycle of change to be possible.

Once perfection is biologically attainable.

A Writer's Hiatus

Hoping
Ideas
Arrive
To
Us
Soon