Monday, May 27, 2013

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! My  Life

Oh!Life, what are you? Could anyone tell?
No, not a single person told it well.
Sometimes it is smooth and soft
As a divine river, running slowly.

But sometimes! It is merely a roar
That pierces harshly the ear of yours.
For someone life is calm and cool
For some others it is a workable tool.

Some enjoy it as a softly
 Blowing soothing breeze
And some fear it as lightning
 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.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

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 seeing this picture what loomed in my mind I entered  as letters here,though I didn't link with writetribe. 


 “My friend and I were
 posted to this place.
What we needed was an asylum
To keep our souls in salvation.

Hunted on foot, in auto and
Other ways for hours and hours
And none in aid appeared,
 even with a haunted house.”  

Where can two young men
Rather slaves or serfs once find
Any person’s attitude kind
To be exposed in destitution?

“Ha! Look at that old man in,”
One in sensation high yelled,
“That house, he is cleaning and
 Clearing the compound with ease,less".

The search-gait of theirs carried
Them to the aged, who with
Astounding belief gazed at
And sensed the young’s presence.

At the loss of their near and dear
 The boys, at an age very tender and
Orphanage-reared with squalor
Bore a dreary look on the visage.

 The man while fighting with the
Weeds and grass behind the building
Lent a carefully listening ear
Breathed like a hornbill in rains.

 Heading for them to the way in,
“The cuteness of home and me"said he
"Faded away and still she shades
And shelters me from sun and storms".

My intimates deserted me
One by one in the erosion
Of time leaving me as residue
Here, prior to my eternal journey.

God has readily primed our life’s
Script  comprising of
 Loneliness and togetherness
 And parting and meeting.

This pretty old place of safety
Will welcome you two and
 Look after your welfare
Without charging any fare.”

The fret-experienced man received
 The  two youths, an L.D and a
 Group-D with skimpy income from
The job they won with will and wit.

sarala.






Monday, May 20, 2013

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.

Thursday, May 16, 2013

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.

Friday, May 3, 2013

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 native.

Never ever he thought of
this sort of lot in life,
when his limbs, both pulled him
to the milieu prohibited
for aliens or strangers
 to encroach and intrude.

It was not a cuff but the forces’
 handcuffs that encircled
 his hands as the very bangles,
the symbol of slavery ,despite
his allegory however  he tried
to prove there.                                  

Dungeon that received him
well with derision and disdain,
that are the insignia of the regiment
that enslaved him to provide
anguish and distress 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 when in the hands
 Of  his foes, his wishes were crushed
Without a drop of clemency.

Days, months and years
 in decades had fallen and
 faded in the flow of time-sea
 though his yens had some lochs
of hope to escape to the
tomorrows’ togetherness.

Little steps of toddling daughter
cuddling ways of half better
loving look of motherly sister,
all loomed in his sleep and
 his heart throbbed profoundly
like the pounding  sound, mortars'.

Hard and harsh were the days
Of being in a country
 that doled out food insipid and
 bed untidy and hardship barbaric
in unfathomable measure
that he found unbearable.
.

The host, no, hostile country
 turned into indeed
 a nemesis, which was an opponent
  to his own land that held him
 in memory of sugary merriment
 once he had enjoyed..

An unforeseen thud, knocked out
On his part cerebral,
 Bringing damage in degree fatal
Carried him to the perilous shell,
Which they called a hospital
That fetched him nil his life.


Alas! Sarabjit ,the hapless one
far away from his dear ones
could fulfill seldom his desires
for,again,his former joyful life 
leaving his troubles and tortures
 forever and ever, arrived, he in a coffin.

Sarala.