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Davis Varghese Poem
Between the hustle and bustle,
Of the burdened chaotic land,
On one end of the horizon.
And the uncalm sea dancing wildly,
On the other end.
I sit unburdened and hopeful,
On a mound of soft powdery sand,
Unmaligned,
and my soul washed white,
Just like the happy chirpy gulls,
Amongst the numerous starfish shells.
The wind lifts my spirit high,
The crashing waves play a lullaby,
And the earthy smell of the shaking sea,
Cleans my flitting, ruffled mind,
With a subtle fragrance, so divine.
I creep an inch forward,
and two backward,
To play with the frothy blue water,
As it foams my toes with its smooth lather,
This sliver of a creamy white space,
Has become my sanctuary of undivided peace.
Ah, the shimmer of the sun, mellow,
Sinking rapidly into the endless ocean,
Paints the environ in a peachy glow,
And the blue and white, golden.
With closed eyes and sealed lips,
And a soul stirred, fresh and crisp,
I sit there longing for more,
As the last vestige of light,
Leaves me forlorn,
On this strip of silver,
Folks call, the beach and I call,
Home.
Copyright © Davis Varghese | Year Posted 2022
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Davis Varghese Poem
'Ah Sleep' my tired body coos to the fidgety brain,
When the face of the clock says eight and twain,
The cajoling is a waste, it has the temerity to feign,
'Still at work', it prides and my body resigns in vain.
Hours go by and the cells, they twitch in pain,
At the ruthless obstinacy, and the organs, they complain,
'Why can’t he switch off, it’s well past rest time',
A war cry gathers. The body; it tries hard to contain.
The call to Morpheus, a lament so humane,
Doesn’t go unheeded, as he descends with calm disdain,
With his plush cargo of an endless dream train,
To put an end to the vagaries of the brain.
A collateral victim in this battle for supremacy,
Innocent I lost, beg for their clemency,
Morpheus and Mind don’t afford me any sympathy,
As I churn up the bed in helpless agony.
Flitting and rolling between sleep and dream,
Battered by insomnia, as it reigns supreme,
My eyes are heavy and my soul, it screams,
As I wait impatiently for dawn to begin.
My mush of a memory pillow and pajama satin,
Together they lovingly caress my hair and skin,
But even the lux of these earthly elements,
Fail to bring a cheer to my sullen sentiments.
Minus tender sleep, my head begins to spin,
Night in, night out, a fight that I can’t win,
And my liquid frame held hostage by the brain,
Walks a twisted path under the tumult and the strain.
In the dark hollows of my turbulent mind,
I see me drop the memories of my past behind,
Will I survive another endless night?
As I wait at the entrance to the portal of light.
Finally, it has come down to spirit and pills,
The unavoidable root of all my ills,
But under its influence I do sleep well,
Until the time machine pounds me with its bell.
Copyright © Davis Varghese | Year Posted 2022
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Davis Varghese Poem
When night hands over the baton,
Dawn rushes to the horizon,
To steal shimmer and rose gold,
From the palette of the sun.
He attires her in rays of yellow,
And tangents of white light,
She turns into day, a beauteous bride,
Coy and mellow or radiant and bright.
Mounts with mist and rivers that twist,
Fields with grain waltzing in the rain,
Seas that shine and plains full of kine,
Valleys full of blossom, secure in its bosom.
The minuscule man, in wondrous awe,
Cries in glee, 'O Nature O!'
Rubs his eyes, gawking in reverence,
At this marvelous creation of Providence.
As the day grows old, his machines are rolled,
Over rivers and plains, and mounts are holed,
The organized chaos of his naive methods,
Deepens Natures wounds, and they fester.
His plastic chokes her, his oil is a polluter,
With his foolish acts, he digs his grave deeper,
Years of systemic abuse has done the earth loose,
Acrid air n' deprived tracts, he does little to save.
Men of science gather far and near,
To discuss the matter and ponder in fear,
The wasted path their fellow men have taken,
Will lead them down to a point of no return.
