And what of this brevity?
Houses designed to last years
The reincarnation of Malthus’ fears
In some consumerist extremity.
The very essence of time grows meagre
Laziness in over simplicity
And all we get is a cavity
For we no longer know who we are.
When did life become scarce
This poor man's road, for dirt track
Stumbling now on down.
Humility's trite-spoke route!
And nearest semblance.
As dimly, shadily kept.
As meagre; minor.
Whose shafts of light passing through
Hope's rays, hearts of lance.
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
____________________
Hope and Solitude
"I hear the ticking of the clock"
i count along...one...two
I didn't even get to ten
Before I thought of you
It's been a week since we shared words
Things said in haste regretted
And stubborn pride stands steadfastly
To vanity indebted
They say time heals such foolish wounds
But chance is likely meagre
With her you're home, safe and secure
With me, your wild and eager
"I hear the ticking of the clock"
The silence pierced by rhythm
My hopes of you, my soulmate
lie empty, unforgiving
Taken from "Alone", made famous by Heart
They just want your money.
Just want your wealth.
Meagre or major they’ll take it all else.
Post sale and the manner changes in tone.
Commission awarded - it’s time to go home.
They’ll try to convince you that you need it to live!
They’ll try to persuade you that you’re doing the right thing.
But they just want your money. They’d take it and take it all. Smiles and so jolly until the deal ends it’s call.
They just want your money. They don’t care how hard it came by. They just want your money and hope you’ll be swooned by their guile.
So many lives destroyed by greed.
Too many hungry mouths to feed.
The rich blame the poor for being lazy and feckless.
The poor blame the rich for being greedy and reckless.
The wealthiest hide funds in offshore accounts
The poor must work harder for meagre amounts.
People are divided so the markets may prosper.
Whilst queues at foodbanks continue to grow longer
Refugees escape from terror and wars.
Dreaming of landing on welcoming shores.
Condemned by the establishment, who don’t want them stay.
Yet happily spend all the taxes they pay.
Governments are chosen by media manipulation.
Then fight their cause with enhanced reputations.
Our press is controlled by the wealthiest few.
So, who really decides what we see in the news?
These are political issues, but many don't care.
Yet the wealth divide remains massively unfair.
Too many believe there’s no other choice.
So, stand up and be heard, coz we all have a voice.
Oft resting under wooded trees
Roams she, hides head behind bent knees,
Adjusts her scant bosom rag, tries
To foil peering moon’s prying eyes.
___________________________
Translation (quatrain) | 30.08.2025 | woman, moon
Note: Here is a verse (in Upajati meter) from Bhartrihari’s Shringaara Shatakam (hundred verses on love and romance). A woman is separated from her husband and roams looking for him, hiding in shadows of woods, adjusting her meagre bosom cloth, sparing it as if from peering moon’s prying eyes. Here is the transliteration of the Sanskrit verse:
Vishramya vishramya vana-drumaanaam
Chaayaasu tanvi vichachaar kaachit |
Stana-uttareeyena karot dhrtena
Nivaarayanti shashinah mayookhaan || 56 ||
It never was the Meissen that she threw
but dinner plates, of which we had so few
our dad would have a scar upon his head
and breakfast plate was just a slice of bread
The kitchen knife was brandished now and then
to emphasize who was the Mother Hen;
and we? We justly cowered in our beds;
threw our meagre covers ‘oer our heads.
She wore a mini skirt and beehive hair
when she was sure my father was not there
then took us visiting our “uncle Stan”
When asked, we had just visited our gran.
A Babycham and brandy was her thing
that was, without, or with, her wedding ring
and all the men in all the bars, they knew,
and told, they simply had to form a queue.
And yet, when knees were scraped and hugs required
it was from mother they were most desired
The distance that our father held from her
meant any love for him, was just a blur.
