Habituated Poems | Examples

The Soldier’s Covenant

A wind-induced smile greets me. Cradling the baby’s head, floccose like a ripe raspberry; I’m both filled with wonder and dread. The fragrance of the care products is a stark contrast to the latibule I’ve habituated for many years during my tours of duty. How am I to care for this fragile being when mankind is hell-bent on extirpation? The eminent threat is daily updated on the Doomsday Clock. Paradise razed by conflagration like the residue of a charred batch of jam: irredeemable! I can but sigh while I vow to protect him and his mother to the best of my ability.

The Date

The Date 

Growing up you are forced to learn the dates 
Write in your notes book today’s date, , learn your birthdate and know each festive date 

Then some dates turn into annual celebratory days - birthday , Independence Day, anniversary day
Before you know it, you get habituated to remember every new milestone date 

 But what do you do with dates that caused grief , loss and pain - An annual reminder of what life could have been if that day did not meet its fate 

Am I to tribute it or talk about it or just toss it away as it was nothing
But it did mean something and changed everything you know even if you hate 

How I wish society  also provided a manual for such dates 
When how courageous or such a brave face you put up since that day my mate 

I can probably never put in words how conflicted it feels - 
Knowing some grief will never really heal and an annual reminder that will always open a new flood gate !

Hemmed in by belief

Born into a culture,
conditioned by belief,
we pray as we are told,
deepening delusion,
from birth till we grow old.

Born into a culture,
following ritual,
we trust the holy book
but if we pause to think,
we’ll see we were mistook.

Born into a culture,
we’re habituated 
to feeling we are right 
and all others are wrong
but have we seen the light?

Born into a culture,
we just follow the herd,
asking not who we are,
as that that transcends form,
our soul’s luminous star.

The Portrait Or How To Be Both Happy and Sad

Dead to the world
he turned to face the wall,
it was an interesting wall,
it had a painting
of his semi-naked ex-wife
hung upon it.

Usually that wall picture
made him both sad and happy,
but this morning he groaned
like a man giving birth
to an unnamed sorrow.

He had become ennuied,
habituated to this strange demonic world,
where he was a criminal without a crime.

In a strange way
he longed for some jail time,
just as long as he could take with him
that portrait of his ex-spouse.

Zen Mode

habituated to joy currents
we encourage bliss magnetism
to dance within our body as it likes
but it's pain that we choose to resist
and therefore feral residue yet remains
within feeble form, as delusion unresolved

just like the unshapely jagged rock
we prefer the river's gentle caress
that smoothens edges over time
minding not laboured breathing
in our decaying organic form
the slow path, definitely
why then complain

14-December-2022

Habituated In a Rain-Spell

Habituated in a rain-spell
Crowned which lesson to bide
Is with relief, as bright-faced
Sky-bursts the other side

Bear, too, this short episode
Down-weeping, for sorrow
Can you, in just the same way;
Matching what does follow.

The Melt

December did not call him out
to the creek,
it was a prod from a walking god
whose legs had grown stiff.

The softening stream is smoky,
a recuperating sun is unlocking the frozen,
slivers and floes jostle to be one 
with the melt and miasma. 

He watched water rats playing tag 
with each other’s tails.
He had argued with her
and was kicking around a grievance.
Peevishly he lobed small stones
at the rats;
they dived into the banks for cover
but soon come out again
to enjoy the spate of the stream. 

Water rats seem immune to
prolonged caution and fear,
maybe they are as forgetful as goldfish
or simply habituated to risk.

It was then that he knew
that he had to go home and apologize, 
mend what was broken, hold her close
until she melted and flowed again.

Dynamic Stillness

Bound to form, habituated to conditioned patterns of experiential thought and aspirational imagination interpreting sensory signals, yet recognising the inherent limitation of such stuporous indulgence, awareness gradually unshackles itself from these narrow fetters, embracing the omnipresent life pulse in an unbroken flowing continuum. Hollowed out form, empty and magnetised, imbibes the divine elixirous currents, automatically & osmotically assimilating the soma nectar into each pore of being, in a manner as ordained. There is no doer and thus no doing, the divine being the mover facilitating blossoming, awareness in witness mode, simply looking at boundaries between form & formlessness merging, into an unending wave of ecstasy in motion.

