Forgotten springs

Where does a straight road lead to?
The end is in its beginning,
Only unseen, it forgets itself
On its way there, through ways and means
That twist and turn past good and bad,
Through means and ends that weave
Meanings and endings
Out of everyday tears and smiles.

A black dog barks in the empty night
Lined with trees that have already shed their leaves.
A stilling wind blows, then is forgotten
As the chill creeps in unbidden from out of sight.
Unnoticed rhymes in the wheeze of a motorcycle and
The tar almost melts, darker than the darkness of the night.

There is music in the breeze
That whispers of new beginnings
Past where the street of leafless trees
Ends.
And when night darks its way to the soul
Of man looking towards the setting life;
When man feels drawn from the world whole
That teems in its many-tongued strife;
Then the music of the breeze
Will bring back memories of forgotten things;
With its discordant harmonies
It will speak of a million Springs.

--Shyam.

There will be time

There will be time, there will be time:
A time to seek the time we lost
Searching for time and for our false sweethearts.
Over the ruins of yesterday we fought;
We fought over our forgotten pasts;
Over the midnight hours we lost
Searching for ghosts and for imagined wars;
But there will be time, there will be time.

There will be time, there will be time:
A time to find the time we lost
Searching for reasons to forget our pasts.
Over tomorrow's promises we'll laugh;
We'll make fun of our ancient wars;
Over our tombs we'll grow our lawns
And search for our ghosts in the hearts of our flowers;
For there will be time, there will be time.

--Shyam.

Whispers of Mortality

Dulce et decorum, the old man sneers in my ear
As I sit waiting at my window for the rain to stop:
She will not come today either.

Their faces stare soot-blackened with fear,
Asking when the next war will start and where,
So they can get out of miserable here.
A few quivering cigarettes in cupped, corroded palms
Trying to light themselves afire - we are all friends here.
That, there, was a school we all went to when we had the mind to -
Now we need to, each day.
Metal flying wheezes like an old consumptive.
I have never seen you alone, they say to me,
Where is your brother, your friend?

The bus stops every other mile and people get on
Walking on stilts, sweating happiness that makes him retch.
They stare politely at the withered stump and shake heads.
Jingle bells, jingle bells, he begins to hum, offending,
And they move off without shaking his disgusting hand.
The ruins are colourful today, he muses,
The sun becomes here; ours was a darker land.
Mother, mother, he cries, why did you bother?
They wouldn't let me play at pitch and toss again.
Head unbowed, bloody fool, go to your brother -
He will laugh heartily at your pain.
When the dust clears, he gets down in the middle of somewhere
Waiting for the doves to fly away before he can limp slowly home.

When proud man stoops to charity,
He mouths some utter inanity,
And sneaks away before his thanks
Can soil his wounded humanity.
Gun to temple, he blows to bits his pride,
And crawls back home simpering,
Happy to have lost the infernal hide
That kept him man from winter to spring.

Amor vincit omnia, he cries in my deaf ear
As I lie waiting in my bed for the darkness to lift:
She will not come tonight either.

Under the Bridge

Gently resplendent she floats upstream
Dreaming so sweetly her enchanted dream.
And we on the banks of the magical stream
In awe worship her.

Sweetly reclining on silken smooth waves
She conjures up visions that every man craves.
And we simple souls forever her slaves
In awe worship her.

Smiling most heavenly she glides softly through
Leaving in her wake a faint ripple or two.
And we holding to our eternal faith true
With love worship her.

On a Bridge, In Thought

Three simple things:
A pound of unadulterated flesh - or two -
Pounding; A pensive mass of swirling green and maroon and blue,
Leaning; A distance, unyielding, gray, dark and red
Extending. Then there is the water
Foaming, Frothing, Rushing and Swirling,
Leaping over stones and bubbles and untouched sweet places,
Flowing. The green trees hiss gentle into the wind,
Swaying, softly, white in the midday sun
Streaming, Singing, Shading the enchanted eyes,
Soothing. The bridge leads itself over the river,
Longing; Looking towards the untouched shore,
Sighing; Finding in its own uninterrupted Silence its
Meaning.

Limericks - Old Style, New Style

There was this guy
Who wanted to buy
A bottle of good whiskey on Xmas Eve.
But they wouldn't sell to those who believe
That happiness comes from on high.

I don't know why a ball
Is dropped from a tall
Building to mark New Year's dawn.
I guess it's easy to see its great fall
And then not worry about it at all.

There was a man
Who had a good plan
To become a millionaire in no time.
But it is not something that he or I can
So we content ourselves with just rhyme.

