From my kitchen I see
Every year the almond tree –
Shedding leaves, standing bare
– Then getting covered with green
(The raw almonds staring
Like the fruits of karmas),
Reminds me of a circle
Or, the cycle?
Bookish wisdom? Too well read?
Detecting meanings where they exist not?
Considering myself different from the lot?
At the mercy of chemicals, forces beyond control
What is your role?
Of what are you the vehicle?
Knowing little, acting learned
Isn’t that typical of the Age of Pseudos?
– Snakes climbing ladders in life’s Ludo* –
Using half baked hastily grabbed
Expertly juggled, lengthy learned words.
Tinkling, hissing, grating hovering like birds.
Willing to blacken the paper
Refusing to recognise the sheer inability
Of leaving any trace on the Time Ocean
Which in continuous motion incurs evolution.
The no more banal God’s package deal
Looks inviting at the evening meal.
The conventional ideas beckon
To shift the burden
To the well-worn idea of God.
Atheism, Marxism lose their lure
The arch enemy – the Fear
Its ugly head rears.
Hearing its heavy tread
The bookish learning fled
The grey has gradually spread.
*Ludo – A board game played by 2-4 players
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Poetry lover? Check out Gitanjali: A Collection of Indian Poems by the Nobel Laureate
