Best Raga Poems
In the first grey light of dawn, a young woman begins the morning song.
The simple cadences of her song are as tranquil and liquid as the monsoon rain,
Trickling down the broad leaves in her mother’s garden.
The steady drumming on the veranda roof echoes her rhythms.
She sings of joys, of sorrows, and of love … always of love …
This morning song is as familiar and comforting as a lullaby.
Her mother brought it with her from the South,
And sang it every morning for her father.
Now, she sings for them both, as they begin the day.
Today will be special for her.
She is to meet her future husband for the first time.
She has never seen him, but she trusts her parents’ judgement …
After all, they love her, don’t they?
She hopes he will be kind, and maybe a little bit handsome …
Like the boy she’s seen in town.
But she must try to forget him …
On another veranda, a young man sits silent, listening.
He sits here at every dawn to hear the morning raga,
Entranced by the voice of a girl he cannot see.
He, too, is to meet his betrothed today.
He wishes she might be a singer, or at least enjoy the morning song,
When she comes to live at his mother’s house.
He remembers a lovely girl he saw … sly glances, shy smiles …
If his new wife is half as pretty, he will be well content.
Yes! He will …
He believes his secret is safe, but mothers see everything …
And his mother loves him. So she whispered to a friend,
And her friend whispered to another, and, well …
A good husband is not hard to persuade …
The sun has risen above the clouds.
There is much to do today – and if the young people agree,
There will be a lucky Monsoon wedding to arrange.
But first, the song.
Entered in Elaine's "Tell me a story" contest
Love in my life, flashes like a comet.
Still, memorable moments of forelsket.
I call it R.A.G.A.S…. cherished love tags!
I know, you are just too curious to hear those funny gags!
My mom…007 James Bond’s perfect clone.
The perfect dodger, an invisible cyclone.
Ms Boffin! She’s just another drone.
Oops! I am never out of her zone.
My first crush, “R”, handsome and dark, So so so cool!
Our hearts melted in the swimming pool.
Water was our sky; every dive became a memorable flight.
Mom’s presence was our plight.
She caught his gaze; her indirect counselling was on rage.
Patience of two days, most furious feud then, on the stage.
Spring faded into sad fall foliage.
“S”! His presence was like a beautiful seiche.
In my dreams, I created my perfect niche.
Known for his domineering will and strenuous style.
My eyes always followed him through the aisle.
Hand in hand, under the trench.
Always sitting, on the same bench.
Both of us on cloud nine!
But the climax reached in no time.
Across the road, he stood there to wave good bye.
Just then, my zooming car stopped near my poor guy.
Mom just uttered, “My daughter is my princess, how can a pauper touch the sky?”
Next few days were, poor sighs!
At basketball ground, on jogging rounds, coaching classes and allllll around.
“A” my new neighbour, short and stout, with him happiness was abound.
Mom’s abhorrence was again getting profound.
Day and night scary dreams began to hound.
Her hatred began to multiply like the Sensex cents and pounds.
How could I tell her, it was just a confound!
Continue to read PART2...
13/03/2019
Meir Kahane, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, John F. Kennedy
All gone by the assassin's bullet
My blood chills at
the thought of another gunshot
A friend told me - they know what they are getting into
He was right!
But still - my blood runs cold
Doesn't yours?
Bringing fruit of sun,
in the dish of the sky.
Making birds sing,
god never shy.
Morning raga is sung by every priest,
all feeling fresh, men or beast.
Bells ringing in church,
the truth which monk search.
Bird’s noise in the sky,
let you feel high.
Kids going to school,
babies feeling cool.
Fog in the ground,
the relationship we found,
everywhere, everybody,
enjoying the morning raga.
With some sweet memories of past,
which never last.
Endless feelings of you,
let me feel new…..
as far as I go,
lots of Love to show.
But I prefer to hide,
On morning raga I ride.
Get back to the stage of life,
let us start the play again.
In which I am the junior artist,
and you are the main.
Watched a slick, oily storm cloud spread a stain ‘cross the sky
In a silence so quiet, you could hear Jesus cry.
Drank a bottle of wishes from a bottomless glass.
Sometimes the most you earn on Monday is a kick in the ass.
Poked around in an ashtray full of earthly delights.
Lit the butt of a Lucky. Read a cockroach his rights.
Reached my fist out the window; grabbed the night by its throat
And left it bleeding in the gutter with a suicide note.
This calls for Prozac and whisky.
Let’s welcome the rain,
Not add to the flood with our tears.
We’ll pick a drowned man’s pocket,
Place a flower in his hand
And mumble our confession in his ears,
Yes, in his ears, we’ll mumble our confession in his ears.
When I worked as a desk clerk at the Chester Hotel,
Used to piss in the corner. No one noticed the smell.
Got my kicks outta saying, “There’s no room at the inn!”
I’d shoot ‘em all the arctic finger with a s**t-eating grin.
Had a job as a waiter back when business was slow.
Got promoted to baker, now I’m rolling in dough.
Slice it fresh from the oven. Spread some jam on that bread.
I may not dine on steak and chops, but I’ve got crumbs in my bed.
This calls for Prozac and whisky.
Let’s butter this toas.
The crust ain’t as burnt as it seems.
We’ll climb some chain-link mischief,
Vault the transom, pry the lid,
And taste forbidden pastry in our dreams,
Yes, in our dreams, we’ll taste forbidden pastry in our dreams.