The Dialogue

The Dialogue

Come out of your woe,
And amble as all men do.
With pride,
Challenge.

Misfortunes strike once again,
Despair becomes a need,
For survival.
Hopelessness buried deep down my poor heart,
anguish prevailing.
Yes,
Come out of your woe,
These sounds/ words heard far away,
Like a whisper.
Futile words, needless to consider,
My mind tells me,
Dejected as always.
My tears as offerings,
Given to you.

Oft in your fantasy, you dreams chase,
Oft in your shackled slumber,
The rainbow vivid shines bright hued.
Come out of your slumber,
Come make your dreams come true Antigone.
Fly with me high above.
Maybe some immortal Zeus did conspire,
For your woes that ages witness;
Why you? Ever asked why?
Why shed your pearls prized,
For the follies of others and your vice.

                                         
                                              G.K & Vidoushi Ramjheetun

What Was My Fault?

What Was My Fault?

One night, in a dream I woke,

Dwindling near Bethany I was;

There to the edge of the dusty road,

Lone standing, I saw, a tree's carcass.

A fig tree it was that I saw,

Shrieved, laconic, and dried;

Grief in his heart profound,

Denuded and barren, he cried.

A strange call to his place, I went,

To tell a tale yet untold;

"Pray tarry a while", said he,

From there wearily he called.,

It was one fine bright morn

When with many a disciple he came;

The Son of the Holy God he was,

Jesus, the Nazarene, his name.

He was hungry I guess,

For he, a while stopped by me;

Wandering his bloody eyes upon my branches,

To look for figs, on a fruitless tree.

No fruits there were on my branches,

For figs, it was not the season;

But he..... was angry and peeved,

And cursed me for that reason.

"May you never bear fruits again",

With a rage he muttered.

And I, that very sorry instant,

Became dry, sere, and withered.

WHAT WAS MY FAULT IN THAT?

WHAT WRONG DID I DO?

It was not the season for figs,

So bare, my branches too.

That tree with a mourning heart,

Made me think of God once more;

Holy, pure, and judge I thought he was,

But this way I never thought before.

What kind of thing was that,

To do to an innocent fig tree;

That it withered away instantly,

What God this Almighty be?

What kind of god was that?

What was there to inspire in his son?

Cursed a tree to death and decay,

Without any flagrant reason.

                                      G.K

A Rose With A Sigh.

A Rose With A Sigh

( On the pathetic situation of Manipur)

Music! The string of life,

Melody, the doleful sister twin;

Pulsate the vibrating turmoil,

Fill my cup of joy with tears. ( Or vice versa)

Oh! Trailing moods in ecstasy,

In the meadow of wild frenzy;

Counting the colours of the rainbow forever,

Flaming hearts in distant calls.

A rose with a wailing night,

Fragrance in the icy beads;

Trodden in frozen pavements,

A winter's tale, that is music.

In your birth,

A music was heard;

In my death...........

....... a poem is born.

                                          G.K

Carta Magna

CARTA MAGNA

I love you.

Do you love me?

Yes, I love you too.

Hmm....................

A long silence.

We don't need tanks and fighters.

We don't need fighters and tanks.

My airfields, I'll dismantle, destroy, demolish.

Will make a farm instead.

Growing corns and watermelons I'll live.

Maybe someday I'll produce more and share with you.

My tank plants a plenty that you fear,

I'll make farms of it too,

Growing sweet potatoes and beans.

Maybe someday I'll produce more and share with you.

Lets make a deal.

Let the pact be signed.

The treaty is Charted.

Yet, deep down my thought,

I feel insecure. I'll spare some of my fighters.

Some of my artilleries I'll save.

I feel insecure deep down my thought.

              

                                                        G.K

A Poem Without A Rhyme

A Poem Without A Rhyme

'T is a poem, a poem without a rhyme,
Like some music without a beat,
Kingdom sans it's queens or kings,
With no rhythm, a life.

To make it amusing, I tried,
Yet trying it was to rhyme not.
And away it's beauty I took,
For if rhyme it did so,
How can it be,
A poem without a rhyme.

