Chasing the horizon

It seized my fancy , one fair day
Through rice fields green , I walked my way
Where the horizon , kisses the sky
On that line , I fixed my eye

To keep walking , I made my mind
Until the horizon , I did find
An endless game , it was to play
As I moved , it moved away

Cool and mellow , the wind it brought
Many a sad or , a sweet thought
The thoughts so occupied my mind
I never paused , or looked behind

Huts , where ends , the trodden path
a child , an open air bath
Farmers .. the fields belonged to them
(a glass of water) asked me , from where I came

Surprised I came from afar
Destination ?? I had no answer
Should I return ?? Old farmer said the same
Was he on to my silly game ??

Matured he was , in his years
Those experienced eyes and ears
Seen others like me , who came
Playing the horizon chasing game

Just as far , the horizon lay
As I took the homeward way
The horizon that moved away then
Started following me back again .

As I watch the moon set

A nightwatchman , on his whistle ,blows .
Three sharp notes , high pitched and clear.
Three sharp notes , they reach many a ear .
His footsteps sound in the silence that follows .

I recognized every watchman by his tune .
A skill derived from , what I call , a habit ,
or insomnia as the doctor described it .
In simplest terms I was sleep immune .

I find it hard , lying awake at night .
'cause as lights go out and all other sounds fade.
Memories residing in my head ,
start speaking aloud and provide me with sight .

I see a little boy hold his father's hand
and rest assured he'd never lose his way.
I seek such assurance but try as I may ,
I find none in this unknown place I stand .

I see a little boy , making merry in the rain ,
or balancing on a narrow wall , unafraid to fall .
Now as then I wish I heard my mother call .
I wish someone would call me home again .

I see times when it took just a paper crown ,
to believe I was the king of all the kings ,
and fairies and dragons and other fantastic things .
A world where it mattered if I gave a smile or frown.

Once again , I struggle , to believe in a wishing tree ,
and make an earnest wish as memories unfurled .
Take me to the time when I controlled a world .
I am so tired of this world controlling me .

Filling a void feeling

Butterflies and blossom scented breeze,
adorn backyards , as winter flowers bloom.
Some known , others don't have a name.
.
Golden sun rays , shining through the trees.
A little house , a little boy , a smile .
A photograph of home in a golden frame.


A bird eagerly make its call of love ,
then wait to hear a response from its mate.
Silence , then a similar distant call.
.
The wind rustled the heads of trees above,
then came down , to the flowers of previous night.
Dried leaves and petals on the ground , the first of the winter fall.


The first shade of winter blues , a weary mind .
Pair of weary eyes , long for home.
To the traveler , a void inside .
.
The bonds of life and living that , a human , bind ,
pull too strong and a ' feeling alone ' again ,
straining eyes , them teardrops couldn't hide.


Sunny morning , little house , the garden flowers fair .
Old watchdog shaking off its sleep ,
freezes , pricks up an ear .
.
Familiar smell of cooking in the air ,
a welcome bark , is the traveler home ??
The dog ran off . Someone near and dear ??

Home....sweet home......sweet home .

COCONUT

This poem is very much incomplete ................ I attempted to our very old house maid ......... and when I started thinking about what to write about her and what not.... I was surprised to see that there was so much that she did everyday and I just didn't notice...... no one did ......... kind of took it for granted , like a way of happening............ so may things I couldn't pen because I just couldn't frame them into a poem .............. so here is the incomplete poem ........... a tribute to her and to so many like her................ she is 65 now................... my respects for her and her untiring service......

----COCONUT----

Sixty years of experience,
behind those glazed eyes.
Wrinkled skin , a frame
frail , bent and thin.
Rough lips , that muffled,
so many wanting sighs.
Her sense of duty
stands erect within.

Moving around the house
with an angry mutter.
How, she has had enough
of this scene...
Dirty laundry , utensils ,
all in a clutter.
You frown...but do you ever notice ?
The tablecloth , never ceases to be clean.

Rainy day perspectives

Drops of rain , on the window pane
gathered to form a steady stream.
The boy woke up , on his cosy bed
and gave a joyful scream.
The father reading the day's paper
cup of tea in hand.
The mother busy cooking dishes
that rainy days demand.

Drops of rain on the tattered shack
of paper plastic ..tin
The boy woke up all wet and cold
the rain was pouring in.
The father holding up the roof
as high as he could stand.
The mother covering the cooking fire
with her bare hand.

PARANOID

This poem is a snapshot of a traumatized paranoid mind .
This is probably the shortest poem I have written.......... it is a bit peculiar and you may not agree with what it says ........... but I write this poem from true experience , I have gained by interacting with some such people . I don't know if the title is appropriate , people be honest with reviews .




--PARANOID--

Fear and terror,
has scared trust away.
They have invited suspicion
to come and stay.

The mind ..phobic..paranoid,
in an endless search for 'safer'.
A straight line appears crooked
in a crumpled piece of paper.

Searching for childhood

Much have changed ,since the time I have been.
Ways have changed , ways I have heard and seen.
But mind retains the note of early day,
when the song of life was sung a different way.
With nothing to leave and nothing to take away,
I tread upon this path . Now the sun has set ,
darkness lights the path up ahead.
Silent as the silence of the dead.
Again I seek the beginning of the song.
As times before , I could only find the end.

The Beautiful Shop

' The Beautiful Shop ' the sign read,

'...welcome....welcome in'.
Through an open window
a butterfly , little , fluttered happily in .

For it spotted among the concrete jungle,
the thing it searched for hours .
The sign , among other things , also stated
'....we sell plastic flowers'.

Innocent , ignorant , patient , it tried ,
the flowers one by one.
So many flowers for so many hours ,
but with nectar none.

Unrewarded , it decided ,
to leave that garden dry ,
and start foraging once again ,
for somewhere else to try .

A fool that fell for plastic flowers ,
an exit could not find .
A task a little too complex
for an exact opposite mind .

Around the room it fluttered about
without a shade of a notion .
Of a ceiling fan ... metallic blades ,
and their rapid circular motion.

Sunlight on a splash of colors ,
colors of every shade .
On unreal flowers in full blossom
and a real butterfly dead.