Meaning

O teacher O teacher! Can you just say,
why atom and earth move the same way?
O teacher O teacher! Tell me I pray,
Is it day after night or night after day?

O my kid O my kid! I've a truth to admit,
one I've learnt from my master named Wit.
O my kid O my kid! I pray you to sit,
listen as I help your dark world be lit.

Don't be caught don't be caught! In the trap of a thought,
don't search for answers that God had not wrought.
Ask me not ask me not! For answers you sought,
for knowing them is same as knowing them not.

Harken harken! To a poem I sing,
a tale of a fox and a bird with one wing.
Harken harken! A lesson I bring,
the echoes of which forever should ring.

Sing with me sing with me, the lesson as a song,
let it be in your mind for decades long.
Sing with me sing with me, the poem ding-dong,
for it might stop you from stepping one wrong.

Round and round, round and round, the nature does go.
Atoms and planets and THE THINGS YOU DON'T KNOW.
Day or night, black or white, does it matter?
They'll go in cycles till earth does shatter.

P.S. : The poem is written freestyle to a meter and tune. All punctuations are intentional to the tune afore mentioned.

Description : At times, we have been running to find the deeper meaning of life, diving into philosophical questions. But, it can be worthless to know answers to a few such questions. Instead, we can devote that time into learning a new lesson and living it, creating an experience. Poetry, for example is opposite to such philosophical brainstorming. While poetry tries to attach complex meanings to simpler things you see, (observing love in roses, life and death in night and day), philosophy tries to get simple answers for complex questions (yes or no to does God exist, does life have a meaning etc.)

For now, I think poetry is more meaningful than philosophy because it helps you live a better life, and savour such life.

Little Poems (4)

Emotionalibra

Some smile at pictures for being there doing that,
some regret that the moments lasted, with eyes shut,
some realize that every end is the beginning of a tale,
some long for endings to be happy with faces pale.

Every moment of life is a coin with two sides,
and in one's minds as a smile or a tear abides,
all memories are veiled by the chaos' valance,
such is a human mind's emotional balance.

Master (Teachers' day special)

I look at an eclipse and think of light,
what colour is black and what white.
I look at a hungry cheetah leap to a deer,
and worry which way would they steer.

To look at an event and grasp it as is,
to feel the ride and not care the grease,

Oh! How I miss seeing the simple blur,
Oh! How I hate being a philosopher!!!

You've always made my viewing range vaster,
thank you for slapping my glasses down, Master.

Darts

I walk, walk, walk, to the edge of the cliff.
I sniff, sniff, sniff, to find a true being.
I ping, ping, ping, and none would reply
I fly, fly, fly, for I love to be high.

I fall, fall, fall, I feel air on my face,
I race, race, race, I feel tear in my eyes,
I rise, rise, rise, into a better time.
I rhyme, rhyme, rhyme, life is short to be sad.

I'm bad, bad, bad, for I murder my heart.
I dart, dart, dart, the question back now.
I love, love, love, the treachery you are.
I mar, mar, mar, and anew thou art.

I part, part, part, a path you know not.
I trot, trot, trot, to one dead alive.
I strive, strive, strive, to resurrect the dead.
I read, read, read, that's what I'm good at.

I sing, ting ding, for I know my right,
I write, write, write, I don't need to be right.

What to do?

Attention : Intended use of Double negatives.

I heard an old man in the park say, "Heavens are where we don't work for pay.
They are a place to sit back and chill, you don't get tired, do what you will.
Nothing to do in an endless time, no need to dance to a ticking chime."
I went back and forth on this thought, and thus is this nothing wrought.

Did your God want you to sit on a stone, and chant his name forever alone?
Did God not want you to farm and hunt, did he give you a mind to be blunt?
Did he want you to sit under one roof, and discuss his tales without moral and proof?
If leaving the worldly activity is his will, who would build the temple who would till?

Very rarely had it been so preached, that God is just a destination to be reached.
The journey is this worldly existence, not mere austerity and penance.
To this rhythm you tap your feet, and like puppets dance to the beat.
In your own way to be a muse, one should eat, grow and reproduce.

Such committed deeds be not just unique, may they be neither bad nor bleak.
Actions good and kind should they blend, and a better tomorrow should you mend.
If your priest did not preach or attest, to do good doing what you do best,
he had failed more than a test, for taking you in circles and calling it West.

To attain God is not to do nothing, neither something that betters nothing.
You have a mind to hear, see and dance, through the noise and mist of universal trance.


I do not know if Lord Krishna has indeed been on Earth to have said it, but the concept is of utmost importance.

"Not by merely abstaining from work can one achieve freedom from reaction, nor by renunciation alone can one attain perfection."

Verse 4, Chapter 3, Bhagavad Gita

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Mangoes don't matter

A few families till their farm, in a village that knows no harm.

In one such households is born, a baby boy never forlorn. 

The villagers rejoiced at a new man, as was the custom of the clan, 

ripped a mango of its sour skin, and planted the fruit to be his kin.

Time whirled round as the baby grew, the mango leaves danced in the dew. 

The baby walked his first down the wall, the stems stretched desiring to grow tall. 

The boy learnt to play in the backyard, as the fragile mango branches muscled hard.

The boy learnt to swing on a tree, and the tree spread out its arms high and free.

A summer when he was sixteen old, came a soothsayer who hated gold, 

and to him the universe foretold, the youth would die when the days fell cold. 

The priest heard the prophecy alone, and wanted to perform a ritual atone, 

it was the sweet mango tree subject to vice, the human selfishness planned the malice.

If the man was to give his life away, the mangoes would ripen and fall in hay. 

Would he be born again and he grow, the youth on whom none would raise a brow. 

If the tree was to be cut and fell, none thought they would go to hell, 

for they would plant many mango seeds, and atone for their sinful deeds.

The mangoes would still bloom in sun, a few years later as the summers run. 

Had there been a loss of life, who cares when mangoes still eat your knife? 

Why do we not care for a tree to die, unlike a human who might even lie? 

Why is the human's life valued more, had he stepped down from the heavens' shore?

Maybe the coconuts high told the roses below, did you witness these humans' inhuman blow?

Maybe because we can't hear nor ever know, would we become the superior? Oh! Oh!!