While they only talk and ponder,
The rest proceed to cut and plunder,
With the crown of fury firmly on her head,
Gentle hued Nature, she turns fuming red.
Famine, earthquake, floods follow,
The minuscule man, with his ego hollow,
Reduced to an element of utter pathos,
Pays hard for his wicked ethos,
Laments through his assured destruction,
Yelps and cries, 'O Nature O!'.
Copyright © Davis Varghese | Year Posted 2022
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Davis Varghese Poem
Eyes! Eyes! The two of them,
Like guards, at the body's helm,
Like lovers, pining to meet,
Held back by the neb's bridge.
They’ve seen the light and the dark,
The shine, the grandeur and the stark.
The lass, the beauty and the beast,
The war, the mayhem and the peace.
Conduits to the world outside,
Pieces of the vision, they capture,
In small blobs of color they divide,
To print them on the canvas of the brain.
See, they do. But do they see?
Their unsung twins, hiding,
Unseen, in the voids of the soul.
Seen only by the metaphysical,
Abstract notions of the mind.
They don’t see the light or the dark,
Or the ear-splitting thunder's spark,
Or the black or the white,
Or the babe's coos of delight.
See, they do. But do they see?
Yes! They do see,
That forced smile, out of place,
Unaligned with the contours of the face,
The sheen of a saint's heart,
Or the innuendo of a helpless tart,
The pain behind a beggar's cry,
Or the spirit in an athlete’s try,
The hate in a killer's eyes,
Or the integrity of a gamblers dice.
Eyes of the body, eyes of the soul.
See, they do. But will they see,
eye to eye, yes - eye to eye!
For one can see a man dying thirsty,
In the stretch of the ocean’s infinity.
And the other can see a man dying lonely,
in a sea of crowd, slowly!
Copyright © Davis Varghese | Year Posted 2022
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Davis Varghese Poem
'Sleep my dear, else Hastar will come for you',
Cried the teary eyed lad, of barely ten and two,
His visage flushed in blood, as he sought refuge,
To save his flesh from his ancestors turned ghoul.
Slinging his never-ending purse of fine gold,
He creeps the labyrinth of his mother’s womb,
Baying in anguish for a tiny morsel of food,
A curse that has brought him eons of gloom.
Not to be worshipped, the first-born demon-god,
Banished from their midst by well-meaning kin of lords,
Found an eager devotee in an ancient family odd,
Who were greedy for gold and lusted for bawds.
They brought him back to life with their orison,
Defying the Gods through layers of generations,
Inviting their rage which became their poison,
Reducing them to repulsive abominations.
Descending into the bowels of the derelict temple,
Through the dilapidated shaft of a solitary well,
Hiding dollops of soft flour in their vessel,
To awaken the hungry monster from his spell.
While he lusted for grain and they for his coins,
At every meeting of this unsavory alliance,
The demon got his food and they, his treasure,
Until they fell prey to the bite of Hastar.
It turned them into hideous living corpses,
Their only mortal escape, through death or slumber,
Consigned to the flames at the hands of their own,
Prior to which, the strain of greed they passed on.
Copyright © Davis Varghese | Year Posted 2022
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Davis Varghese Poem
The window lets in an odd solitary ray of light,
Of timid color, a cusp between twilight and night.
It lands hesitatingly on the golden tip of my pen,
and then blasts into the iris of my eye, half open.
Startled, I squint but soon realise its but a reminder,
That the affairs of the day, I should soon surrender,
And be on my way, to the place I call home,
For it'll be a few hours of a tiring roam,
Through the gentle gloam before I can see its dome.
‘No, no, it’s too early,’ I grievingly mutter.
As I try to gather the notes scattered asunder,
From a pale and oft molested whiteboard,
To weave them into a crisp, meaningful report.
One that I must present in the new-born morn,
Not sleepy eyed, to eagle eyed executives of power,
Attired smart, in a confident and assured tone,
Their queries must I field, without a cower.