Pipe Dream

What is a pipe dream? Is it one of those that gives you a fright
Where you wake up and scream in the middle of the night
Because you felt too happy and something didn't feel right?
Or maybe it is a waking dream - the kind where you see
A well-remembered face in a place where you want to be
But know it is only someone else on TV.
Or the pestilential want that makes for having
When the having is too difficult and, too hard, the knowing.
Or the dreams of old men smoking stale pipes
And remembering all they didn't do and other silly gripes.
Or maybe it is just what the butterfly sees
When it has slept just long enough and flies out of its sheath
To face butterfly nets and hungry bees, pollen-less flowers and unbending trees
Just so it can a take a fresh, happy, free breath.

kattrukkoduthap paadathai maRandhuvitta aasiriyarpol
sattre ayarndhEn maattraan puNsirippukkaaLaanEn
nEttriravu veedhiyilE enai kaNdu anjiyavan
indrennai kaNdELanam seigindraan sagikkavillai.
munbE naan kaNdadhuNdu ulagathaar irakkathai
vendraaradi munveezhvar thammadhippai kaattudhaRkku
pinbondru vidhi seivar thiNdaadum kaalathil
sendraarai maRandhiduvOm indruLLAr mattroruvar.
ippozhudhum thayangugindrEn ivarmun naan selvadhaRkku
vazhi ondrum vERillai immakkaL enkulathaar
eppozhudho thaaivayittril seidhuvitta uRavadhanaal
pazhi sollitthirindhaalum ivarpOlthaam vaazhgindrEn.

--Shyam.

Sila nErangaLil sila sindhanaigaL

Thanitthirundha nAtkalai nAn ninaithukkoNdEn
Ninaithu thaNindhirundha vEdhanaiyai thooNdi vittEn.
Varutthathin sigaramthanai therindhu koNdEn
Varum sarithirathin Edugalil idam vagikka
MaRutthu vaitha uNmaigalai meeNdum uNardhen.

KaNdadhu thAn kanavo alladhu
KANbathu thAn verum bramaiyo
En kaNmunnAl niRkkum avvadivam poiyo
Aiyo nAn pithan thAno illai
Ivvulagam enai tholaittha iruLkAdo.

Tholaithooram senRimmaNNil kuruthi sindhi uyir vaLarthu
Tholaindhu maRaindhu piRamAndhar kaNNukkettA veezhvarindhu
Migudhi enum pulithol pOrtthi
Sirippendra sAmbal poosi
Vetki sadaiviritthu
UyirthAndavam Ada Ayatham AnEn.

KeL en maname
Ini kalangAdhe
SenRadhu, senRu maraindhadhu,
Ini meendum vaaraadhu.
Varuvadhu, varavillai,
KaN Paaradhadhu, poruL puriyaadhadhu.
Iruppadhu iraadhu, Meendum varaadhu.
Indre uNmai iruppadhe uNmai
MaRandhuvidu matravatrai.

--Shyam.

PS : Finding typesetting in Tamil difficult - hence the very arbitrary use of English letters to denote Tamil equivalents - will be helpful if someone can tell me the conventional substitutions for Tamil letters in the English alphabet.

A Sonnet from the Bosnian, Or: A Study in EBB

Not to love thee were sin and blasphemy,
Yet Love finds me reluctant minister;
For of aught I can in troth deliver,
I find nought that would be happy to thee.
Still writest thou of Love and Poetry,
When knowest thou my worth? but consider:
What faded leaves lie here, yellow, bitter;
Still lurest me thou to thy heav'nly tree?
But I begin to falter, my Heart's weak;
Nor God helps me who wrought me so frail
That, when commencest thy dear Love to speak,
I feel awed and pitiful Love makes me quail.
So, take me, if thou wilt, thy vassal meek,
And teach me sweet Love in loving detail.

--Shyam.

A Study in Shakespeare

Shall I call thee fair but surely 'tis a lie
For treats't me thou fair maiden most unfair;
Nor could I call thee apple of mine eye
For absent art thou therefrom through foul and fair.
Or if names name thee false what of my eyes
That see nor beauty nor grace to applaud?
Or my ears that hear no music sweet thy lies?
Or my mind that cannot thy golden image defraud?
Or maybe thou mov'st not in so bleak my ken
But in stronger hearts I see not thy heavenly trace;
Or if thou shouldst feel thyself beyond all men
I see no Gods fight ov'r thy angel-face.
And if thou shouldst think that I love thee yet
Let Love be called blind and I thy forsaken pet.

--Shyam.

a day in the life

A middling moon I see out of my window
Growing shadows on its fair surface
Long, short, long, short
Swish, swish goes her skirt
And I stop my lunar dreams.

What is it, I wonder, that keeps me up
Till the light is back where it all began
Yesterday in the early dawn?
It must not be long now before
I can go back to my morning dreams.

