You Live only Once!

I have carried this theme through various routes and posted here under different heads.

What is life? Queries and queries of patterns numerous and  meanings copious have been jumping out of minds and minds of all the times in this world. Responses of different concepts have been bouncing and becoming discernible subsequent to the questions. But no responses went right or wrong completely. You live only once here on this globe, though you believe in or aspire for an indefinite number of indistinct 're-births'. Here I have defined life in accordance with the imagery born in my mind.

              

Oh! Life, what are you? Could anyone tell?
 No, not a single person told it well

Yes, sometimes it is smooth and soft

As a divine river, very slowly running.

But sometimes! It is merely a roar

That pierces harshly the ear of listeners.

For someone life is calm and cool

For some others it is a workable tool.

Some enjoy it as a softly blowing
 Smooth and 
cool breeze

 And some fear it as lightning burning things

 Burning things on the way.

Some obtain it as a shower  in summer

That blooms the flora in colourful attire.

Some experience it as the heat of a desert

Some take delight in it as an oasis.

On some days it is a flood of tears

And some days it is fun and laughter.

Some find it as a dungeon with chains

And some use it as wings to fly freely.

Some feel it as a path to walk for bread

And some amass it as a treasure for pleasure.

Some people make it a shelter to rest

And some take it to work, as a spot so vast.

Some build it as a mansion of love,

Some create in it a hell of hatred.

Some turn it as a road tarred to travel

And some hide in it, as a cocoon for penance.

Some cook it as a dish delicious for eating,

Some need it as a chance apt for cheating.

Some change it, for success, into a venture

And some turn it into a matter of adventure.

Some mould it into a ware designed beautifully,

Some destroy it as a glass, into broken pieces.

For some people it is a reason for depression

And for some others it is a medium of self –expression.

Sometimes it becomes a mountain to be conquered,

Sometimes it appears as a valley to be occupied.

But life is nothing other than all these

And it keeps on,  as a wheel,  rolling-rolling.

Always out of it, let your self make the best,

 And allow never it to be covered with rust.

Adopt steps that will lead you to be bold,

Reap you can then cent percent gold.

So better without bothering much, you live the life breaking all the barriers. You are the architect of your life. You plan it, design it and build it lucratively. You have only one life.

"A coward dies many times while the valiant only once'.

Ps.  The versification part was posted by me in the initial stages  of blogging.

sarala
 For Write Tribe Prompt.

. http://thewritetribe.blogspot.in/2013/05/write-tribe-prompt-1.html

Betrayal

Mother earth draws near, her

Dear children sun and moon, the naughty.

Children,stars are kept away.

Public watch cricketers zealously.

Through betting they , hoard penny  aplenty and

Bedim poor natives’ mind.

Enjoying under  promises

Of secrecy, she forgets ‘self’.

Youth seeks to flirt only.

Koel lays eggs in crow’s

Nest,  crow, poor hatches them with care.

Koels dash away in deceit.

Flower greets beetle earnestly.

Emptying the nectar-storage

He scampers away gaily.

Sarala.

For Haiku heights

In Search of a Haven

 "By God's grace my twin brother and I

Obtained jobs to be posted to this place. 

And what we need now is an aylum
To sleep and keep our'self' in rescue."

Hunted the brothers on foot, in auto
 And in other ways for hours and hours

And for them, appeared none in aid 

 Even with a haunted house.  

Where can two young poor men,

Exposed in penury till date, rather

As slaves, serfs, or servants find

Any person’s attitude kind?

“Ha! Look at that old man in,”

One, in sensation high, yelled,

“That big house; he is cleaning 

The compound with ease, not much."

The search-gait of theirs, of course

 Carried them to the man, aged,

Who with astounding belief gazed at them
Sensing in his place, their presence 

At the loss of their parents both,

 The boys, at an age very tender,

From the squalor of the slums,

Orphanage-reared, bore a dreary look.

 The man, while fighting with

Weeds and grasses around the house,

Lent them his ear, with a panting breath

And rejoiced then as a hornbill in rains.

 Heading for them to the way in home,

“The cuteness of home and me"said he

"Faded away in the erosion of years

And still she shelters me from storms."

“My intimate ones deserted me

 Leaving me lonely, as residue

 Prior to my eternal journey, for which

 God has readily primed the script.”

Winning jobs with their will and wit

As an L.D.Clerk and a group D worker,

In search of their haven in this region

Where they found their safety, fully free from fare.

Eggs!

O! Butterfly, pretty,

You flaunt and  flutter high in breeze.

You come from tiny egg.

Birds big, small lay  eggs

Storing reserves for their offspring.

 Tomorrow they flap wings.

 For Haiku heights.

I am There in ‘Purest’!

                   

Now you all inhabit an era of autobiography or self expression. Then why should I inhibit in divulging myself in the same way. A part of my autobiography leaps out of my mind and migrates as a word document here. And eventually it will creep to Rudraprayaga’s  blog. Though I seem to track a furtive style of life, here I would unearth my real countenance removing the mask from it. My real identity will catch hold of you, when you ramble through the way I pave here.

