black solid rock on the seashore
Not weathered by torrential rains
Nor by the scorching sun
Stood yet unmoved in the ever-changing expanse
Like an Indian Yogi, in a hypnotic trance
TO KEEP buried my explosive feelings
Like my sporadic, involuntary emotions
The rock taught by example
To be in suspended animation
Like a patient under sedation
SUCCESS failure, pleasure and pain
A flimsy mind’s imaginary
To watch these waves, rise and fall,
To master the art of self-abnegation
The timeless message of the rock’s contemplation.
Was most content and happy,
With limited desires
and restrained ambitions.
Digitalisation created a virtual world
With addiction to the Art of Living
in an imaginary and brassy world,
Uprooted from our very existence.
Civilization is an art of telling lies;
We demonstrate what we are not.
This brassy world of ours
gives a perpetual feeling of discontent.
It is an enforced neurosis
Man cannot explore the fate of history
And the ravages of time
The most despotic dictators
And flourished empires
have decayed into oblivion
The most powerful of civilizations
have been buried
And will meet nuclear annihilation.
Keep away from ostentatious frills stick to unbridled virgin simplicity.
The Daily Prompt Challenge: Brassy
A great portion of a man’s life
in merely planning
he himself plans…
The Daily Prompt: Portion
April is the cruelest month,
I glean through my window of broken glass
The leaves whistled every morn, till yesterday
The branches happily fluttered
The melody of rustle filled my heart with exuberance
I savoured, the never-heard, heart- soothing symphony
I struggled to fathom the imperceptible
Yet, couldn’t decipher the pure ethereal mystery.
But could spy invisible soul wandering around stealthily
Like an aimless pedestrian roaming on busy Bombay streets.
Oh! How I revelled in this spectacle, till yesterday.
April is the cruelest month.
The lush green Neem leaves have turned yellow today.
They looked like a famished unfed beggar.
There blew a harsh wind
The heartless Neem jerked its branches with a gusto
Shedding green- turned – yellow leaves, en masse
Like genocide committed by a religious fanatic!
Tears dripped down onto my innocent cheeks
My heart bled with excruciating grief
For the falling anguished innocent leaves…
‘It is high time we left’,
Whispered the lonely pale wrinkled leaf
Into my benumbed ear, agonising in grief.
Age creeps in surreptitiously
We renunciate things amassed hitherto
Pelf and power, wealth and wisdom,
Name and fame, beauty and brain
None can save us from the flood of drain!
Friends turned foes, we forget and forgive
To the loved ones we say goodbye
To merge with greater Soul in the blue sky…
~ Dr. Anand Manapure