Senseless it may be, my poem,
But life as it is,
No beauties real for true,
No joy yet only laughter hollow;
Life, A poem without a Rhyme.

                                     G.K

Vox Clamantis in Deserto

Vox Clamantis in Deserto

(If there be any fear I fear most, I fear myself the most)

Whilst strolling down the purple moor,

Among the chilly winter fogs that eve;

I saw no men (nor any women either), along the frosty moor,

As far as my vision could perceive.

Like dancing ghouls the trees did stand,

Vicious shadowy figures of a lofty height;

It chilled my bones and froze my hand,

Like a daunted dream of a ghastly night.

Among the gusty trees, I heard a sound,( or  maybe from somewhere farer)

Startled, yet not to fear, I tried so hard;

Was that the howl of a bloody hound,

Or a piquant tune of a lonely bard?

The eerie winds brought to my numbing ear,

Sinful melancholous wails from the wild;

It rattled my ruffled soul with fear,

And left me dismayed as a lone child.

I heard cries of agony and of pain,

Oft of despair, filled with a morbid tear;

Looked for the one lamenting, yet in vain,

For I saw no soul upon, far and near.

A thought sinister came to my frightened mind,

That it was my deepest fear, I just heed;( fear from self, howsoever awkward it may seem)

For some soul I looked for, yet never did find,

Alas! It was not a cry from the wilderness,

But of my heart instead.

                                                                    G.K

The Shade Of A Lighter Green

The Shade Of A Lighter Green

In a feeling of subdued memories,

And the fragrance of that; litter'd

here and there,

In that self-seeking unconsciousness,

Of distorted and blurred images; somewhere

in the past,

Of the soaring freedom, joy and yet,

Beyond the mortal realm, unreachable by men; since

time has past,

And of the pathos, the laments of the humanists,

Midst the hallowed universal plot; music

a temporal chaos.

I cry, I weep,

But I live on...

                                                     G.K

La fée et l'enfant ( The Fairy And The Child)

The Fairy And The Child

(Pour ma chérie, afin qu'il puisse bien dormir)

Glittering crystal wings, gold smile adorned,

With a child's first laugh, A fairy 's born;

Giving hope, holding him by his hands,

Takes to a beautiful magical land.

Little child there he sees, his wee heart desire,

Soothing, like a warm comforting fire;

Away gone all worries and the pain,

That fear not he may, ever in vain.

The fairy carries him to her wonderful unknown realms,

Into that mystical land of hopes and of golden dreams;

To let you feel, what you must deem,

Without trouble, or fear.... forever as it may seem.

Yet a fairy each time ceases to live,

When you say, "In fairies I don't believe"

What else could she do, the fairy so poor,

'came a stranger, knocking at the child's door;

With a cry of agony she had to leave,

For the child, in fairies, did not believe.

All hopes withered away with the little fairy dead,

And the child cried, lowering his slumbered head;

Happy the child might have been, hopes always,

with the fairy no more, like dark nights became his vivid days.

To believe in her, is all that she asks,

To hope and to pray, isn't after all a mighty task;

But what could she do, the fairy so poor....

Became a stranger, Knocking at your door.

                                                    G.K

                                                  17-04-2013

My Meandering Riverie

My Meandering Riverie

Had I that passion of love, muted and genuine,

Maketh me troubled, that willy-nilly mind o' mine;

I lack the courage to approach that by the by,

Thee now, and such in the course of time, stand by.

Yet, down the depth of my faith, my trouble cries,

An eternal longing  for being tendered, there it lies;

And the fleeting time is now, not at ease,

For the years roll, degrees by degrees.

The lingering sweet scent of the spring of Keats',

That compassionate feelings, that wonderous feats,

From the spring to the summer the reverie arrives at,

Lord God, My consolation thou art, be my guide on that.

Let me sail my lonesome ship, alone and anon,

Leaving no footprints, in the sea of remorse, unknown,

With thee my lord, I sail with thy guide.

                                                                                                                                G.K

Ah.......
How I wish, my muses,
I could put my feelings in words,
I can't.


G.K