LANGUAGE SANS EQUIVOCATION
revived
sublime
pre-eminence
follows
rediscovered
coincidences
sans
beginnings
growing
symptomatic
illustrations
to
accompany
colour
between
imagination
& reason
articulated
in
individual
layers
portraying
creativity
thirst bard
lug your solid opus
&crop your sad lot
______________________
All around, we increasingly find AI generated things-- novels, poems, motivated news and the like. In social media videos have already invaded for long. It has become increasingly hard to spot the genuine from one not. All AI generated things I think are loaded with heady information, but they lack heart and soul’s personal touch, the I-sense. This ditty is born out of this discomfort.
___________________
Bothors mimicking authors known,
And AI poets copy prone,
Each oh what a black ship--
Bane of pied penmanship,
Dog-like chewing up AI bone,
Like flesh free from hunger,
Heart nor soul nor anger,
Filled but with false pretense,
Lacking crucial I-sense,
Drab like dull-witted guided drone.
______________________________
Happenings | 26.05.2026 | author, computer, copycats, poet, Self, Limerick
usa hockey
gold even sans Russia
spread miracle whip
With lamps, fiery skies,
Pearls and spires all so many,
Sans thy light of eyes
O thou doe-eyed young beauty,
This world’s gloomy night to me.
_______________________
Translation (Tanka) | 29.08.2025 | beauty, dark, world
Note: Here is a verse (in Anushtubh meter) from Bhartrihari’s Shringaara Shatakam (hundred verses on love and romance). Here the poet imagines world without his doe-eyed beauty-- dark even with sun, moon, and brilliant jewels. Here is the transliteration of the original Sanskrit:
Sati pradeepe sati agnau,
Satsu naana manishu api |
Vinaa me mrga-shaava-akshyaa,
Tamah bhootam idam jagat || 16 ||
church
skeptical
word
bankrupt
without
God...
Nancy took a tumble
And went falling down the stairs.
The slickness of the marble
Must have caught her unawares.
Yet who at 84 years old
Wears shoes with 4-inch heels?
Though since a hip replacement,
There’s a photo that reveals
That Pelosi, back at work,
Left her stilettos in the dust.
She’s sporting clogs, a look to which
She might have to adjust.
We all make compromises
As we ratchet up the years,
Though despite her new flat shoes,
She still will tower o’er her peers.
Full moons fill you with joy, seldom the New,
And pleasure you conceive as good, not pain,
Let me like New Moon that stars can I view,
As some poets devise ways pain to feign,
Which, helps them pen dirges and elegies,
Funeral hymns and odes of laments long,
Let them. Days-nights on an eternal lease,
One can’t be sans its endless twain on song.
You know, this world is made of dancing duals,
We mortals go for one over the ‘ther,
We tend to choose one of them and fight duels,
The twain though in its dance go together.
So, let us enjoy full moon till it lasts,
Even new moon, you’ll see fair magic casts.
E’en God could not have cast coins single side,
Yea, joy without grief, what a groom-less bride!
_________________________
Sonnet (tongue-in-cheek) |02.06.06, revised December 2024|
Poet’s note: A couple enjoys its togetherness under full moon, which the lady liked more. The husband also liked the new moon for a reason. He has his reasons to fall in love with both, or none. Finally, the lady sees the point and adds her own additional couplet at the end of their sonnet.
I sketched my emptiness, called it ‘sans you’,
Which, the walls too confess, call it ‘sans you’.
How many years of utter loneliness?
I sketched my listlessness, called it ‘sans you’.
A desolate island now stands in heart,
Sketched its sheer barrenness, called it ‘sans you’.
No more springs, life’s all autumn, grey and dull,
This gloomy awareness was called ‘sans you’.
In sombre silence born of my sadness
That my life’s spent in stress, I call ‘sans you’.
____________________________
Ghazal |28.12.2024| remember, loneliness, missing you
the Sea drinks no booze
why then It has hangover
if drinks pure water
Normality is what I seek but the
world revolves in its sans-serendipity.
So many extra days thrown in, you see
the world on its own course, no one takes pity.
I enter boredom in another world.
I’m not in control of anything real.
But the the dog warms up my feet, unfurled;
my heart wanes of anxiety, and I’m healed.
Know that all manifestation is thought
Life’s but an illusion, a lucid dream
We, as entity that seek, exist not
Let’s look at desires, that from our heart stream
Sans desire, we’re in an inky black void
Life’s but an illusion, a lucid dream
In staid stillness, we’re not by thoughts decoyed
Befriending silence, our heart feels at peace
Sans desire, we’re in an inky black void
When we’re nonchalant, fears and desires cease
Detached from form, we feel blissful and whole
Befriending silence, our heart feels at peace
God search our quest, save that there is no goal
Heart yearns day and night, to reclaim our light
Detached from form, we feel blissful and whole
Heart yearns day and night, to reclaim our light
Ego shorn, we’re reborn, granted clear sight
Know that all manifestation is thought
We, as entity that seek, exist not
relentlessly flows on linear time
dragging us through enigmatic space
it is a silent yet brutal savagery remorseless
compelling us to trauma bond with pain and disgrace
to make matters worse, we know we are doomed to die
lost in myriad illusions, we seek solace in dreams
but what we cling to, slips through our fingers
as we drift rudderless in thought streams
senses operate in a limited bandwidth
limited too is our feeble, fragmented intellect
we watch helplessly as mind-body slowly decays
so taking control, all thought forms we opt to deselect
sans fragmented thought we discover awareness yet is
amplified and purified in the vibrant void of space
our false self falls away and we cease to sway
doing nothing, we imbibe divine grace
this transmutation is a metamorphosis
a caterpillar shape shifting into a butterfly
as such, how may we describe divine magnetism
unending waves of cascading bliss that makes us sigh
Upon a flaming ground
step on the ukrainian people
Ukraine, sans peace and freedom
The red clay’s staining all the socks,
But Rafa’s aren’t there
And yet, his fourteen titles
Still remain beyond compare.
Most years he gets to celebrate
His birthday at the French.
Today, though, he’s not on the court
Or even on the bench.
Perhaps his little surgery
Will fix him up like new
So all his fans (like me!) can watch
Him do what he can do.
To Rafael Nadal, I wish
A happy birthday day
And a quick recovery so you
Can get back out and play.
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