How long can nature bear a world that sinned
As oceans rise to swallow up the shore?
Our business greeds are scattered by the wind,
While maddened skies demand we build no more.
The dying forests gasp for cleaner breath,
The rivers scream against their concrete chains,
We dance a blind, collective march to death,
Ignoring patterns in the monsoon rains.
And yet, hope stays put in the soil and seed,
If human hearts untangle pride from power,
To take from Earth no more than what we need,
Before we reach the final, fateful hour.
The cycle heals, erasing every fear,
Though man has lived behind a fenced frontier.
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Happenings | 20.09.2026 | Earth, nature, ocean, rain, river, world, crown of sonnets
Mary! Mary!
Cries the wind
Our children dead
By your maddened ways.
I curse these barren prairies
Our mildened soil by your fruitful hands
Leave no lasting grace.
I run naked and wildened
Like savage and buffalo
Sleeping abreast sagebrush.
Darker clouds gathered yonder
Where lightning falls.
I huddle so
A corpse
In waiting.
Caught in turmoil of tumults five
That life faces from senses naive:
Deer, mesmerized by magic of sweet sound,
Tuskers, by titillating sexual heist,
Moths, maddened by the sight of fire around,
Fish, by meagre morsel of taste,
And bees beguiled by floral smell—
Why? Rings to me no causal bell,
Why are males consumed in sense-soaking spell?
__________________________
Translations (Sanskrit) | 02.05.2026 | madness/mystic/magic, music, senses, rhyme
Note: This verse as under is often quoted in Indian music treatises:
Lost in music deer are often caught unaware by the hunter, elephants lost in the madness of mating, moths attracted by flares of fire, fish when bite the morsel in bate, and bees lured by flowery fragrance. Here is the transliteration of the Sanskrit verse:
Shabda aadibhih panchabhih eva pancha
panchatvam apuh svagunaih nirbaddham |
Kuranga maatanga patanga meena bhringaa
narah panchbhih ranchitah kim ||
kuranga= deer, maatanga= elephant, patanga= moth, meena= fish, bhringa= bee
____________________
Dressed in an ill-fitting, hardly covering green garb
Surrounded by wan white-washed walls
Pricked and prodded like a pin-cushion
Wired to a beep-beeping machine
Drowsy in a drugged dreamland
Maddened by mind-whelming medications
Pressed by pain, feeling drained
Languishing on a hard hospital bed
Waiting for this prolonged ordeal to be over...
Iran is being slaughtered whole
Where’s your compassion, Paly fans?
How come no voices, not a soul
Spoke up? You must have other plans
No Jews involved, and silence reigns
Name me the cat that got your tongue
The Hollywood of scatterbrains
Is hushed, both elder and the young
Killed in the streets, throats cut, envenomed
Shot point blank in clinics' beds
Vile ayatollahs, full of venom
Prepared to rip own folks to shreds
Do you all march when monies flowing
Qatar pays down your protests?
The murders in Iran ongoing
Few spoken words in worldwide press
Appalled, disturbed, upset and saddened
I cannot keep my mouth shut
And by indifference I’m maddened
Time to remove the Tehran nut
February 3, 2026
I’ve believed in those epics of Love, moments when a man’s mind drifts away from the noise of the outer world and wants only to listen to his beloved — that quiet, tingling sensation in the stomach.
Love doesn’t ask for your attention. It crashes into you, sudden and unapologetic, and before you understand what’s happening — boom — you’re lovestruck. You’re already there.
Love comes first, and then comes the woman, like a butterfly resting on your fingertips. You cannot hold her when you want to; you find her instead, in the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. And somehow, without resistance, you find yourself wrapped around her fingers.
Love, of all things, is what makes you feel a kiss on the cheek that no one placed there. She closes your eyes and opens your heart. She holds your hand just firmly enough to lead you into utopia — a darkness only to the ordinary world.