I wake again, the sky still ash
Mostly soft, not quite the weight of lead
seen at five a.m; that god awful flash
of knowing there is nothing when dead
Here inside a room, trying to recall
if sleep or darkness shapes it all
Whiskey breath eats away my face
Oh good! Aubade… finally shows a trace
The afterlife sleeps in, it always does
Woken up in the usual way
Another drink, a top-up buzz
Lifts my spirits, just above dismay
I fumble around with unopened post
Get dressed, eat flakes, feeling like toast
Hope and despair make a meagre pact:
That life bears fruit, and breakfast lacked
I breathe, then sniff, try steady a hand
light a smoke, or slap on a patch
Gesture defiance, attempt to stand
brave it out past the hallway latch
Go search, or not, for what comes after
opt in, opt out, call on the pastor
Who's high as a kite on altar wine,
“There's nothing” he sobs, “or do you bring a sign?”
His eyes light up, as I offer him a line
And you know! that day turned out just fine.
Not a Democrat
Is democracy good for individual freedom
a year when spring sprang early
he bought horse and cart and made a living
moving people's rubbish to the town's pit
He was not a man working from 9 to 5 in
a factory where underpaid workers slaved
putting macaroni in tomato sauce, into a tin
he had many children, but was not a pater
Familia, the children grew up with varied
success, some failed while others thrived
Besides, he liked gardening, in the poor
A section of the town people came to see his
display the beautiful flowers
In the night, people came picked the bloom
to give color to their meagre homes, that
It was what he had wanted
He lived a long life, and his wife loved him dearly
No, he was not a democrat
Our land
—hardship reigns supreme,
Education
—not key to a better dream,
We tried to depend on our strength;
But alas!
The cost of living
—a burden that weighs us down like a heavy chain.
We toil like horses,
But can't feed like ants:
Graduates roam the streets
—struggling for daily bread—
a meagre score.
For long we coped
—but now it's unbearable,
Hunger pangs echo everywhere—
a constant, gnawing snare.
The nation's like a ship without a rudder—
lost at sea,
The economy's a house of cards
—fragile, destined to be.
We're like birds with broken wings
—unable to fly,
Like trees in a drought—
withering away
—our hopes dry.
Say no to bad governance!
Say no to decay!
Let's rise up!
Demand change, come what may!
Small guys or bigger, all have a mobile,
E’en tattered beggars… all have a mobile.
Social-media eager has a mobile,
Be they big bloggers… all have a mobile.
Even a gravedigger has a mobile,
Or well-known figures… all have a mobile.
One not sweet like sugar has a mobile,
Or sweet-voiced singers… all have a mobile.
Every Tom, Dick, Meagre has a mobile,
Big figure leaguers… all have a mobile.
___________________________
Ghazal (Tongue-in-cheek) |11.10.2024| humour
Poet’s note: Every Tom, Dick, Meagre has a mobile, as this Ghazal claims, but many true leaguers do not bother about smart phones. The world truly runs by the people that keep low profile. The billionaire investor Warren Buffet used no smart mobile for long years till Apple’s Tim Cook gave one insisting on its use. He does not waste time on social media. Pop Singer Ed Shiran also does not use smart mobile, and says, I used to see world through mobile’s screen, but now I see it with my own eyes. We can add actor Tom Cruise and singer Justine Bieber in this list, and quite a few more.
I pity the refugee’s road of flight,
the children of the shanty and the gun
who on all humanity are a blight -
who die or live unto be an orphan.
I pity the meagre, the forgotten
who a crisis of ravages endure,
whose fate is that of the misbegotten
and whose need is now, real, grave, just, and raw!
I pity the terrorised, the wartorn,
the sacked and conquered that bury their dead -
the child bride, the child slave still to be born
and alas the lost soul already bred.
I pity the brave girl I used to know
and wonder dreadfully where did she go?
Written: August 2006
Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
Cabinets, tables and chairs were old crust.
No mercy was shown on this abandoned place
No one dared to restore its bygone grace.
At least that's what I saw in the meagre light
Just a candle to explore through the night.
In parts, it was just a mere ugly wreck
To repair it, I needed a million cheques.
The war years seemed like only yesterday
Disgusted I felt like going away.
Who cared about this stupid worthless dare?
Oh Lord, was that a ghost that I saw there?
A model in old style on broken stairs,
In semi-darkness, I just stood scared there.
A light breeze spread quickly, light as a lark
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark
had coffee with a colleague
he was young and eager
wanted to play Russian roulette
because his resources were meagre
the universe conspires with us
granting us whatever we wish
but if fear and doubt makes us blink
boons granted are gone in a swish
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