In the middle of the day a couple of sun-rays
Sneak past my barricaded window waking me up
To start another day from where I left off
Losing a few breaths, a few minutes of my life
Every hour to the unforgiving Hour.

And then it is evening and there is no time
To remember the day that is still today
What is gone, is gone
And there is some more to come before I see
The pock-marked moon and her elegant stride.

-Shyam

Memories

It rained yesterday.
I was away most of the day
Watching myself in the murky shade
Of a thousand leaves that had refused to fade
Inspite of autumn's grim facade
And I missed the falling rain.

It rained again today.
I slept away most of the day
Dreaming of rain and a gentle breeze
Of the bearing away of a thousand dead leaves
That yesterday had made me grieve
And miss the falling rain.

-Shyam.

Dreams..Promises: Spring

I dreamt today of tomorrow's flower
Waiting to spring on my wearied eyes
A fresh memory of a promise stale.
The air and the earth stir with notions of her:
All awash with light, life, relenting to kiss
With grudging grace a nature's fool.

The roses drip their thorny red
And my heart gathers up her lies all true.
She is not here but I wait in hope
For tomorrow's treacherous flower to bloom.

(She lied to me, with dimpled smile
And, lying, loved me, as I her.
But now I lie here alone, and she elsewhere.)

--Shyam.

Cold, Dead: Winter

Death comes swirling in fairy forms
And dark white bright masses swamp the sun.
No light, no life, all hard and cold, stone and snow:
No heart hers that sold mine to the howling winds.
The passing cars splash slush; nothing moves
Except to wound, to smart, to shiver its rusted bones.

Rugged barks, naked, drooping in the withering storm,
Stand monuments to despair; and I learn to freeze
What she wove into my dreams with her cruel charms.
Dead, dying, ready to die, I bear my coffin in my heart.

(I warmed her eye and fed her heart
And she let me bask in her summer love.
But now all is cold and dead, where is she?)

--Shyam.

Lonely Times: Fall

I know of a place near my house
Where colours dance on leaves floating in the wind.
The tall trees though are proud and silent
Bearing her absence with dignity.
They were not always so: in summer they laughed with her
But now she comes no more.

The roads are full of forgotten leaves:
Trampling over them to reach my home
I think of her; of the brown waves that danced
Their dainty way into my miserable heart.

(It was beautiful to fall for her
I was full of her and she, of me.
But now I am lonely, where is she?)

--Shyam.

Semper Fi: Summer

She's not here and oh the difference to me!

A thirst it sometimes takes me now
To remember summer thoughts of her:
Her eyes dripping the cool blue of happiness
Into my parched heart.
I see her now in every long womanleg
Striding from me; why did she have to go?

Ice cold this desert heart of mine
I left her cool breeze a year behind.
Summer nights I now spend sweating on my sheets
Wondering what happened to immortality.

(A breeze, she came, then left, blowing off
The candle I held to her face.
And now it is dark, where is she?)

--Shyam.

Pottering about diagonally

Free Verse Now

You know the way smoke bends
When it comes out of a hidden chimney
Taking on forms of people you know
And talking to you in silent whispers
Conspiring with the setting day
And the beauty you have drunk to excess
It makes you think of forgotten days
When there were flowers by the road
And children playing on the streets
With tops and balls and all that
And there were pretty maidens getting back
From the well carrying their pitchers
It fogs your brain - the smoke i mean
And makes you think of those huge trees
With place to sit beneath and talk to your love
Of dreams that you knew would never come true
It makes you believe in forgotten vows
How you will build your home and buy a car
How you will go to the movies every weekend
And take your kids to Disneyland
And have fun at the beach every month
It makes real those dream-enchanted eyes
That looked with innocence as you waxed high
And declared you will love to the end of days
Those sweet tender lips that you so wanted to kiss
Those small firm breasts you ached to press
It makes real that half-feigned smile
That lighted on her lips when you brandished a stick
And waved it about destroying enemies of air
Killing destroying the wicked and being the good Hero
To her gentle Heroine sweet and coy
It makes real those tearful goodbyes
When you had to go from home in search of Life
And all those promises to keep and those locks of hair
Sweet remembrances of haylofts and caresses
Or are they dreams
And then the hard work the toil
It brings to mind the mindless days
When you went from sickness to sickness
A crumbling home to a cruel shop
Killing you slowly draining life out of you
Making you do things you didnt know you could
Bringing down the playhouses of children
Destroying their innocence
Making the barren world an image of yourself
Living unto death a machines life
And holding in one hand the ales stink
Making the rounds of a maddening world
And entering alleys that lead underground
Where smoke comes from chimneys too well hidden
To know what is real and what is in your dreams