You will be called a madman. But it is the world that is truly maddened, cursed by its inability to realise that Love resides in a woman — often unheard.
a trillion petals absorb tenderised organ
racing past farm workers in morning dew
Sun embellishes yellow song
maddened by mesmerising muse
saffron they slap an early chill gold
seeds swallowing vacant dreams
s o l d —
Begotten to Fail
The strutting hustlers
rouse their slumberous day
amidst their maddened worlds
In the midst
of the wary ghetto
A dream steps out
blinking, yawning with a resolve
even as their sky seems blurry
Repelling men and monsters
Relishing the forecasted rain
Marching through
mud and splatters
riding with the lightning
dancing to the pounding thunder
mastering the guts and dangers
grimy with the heap
of yesterday’s dreams
grimacing the flavour
of lack and resentment
Spire insight of silence
Swotch and bind, conspiracy of mind
Conspire and self-protrude
Mindless matter of maddened hatter
Borne gall of uncongruent bladder
Reign wettened confections'n faux pas
Pram embedded bedding of public propaganda
And poised for prose 'dulted diaper thrown an' broiled'n a gutter
Homely homelessness in wake of deft arms
Freshened refreshener and wetted choke
Chugged and driven doomed deliverance
Cut of word 'cross and lost'n devious drivings of work
Ticking tenor left fear to render
These haps to fall through ungloved metal and measly meak meal, and
Coarse feel along rift ridged riverbays
Swept upon eons of words spurred affray
Sully gusts, and worry t'encrust
And collect the lost worker from astray.
In a ferry, gloom wore a drained cloth of eve
My heart desolate drifting far and bleak,
Tears fluid as love’s passage can’t rewrite
One lilt of birds through wind’s maddened thud.
And needing rest on a couch in dull shade,
Irreverent the moon … how brittle the sheen…
Till a peasant lounged beside me , bright as flame
Lightening my face… amber eyes aglow.
His ruffled hair touched my cheeks without words,
O humble silence releasing angst, my fear
That he offered soft tunes from his old wooden harp ;
Then left in haste with a smile like a cherub's glow.
Somehow, I felt warmth revived, thorn’s relief
Freed by a young street boy so divinely sent...
A heaven’s keeper , a human the least
An angel on earth, granting crown from grief.
In fractured glass, a soul confined,
A haunting visage, etched in mind.
A skeletal frame, a vacant stare,
A prisoner of endless despair.
Through shattered shards, a glimpse of pain,
A silent scream, a maddened brain.
A twisted form, a broken vow,
A withered spirit, lost somehow.
The mirror cracks, a haunting sight,
A shattered self, consumed by night.
A fractured reflection, a desperate plea,
A captive soul, yearning to be free.
Brimstone throats burned,
before bursting into combustible myths.
Dragons were effigies,
deeply scorched into hearts.
Forever became extinct, it became,
the lick of a decaying fire.
Smoke behind the ramparts.
Maddened man grubbed for fire,
in the warm soot of flinty roots.
Naked he smoldered to master,
the furnace flare of a dragon's breath.
Long he rubbed his flames raw,
made fire leap, wildly dance,
with a zealot's fervor.
Then it was,
that they made a great war
upon the world.
Before the war
bluebirds were just blue birds.
We danced the fright away,
with crazy made-up steps,
some thought us reckless
but the moon was in our eyes.
Bombs arrived.
CNN played the death count down,
until it too was obliterated.
Scorched bodies
tumbled listlessly,
down deserted streets.
Many took to the sewage systems.
Down there in the stinking dark,
the rats were dancing,
with an insane
and tortured frenzy,
as if
angry bluebirds
pecked
at their maddened eyes.
These are not my thoughts,
there is nobody writing this,
yet the mind has legions,
and they roar against crumbling cliffs.
Hold fast to nothing,
a maddened mind will falter,
commence to question
its own voices.
Who speaks now and writes this?000000000
I had a love, I swear I did;
I know it must be true,
Because my soul still bears the mark,
The imprint of her hand.
In desperation, before the mirror, wide I rip my shirt,
And search, with manic eyes, the reflection bared therein.
Surely there must be a trace, a mark, a sign,
An inscription, a signature, anything at all
Upon the space above my heart.
Maddened, I scan the breast endlessly.
Nothing.
I had a love, I swear I did;
I know it must be true,
We shared our selves, our life, our love,
One body, mind and spirit.
I know that she was mine, I know;
She told me it was so.
But here I am, where she is not,
Mumbling like a crazed and sorry fool;
And sooth, I know that she is better off without me,
So tell the truth now,
That at least you owe yourself;
At least that motley sum;
Look in the mirror once again, no flinching, hold it steady;
A prize I ain’t.
So at least pretend to be a man,
You sniveling little bastard.
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