It had ripped me from my sleep, the phone,
With its unrelenting wail at dawn,
At it again, with a sweet jingle and a message lone,
With goosebumps, on me it does finally dawn,
That I will be a prisoner of my chair until dawn.
I shake and then scratch my head; i blink and then close my eyes,
It’s too much to cram in too short a time, they cry.
I slam my fists and then take a deep breath,
to let those fumes of anger dissipate,
and let my fingers dance on the plastic array of alphabets.
At half past ten, with my eyes heavy and swollen,
I decide to reclaim what’s left of the day,
And be on my way, to the place I call home,
For it'll be a few hours of a tiring roam
Through the rainy night before I can see its dome.
Its half past two, before I hit the bed,
With the after taste of a hastily devoured supper, in my mouth,
I steal a quick glance at the screen, out of habit,
With a frown, I shake and then scratch my head,
No revert yet, on the 'urgent' report.
Four hours hence, the phone wails again,
Jolted from my sleep, I blink and then rub my eyes,
‘Sorry, but could you stop by a bit early?’ he prays,
In despair, I rip me from my sleep, to begin yet another day.
Copyright © Davis Varghese | Year Posted 2023
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Davis Varghese Poem
Underrated man,
Unappreciated man!
That’s what you are,
My dear Father!
Growing up,
The plates were full,
The bills were paid,
The beds were laid,
And I had fun.
Saw my mother,
Cook and tend,
And I thought,
You only had fun.
No, you didn't,
Now I know.
You worked hard,
You worked stressed,
To build a legacy,
For our family.
I had it easy,
cos' you made it easy,
Without a whine, without a cry,
Nev'r saw those tears,
But only a smile,
So rare,
Measured and fair.
I got a life,
Cos' of mother,
But I lived a life,
Cos' of you.
My bright future,
The fruit of your labor,
The unsung work,
That you have done,
Has held us all,
Steadfast and one.
In your boots, now I know,
With this ode, I plan to show,
That you, my good ol' father,
Is my rock n' hero,
for'evr!
Copyright © Davis Varghese | Year Posted 2023
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Davis Varghese Poem
A celestial dancer - the light, pirouettes through the
veil of existence, and with each gesture
You,the conjurer,bend the
fabric of time, twisting fate into
new patterns.
Illuminating secrets
whispered by the ancient stars - the light, awaits
your whispered decree.
Will you summon dawn’s blush or
veil the world in twilight?
So command - and watch the
universe yielding to your will.
Copyright © Davis Varghese | Year Posted 2024
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Davis Varghese Poem
Born in the African horn,
In a village, warn torn,
Tired of life, on a gloomy morn,
Took a fateful decision alone.
Left them behind - my loving family,
Knew they’d cry and mourn,
When they find out, I was gone.
A few pennies and old clothes,
Daring the Sirocco, as it blows,
Through Sahara's blazing sands,
Reached the shores of Fezzan.
Five hundred more were jostling for a chance,
To find a tight place on that boat to France,
My turn, it only came past day twenty,
And they told me,
You will go if you have the money.
Screaming in fear on that dinghy,
Tossing around in the Mediterranean Sea,
It brought me to the camps of Lesbos,
My wounded sanity, I began to lose.
Dirty and grimy, hopeless and morose,
In that flailing broken tent, I froze,
That is when someone told me,
Lovely Australia is the place to be.
Put my life into his greedy hands,
The human smuggler, he took me thru’ badlands,
But the guardians of the sea, down under,
To Manus, they screamed, after my surrender.
A long way had I come, forlorn,
From the violent and dusty Horn,
Through the unrelenting Sahel and Lesbos,
To the hell of Manus and its chaos.
Today with a rose, I’m on my way,
On a plane, to the San Francisco Bay,
I’m a poor refugee and I silently pray,
‘Show me some mercy, don’t turn me away’.
Copyright © Davis Varghese | Year Posted 2025
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