I vehemently approach people for their company because I know very well that in the inner core of their mind they keep a yen to enthrone me there. Sometimes they heed attention not a bit for my presence. So at that time I come within the reach of animals, birds, flies and even inanimate things. They also sometimes move away or are distanced from me. One thing I’ll put in the picture that I  require  someone or something for my existence.

When one day I made an old man feel my presence, he very delightfully shook hands with me and offered me his amity. An easy-chair, bearing a smile on the lips extended a reception to both of us. As the old man lay down with me, a redundant visitor appeared there to spoil all the calm supplying qualms to us. The visitor was a bad back-pain that drove the host to a nearby hospital .I vacated me from the scene, since I couldn't and can’t entertain ill-stricken people. Usually oldsters invite us to pay frequent visits to them. But their infirmity drives me away.

Middle-aged adults pine for my presence but they are meddled with their regulars in the up-keep of their domiciles .And also they are after their  teen-aged offspring’s triumphs and achievements  in academics as well as co-academics. So they don’t even imagine of my occurrence. They postpone entertaining me.

 So I prefer youngsters to both these categories because youths seldom fall prey to frailty and also modern youths embrace me with all their heart. They favour me much, while they sit with systems or mobiles for chatting. Though the busy ingenious professionals among them have to strive hard for a little liberated time to have me with them, they have to discountenance me sometimes. But they sure earmark a large fraction of their holiday occasions to spend with me. Not only that, having felt my being with them, they remain on board for hours together.

Ho! I can’t even think of the friendship with workaholic people. Their body and mind will be submerged in their labour and thereby its result. They don’t even turn their eyes to me and kick me off with the left leg, putting all the vim in work. Hence I evade them totally and rather escape from there to some other people.

Once I approached a chap, who was ten years old during the long summer break. He stretched his arms to receive me. He rapidly navigated his direction to the amusement room and twisted swiftly with the rhythm of songs from the T.V. Children who become busy with books, games, entertainments etc. never care for me. They also go after food of their choice and are with it for long. They quite often engage their mouth in chewing or chattering and I bid adieu mostly.

 But I need not vex about all these conditions as there are a set of people who clasp my presence and I revere them honestly. They are always ready to welcome me to their midst. They greet me whole-heartedly and prefer lingering more on me  than focussing on their occupation if any. If at all they become inclined to concentrate on their job, I am sure they won’t do it voluntarily. They have hesitation none to always hold my presence, no matter even if they are in a squalid atmosphere. Do you know who they are? They are the ‘Lazy group of People’.

And now you may conjecture as who this is. Don’t worry  I’ll give you some hints. ‘I am there in Purest’. I hold with me nearest ,the dearest. I sit in restaurant.’ Can’t guess!

My name is 'Rest, the Great' (pu-rest, nea-rest, dea-rest,rest-aurant etc.). Current time is ominous to me because my foe ‘Busy Condition’ has abode among modern people. Consequently the latter chase me away, they are much fond of me though. Still holidays and nights of people invite me for merriment and  I then enjoy the reception  from them.

“To be too busy collects contempt”.

‘Rest in haste wastes your time’.

 sarala.

Finally He Arrived!

(This incident ached my heart a lot by seeing in his eyes the rays of good days ahead.So I key-boarded my heaviness here. )

“One day is my day,

my coveted arrival’s day,”

expected he with gleeful eyes,

lurked and longed for the finest day

to breathe the familiar air

of his beloved Nation.

Never ever had  he thought of

this sort of lot in life,

when his lower  limbs, candidly
 touched the milieu banned 
for strangers of other countries

 from encroaching and intruding.

It was not a cuff, but the forces’

 handcuffs that encircled

 his hands like bangles,

the symbol of slavery,despite

an allegory however  he tried

to prove there, seemed scary.                                   

Dungeon that received him

 with derision and disdain
as the insignia of the regiment

that enslaved him, would, he knew,

provide him, torment and torture, till the

dawn of the day, he waited for.

His hay days and young days

 His dreams and warmth in depth,

 his wellness and fitness in toto

All gone in vain being in the hands

 Of  his foes, his wishes were crushed

Without a drop of clemency.

Days, months and years in decade
 had fallen and faded in the current
 of the great ocean,theTime

 though his yens had some lochs

of hope to escape from their clutches
to the tomorrows’ togetherness.

The toddling steps of his little daughter,

the cuddling ways of  his half, better

loving look of  his motherly sister,

all loomed in his sleep often.
 heart his throbbed profoundly

like mortar's pounding  sound.

Hard days, he had to cut since

 insipid food and untidy bed

were doled out, with harsh treatment

 in the hostile country as nemesis

 to his indigenous nation, where he

enjoyed only sugary merriment. 

A thud determining his fatal fate,

knocked out on his cerebral part

sent him to a perilous shell,

which they called a hospital.

alas! Sabarjit, with unfulfilled yen

arrived near his kin in a closed coffin.

Sarala.