Ode to Ramji, Our Gatekeeper

Here is a story of a gate keeper

Whose name I do not remember.
Too lean to be called Ram-Singh.

So I call him Ram-ji.

He works round the clock with no rest,

But still says work is worship at best.

He doesn't seem to know how

 Exploited he is for now

Five thousand rupees a month!

And he says, is a big money on earth.
 Away from his honey,
He lives thinking other than just the money.
  Says He
To me

 

 He is a proud father,

One who often gloats further,

About the big money he put together.

For a wedding of his bigger daughter.

 I call him Ram Ji 

and he says Haa Ji

I say Good morning ji

and he says Thank you ji

Wishing Our Beloved Monarch a Very Happy Birthday. (11.11.11)

Your Majesty,

Thank you for making us who we are,

Thank you for leading us 

Thank you for inspiring us

And making us believe

 In the Power of humbleness.

Thank you for reminding the World about the Happiness;

The lesson that is fast ebbing and setting.

Thank you millions for everything that you did.

On your 56th Birthday, I wish you 

More good health,

Joy,

peace,

love, 

smiles, 

laughter.....

And most important of all,

I wish we have many more leaders 

Like you,

In the world

so that that the world at last can see the happiness

you have envisioned so long.

Long live my beloved King

May your Birthday bring Happiness 

To entire humanity.

Diwali in my Neighborhood.

As the night matures,

The thundering sound of crackers fills the air.

It's a blast after blast,

That sets the blue sky ablaze,

with flames of multi hues. 

A  cry of a frightened peacocks,

A noise of a honking car,

A flame from a burning clay lamp,

Flickering of a florescent lights,

Scent from burning agarbhati,

The Night is full of life, 

The carnival of Dewali is here!

The festival in its own righteousness,

The celebration of light 

 The Celebration of colour,

-A gift from god to the humanity.

Burn more lamps,

For it illuminates the darkness of ignorance.

Add some colour in the sky,

For its celebration of God's gift.

I wish all my Hindu friends, a very very Happy and fulfilling happy Diwali. May god Bless us all and may all humanity have all the time in their life to celebrate life, love, Happiness and   friendship

A letter to My beloved Guardians; My King and Queen.

Your Majesties, my beloved King and Queen,

I missed being at home to celebrate our National event, 

"The Royal Wedding"

It brought me deep regret and remorse  

For not being able to join the Nation in person 

to observe the most auspicious and joyous day.

I was down with viral disease, a bad fever, 

People call it a Dengue the dangerous,

Worst, I had exams to write. 

But that didn't deter me a bit;

Your Majesties, I was out  in Gujarat 

Educating  people about the Happiness you brought for us

I wore your badge and told people around 

that Happiness is my identity

because you are my guardian.

A bad viral fever wasn't strong enough; 

because it couldn't withstand the happiness drug 

I took through the smiles and kisses of your majesties. 

your Majesties, I am now fully fit and vibrant,

I am celebrating our national day in my room 

on my blog and on my facebook.

I kiss each picture of yours with my heart, 

each picture is worth a drop of tears of my happiness,

Your Majesties, I am drowning in my Happiness.

I wish you all the joy and happiness,

all the smiles and all the laughter,

May the legacy of  King Khesar and Queen  Jetsuen 

Flourish forever and ever. 

I Have Become Busy like Bee

Revisiting the  flower of Economics,

I feel I have become a bee myself.

A gap of 7 long long years,

Have truly done a justice in erasing 

The curves, graphs, diagrams and definitions

From my memory.

So for now, 

I have little time for 'free and random thoughts' 

Little time to even describe my flower here.

Just in case,

you find nothing in my pot (my blog),

Then,

 Just think that bee is away,

But will be back with honey;
A sweet honey.

John Keats; What is this called poetry?

A sorrowful John Keats, 

Panting yet praising; an Urn, -a Grecian old urn,

Beholding an art with life,

Of maidens and of passionate lovers, 

Of the thing they loath and love equal.

Lamenting like little lunatic lad,

at the life less sight,

of a garlanded cow and of a priest,

The citadel on the mountain

 at peace in the morn,
yet silent and desolate, 

The cold pastoral, - a waste of generation.

A thing of beauty, a joy forever.

Truth, Beauty, Beauty Truth.

What is this called Poetry?

Enterprise; What is this called Poetry?

All that appear will disappear,
All that come will go.
All that bloom will wilt
Nothing is permanent on this earth. 

This is the universal truth.

Our life is like a trip to destination unknown,

The zealous first stage are known for many,
A courage, rage, intelligence, and ambition.

In the second stage,

As the dilemma of drama continues,

The air of futileness seeps in, slowly but surely,

It seeps and seeps deeper.

Finally, on reaching destination, 

Many hardly know the the reason, 

It's like "the trip had darkened every face, 

Our deeds were neither great nor rare"  

Said Nissim Ezekil.

But what is this called poetry? 

Flute Music; What is this called Poetry?

In Rabindranath Tagore's Flute Music;

If the Kantababu's Sindhu-Baroya Raga on flute

Has power and magic of transforming Kinu,

 The milk man's alley to heaven,

Then the Haripada,

The clerk, need not runaway from his bride,

Need not stay late at Sealdah station to save the cost of light,

And need not pray to Ganesha, 

The god of success.

For 

He is as OK as the Lizard in his room

The hiked tram cost,

The depleted umbrella and cut pay, 

The stinking alley,

The moist and damp room.

These are nothing,

But a meaningless statement of a drunkard,

It's sweetening thing to see

A line of distinction between Akbar and Haripada vanish,

The royal parasol merge with torn umbrella, 

The rise of music above worldly is eternal.

Haripada need not suffer

From the "pangs of separation",

and need not evade the marriage,
For
A lady of his mind lingers in and out,
 All day long and night long,
Dressed in Dacca sari,
Vermillion on her forehead,
On the banks of Dhalesvari river,
Under the shade of tamal trees

But what is this called poetry?

Birches; What is this called Poetry?

The Inquisitive Robert Frost said

the good fences make not only good friends,

But also make good neighbor. 

The wise man has a wisdom, 

But how often do they practice?

If swinging of birch in the cold is  idiocy, 

Then, there are some who 

"could do worse than be a swinger of birches"

Like a penny wise, pound foolish fathers at home. 

But what is this called poetry?

Fern Hill; What is this called Poetry?

Once young and care free Dylan Thomas, 

with a memory all green of his greener days.

The self proclaimed "king of the trees" and "prince of apple town".

Who once, rode heedlessly  with careless feet

Among the barns and calves under every new clouds.

Revered  and honored by the foxes and pheasants.

Alas! the Lamb white days are but a sweet past.

The reality of adult is a chain, 

the chain that binds us all 

to the sea of earthly thing. 

But what is this called poetry?

A walk by moon light; What is this called Poetry?

google image

Romantic H. L. V. Derozio's 

Reminiscences of a walk in the moon lit night, 

Together with his peers; -the same feathered birds,  

Rejoicing the the power of mystic and majestic moon,

The power that transcend the mundane mirth, 

The unceasing spiritualness of all,

The language of the stars,

The moon woven silken robe,

The blissful music of the breeze and 

the grass that breaths beneath feet. 

What is this called Poetry ? 

Wordsworth; What is this called Poetry?

The unending cry of William  Wordsworth,

His praise of nature, from the "Tintern Abbey"
to "the stolen boat",

The sights and sounds,

The the pleasures both raw and polished,

The beauty, both within and without,

what is this called poetry?