Who comes and who goes
No one here save pure presence
Vaporised as bliss

Separation

Opened door and window
My dissected chest on the top floor of the building 
I philandered with moonlit just once 
The Dim light was over there for a while
Vague all around the sleeping town
I laid in paralyzed body and enthralled-
With my drunkard eyeball,
with your departure to rampart for another
Fatigue all speeches of farewell were bleeder
 
All mounds of happiness were there
Twin thoughts of love were together
Our neighbors were there and there were- 
Our night parking seat, greenly straw
Varieties trees, owls, whistle of night guards
Some drunkards passerby, barking dogs
Lonely night singers song; some jazz music sounds
Some quarrelsome housewives quarrel with householders
And some habituated householders quarrel with housewives
quiet pool and sportive fishes
The lamppost, the dim light- red, green, yellow
The street beggar, the homeless family
All were there on the way of your departure
But with your departure to rampart for another
Fatigue all speeches of farewell were bleeder

-	December 2012 Chattogram

That Person

Is it important that to someone we must speak?
Is it wise enough to open up when solitude makes you weak?

Is it really okay to make that person so important?
Is it even possible to be habituated and not dependent?

Is it really necessary that secrets we must confide?
Is it fine, that actually it's we who, their priorities, decide?

Is it really so unclear, what their expectations are?
Is it because our vision isn't clear, distant and far?

Is it so obvious that we want them never to leave?
Is it when they really do, that, they aren't ours to grieve?

Is it really that, letting go, remains the only option?
Is it our ego, that we wouldn't call first, fighting the temptation?

Is it just normal to let that person slip away?
Until finally we realize, that person meant more,
than our big ego, someday.

I'M Sorry

I'm sorry for being a bright blue sky ,
stretched out for you to fly.
I'm sorry for being a bright orange sun,
to which your days had begun.
I'm sorry that the earth is brown,
and you were too down to see,
how majestic the purple flowers sprout.
I'm sorry that your bed is lofty now,
for the ones who made it,
 knew not how, 
how badly your back ached.
for you were already habituated to
the hardness of this low concrete life.

To Money

To money
With your power you do many a thing
Like rocking monarchs who ruled over the land
Powerful as you have passed into dust
Rich or poor depend on you for a grand

You seem reaching the needy walking on
Cores of hopes gleam upon many faces
Smile soon disappears when you move away
This is happening since long in races

Do you play games? Ask a common person
You never stood on your legs with any
You may be habituated to wheels
Never mind we if you stay or move on

Enough of you we enjoyed though tested
Won’t you make us live a happy life?
Look carefully into those struggling eyes
Enrich with abundance complimented

Painful Silence

Inside the depth of her heart
In some hidden corner
There cries a little girl
With her tears that never stops.

Under the harsh shades of emotion
Her tangled feelings
The worst nightmares
Her life that suffers.

Every other day she smiles
A cute little chubby cheek smile
That hides all her pain
All her heartbreaks, all her tragedies.

Her blue shiny eyes
That speaks her untold story
Her silence,her peace
That shows, she learnt it all.

Never she complains
Never did she question her heaven
I'm habituated to this pain
Tells her painful silence...

Parting

Parting with yesterday as tomorrow start,
The present saunters by, seated on a cart…
Yesterday life was on slow cattle tracks,
Tomorrow beckons as the dawn cracks;
 
Yesterday life was settled on a song…
Tomorrow I don’t know but it could be all wrong,
Today I enjoyed till it floated by the lane narrow…
To make way for a brighter tomorrow;
 
Reminiscences that made my yesterday…
Today let those memories dance away,
As I am leaving yesterday behind….
Tomorrow I come finally; I’ve made up my mind;
 
Yesterday I tried to sport my life with encore,
Today once more dances away just the way it did before…
Yesterday, it’s over and I am habituated to see it part,
Parting like there's no tomorrow as today steps on the applecart !!!

The Old Man

He stood there
Grey hair dirty, long
Unwanted
His grubby shirt faded
Old
Eyes sad, torn
No one
No home
Dirty bag holds food
Pushed aside
Misplaced

Stared at
Stared from
His frame of 
Shocking disclosures
Un-habituated
Sits down
Pauses, pausing
Moving aside

Pulling away
From life
Pulled away from
Us, them
Wrinkled noses
Snickering
Compassion
Compassionless

What happened
What happened to you
In your burrowing world
In your past
Decades
Have passed
Onto your wrinkles
Near death

Your forever lost
And at times
So are we
With our lowered lids.

• Short Habituated Poems
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• Habituated Quotes