The kings of backgammon, descendants of
Bulgarian kings and Austro-Hungarian princes
Russian counts and countesses, Czech barons
Your ancestors have seen better days.
They accepted their fate as the natural state of affairs
And when it turned out to be just a fickle fortune
They had the nurture and tact not to show their shock,
Though usually such a ruthless discovery crushes many.
Now, as you spend your days playing backgammon in smoky cafes
You rarely remember the fragments of days gone by.
You've learnt to rejoice in trifling victories, and not to be disheartened by losses.
The descendants of exiled kings and ruined nobles
They organise championships of sad joy
The winner owes a round of beer for everyone.
The new Russian opposition makes the right acquaintances
Just like the old one did a hundred years ago
And in their later years, they all convert to Catholicism
Since Orthodox churches don't have pews
At least with Catholics you can doze off unnoticed
With a sniff of incense through the candle light.
Have I gone mad? My kith and kin, and friends worriedly ask
I'm unable to eat or sleep; I am stressed. I am lost.
Defining the meaning of my gestures - is a hard task.
Amidst hullabaloos of my fickle fortune, I'm tossed.
I want to see her; I want to hear the three-letter word.
I want to tell her all about me—my rises and falls.
Moments I'm unable to feel her presence, seem absurd.
Her voice sounds and resounds within, like the angelic calls.
Does the world say I'm old? Nay. I am a transformed eagle.
Your silence (purposeful?) yet shakes my very existence.
Don't you make as well as Mar as a mythical seagull?
Your frankincense scent, I serenely sense from far distance.
My entire universe is enraptured by your glance.
The constellation of my consciousness stands in a trance.
They collided
it was fate, destiny, it was rather awkward.
Brief introductions by a third party
led to instant dislike.
It was kismet. It was painful.
She disliked his manner,
he loathed her phony affectations.
From the very start
they kept miles apart.
Ten reincarnations later
it got no better.
Eventually a fickle fortune
placed then in a broken elevator
four hours alone together,
a centuries-old hostility
finally evaporated
hearts melted.
A spiritual attraction
revealed to them
that they had always been
soul-mates!
They got hitched in a hot-pepper fever
It was love at last-sight,
it was not right,
it was a fatal karma
soon they plotted
to murder each other.
One was killed dead,
the other went to bed
happier.
Reality's a harsh truth,
that dominates existence.
And I cannot escape it,
no matter how hard I try.
You got me to believe we'd
be together forever.
But your lies and betrayal,
tore my naive heart apart.
Love's indomitable flame,
was abruptly extinguished.
And its demise was painful;
fueling deep depression.
Fate spun a fickle fortune,
sowing threads of trust with doubt.
And yet, hope has the power
to resurrect dying dreams.
Happiness cannot stray far,
for it's tethered to my heart.
And there will come a day when
I'll be happy, once again.
If nothing was,
And all Luck be absent,
I would find myself,
Both mate and captain,
Of Fate-
That universal ship,
That sails along,
In Destiny's grip;
I would travel the world,
With narry a care,
For I would decide,
Who, What, When, and Where.
My actions would be mine alone,
And fickle fortune,
Would be no longer prone,
To shipwreck in the Karmic tide,
Only then could I let it slide.
--------------------------------------------
But now I can but sit and wonder,
when this ship will be led asunder.
---------------------------------------------
love, love like lilies love light
adore admire and achieve
for fantastic fun future
it's idiolistic in itself
past present particular
join journeys
love like lemons love lime
for fiery future fulfilled
lovers last lifetimes
sweet songs so sour
beauty beast beats best
money makers move
for fickle fortune
other offers open
every escape exceeds
can't copy canopy's
admires admire afar
You're not the type who quits
while still ahead
for fear that if you do
you'll end up dead;
and so with game plans new
you go to bed,
shrewd schemes turning and tossing
in your head.
But fickle Fortune hates
long winning streaks,
and strokes of luck it shuns,
at times it seeks;
with the risks of losing
randomly spread,
chances are you'll burst your pride
and lose your bread!
Hand of power, heart of whimsy, tamer of
mighty rivers. Rivers of initial learning,
nurturer of ancient gardens, gardens in
their fabled beauty hanging yet in utter
freshness in the fecund hearts of poets.
Poet at heart cooped solitary, hostage of
life's fickle fortune. Fortune dreamed
with vanished glories still as green as
tendrils twining. Twining on to memories
heart-held, held while tending patch of
foliage, muttering through graying mustache,
"You're soft muffins, crumbly cookies,
munchies in my white cell circle; circle
stony though surrounds me, I'm still palm tree,
brave, steadfast; that you're not, but bush."
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