10 Poems on Society, Life, and Inner Conflicts
Life
Disturbed, confused and tired mind feels to rise,
I thought of a ride making a long drive.
Temptation of leaving everything behind arouses me,
Hired a carriage to take me to the water
Expecting to make a view in the transparent substance,
A good plan to resume life with a fresh bath.
Smooth running takes me to the past, not to the future
Pondering over the subjects of tension, weary and dreadful past,
Amidst thousands of memories and millions of expectations
Life has got a hellish experience
Nothing to find out, I made a fearful cry
The driver smiled-‘Neither today, nor tomorrow.’
Happiness
Taking the shawl of sleep aside,
Slumberous morning prepares to depart.
A heavy sense of numbness causes me;
Becoming awake with sheer determination,
I steal a glimpse on the watch
Looking forward to a cerebral crossroad.
Taking a cup of tea every evening I pass
With mates making tittle-tattle.
I take dinner, full of taste lacking delicious names.
Warm senses recall, I breathe a clear breath.
‘Can you run the family?’ my weighty friend asks,
His heavy wallet satirizes me and I smile.
The World
I wonder how my baby spends
Its days in the womb.
The thoughts take me away—
A blissful, starry and Utopian World;
Full of Tennysonian aspects of nature,
Pleasant appearances of peaceful faces.
I shiver on the ground of a cynical world,
Overfried with castigation and nightmares,
Lies, compliance, duplicity, and deception;
Being reluctant to live in sarcastic distrust,
Lending its world of perpetual delight—
Getting prepared to receive it.
The Watch
I always put on a wristwatch.
It reminds me of the time I spend on the earth
Where the voices make divine pleasure,
Where the candles enlighten every corner,
Where the heart dances like a riverbank at sunset,
And where immense pain envelops the fruitless efforts.
My watch makes me alive for the new experiences,
New hopes along with new dreams.
The day I pass goes out of my reach,
I realize there is something I lose every moment.
My watch becomes older everyday,
So do I.
Teaching
Got petrified by a question
From where comes my means of survival;
Teaching—a scary term to respond,
Encompassing a deep meditative notion;
Making a plant prepared for the fruit,
Worthy of pleasing appetite, not of sustenance.
Neither inspired by Aristotle,
Nor become cultured by Socrates or Plato;
Devoid of innatism or empiricism,
Amidst some fictitious ideas—
Nothing except severe materialism;
I never teach the ideas, they teach me.
Leisure
Distinct entity hustles me in the human race;
Allured with mundane opulence and amplified incertitude,
I sprint from the crack of dawn to the sundown.
Creating a sense of pause, Thursday night appears;
Worthy of seizing freedom or holding recess but—
A fiasco recurs to figure out the essence of leisure.
Haunted with intuitive thoughts and conscious angsts,
Gripped with a loan of ideas from the Germans;
Newspapers, screens or lyrical thoughts come out,
Jacketing a mystery, they spend me on the sly;
Veiled dreams appear like the motionless slices.
I cannot spend myself, no soul on earth can spend either.
Shower
After stretched hours I return,
Also return the compromise, adjustment, and weird efforts.
Striking a chord of tedious toiling with the ideals,
My grimy face needs a fresh rinse.
Intending to wash down the pale beliefs and tainted propaganda,
I take shower.
No brightness radiates the living in the world,
Odorous thoughts block up the surroundings
Hesitant and fretful faces wrestle every moment,
Balancing their life against life
The earth needs a shower—
To clean the sullied ideas haunting apiece.
Shirt
On the thoroughfare, I keep an eye on numerous beggars,
Deprived faces make an effort to allure the pedestrians.
Tracing them shirtless, profound contemplation circles me;
Tiny observations and strong impulses scold the society,
Taken aback with bewildering response—
‘Nothing about poverty, seems fruitless for my profession.’
Taking a vow, Gandhi remained shirtless
Dreamt of clothed Indians till the last breath.
Neither for fashion nor with serious concerns,
I wear the shirt to hide my bare contour;
I fear bareness—
Full of ruthless, startling, unendurable and stunning truth.
Cockroach
Getting pooped, my consort strewed poison
In the region of the base;
Amazed with hypochondriac in the fresh morning,
Sensing a heavy toll of dead cockroach;
Perverse reaction caused and the morning showered
With strange freshness and psychic clearance.
The mesozoic beings wrinkled with
Sick thoughts and fevered ideas;
A bed of venomous scowl—
Decked with septic politics and religious fanatics,
The microbes with malignant boils
Waiting for a total destruction.
Suicide
Got struck by a news of suicide
I murmured, ‘passed away’;
The scholar argued—no,
She killed herself.
He rang the bell of a suicide note;
I smiled—a note of God’s preordained fate!
A customary sin, long back Hamlet scared of;
Religion objects, society condemns,
Hatred of near and dear ones but—
No more existence of the soul;
Death, suicide, killing—
Nothing to distinguish but the evacuation.