Punctuated Equilibrium

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The lion sat on his throne,
He was the jungle king.
His wife the cunning lioness,
Was naturally the queen.

He had scrapped away the title,
Of his erstwhile eldest  queen.
For she had become old and wise,
And had lost her sheen.

The princess however glowed,
And had a pretty face.
She aided her dad in every way,
And soon became his ace.

The proud and arrogant lion,
Was proud of his jungle rule.
It was easy to trick the masses,
For masses were easy to fool.

He sold the masses empty dreams,
And made his own come true.
With hatred he divided them,
And filled their lives with woe.

When survival became difficult,
He claimed that he did all he could.
He made the masses eat their dreams,
When they failed to get their food.

So if your dream involves killing,
Of someone else’s dream.
Recall the tale of the lion king,
Who ruled with his inept team.

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Honing Habits

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Habits make a man;
If you’ve built bad habits,
Change them while you can.

Fling them from your life;
Chuck them for once and all.
Ere they shear you like a knife.

Welcome habits that are good;
Habits that make you strive,
And toil as hard as you should.

Stop looking for some excuse;
Just move towards your aim,
Banking on yourself ‘n’ your muse.

Sun will shine once more,
To brighten up your soul;
It’ll ferry you to your shore,
And help you reach your goal.

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Success mantra

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When you set yourself an aim,
You must deal it like a game.
You must give everything to win;
Taking care, you don’t sin.

Stick to the work till it’s done.
Devote all your time till you’ve won
The final touches count a lot;
Put in your best in the last shot.

We are – what we do today;
Our present actions pave the way.
For tomorrow’s achievements,
And our life’s fulfilment.

So, seek out if something’s wrong,
Replay your work like a song;
Redo things till you give your best,
To lady fortune leave the rest.

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Morning Blues

Photo by Julian Paolo Dayag

The sun is up too early,
It should have overslept;
My eyes under mutiny,
Refuses to open yet.

The sun is ever punctual,
If the clouds are not at hand;
Glowing like a rude master,
Goading all on the land.

Wake up! It yells with its rays,
Removing all speck of dark.
My mind revolts tyranny;
And abhors getting up to work.

I mildly listen to my mind,
And like the docile kind;
Get up and follow the orders,
And gently pull down the binds.

The helpless sun being shut out,
Fumes with its face all red.
I haplessly beg forgiveness,
And meekly return to bed.

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Givers of Memories

Singkham Pexels.com
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Why is it that memories,

Have a strange way of formation?

With those whom we love-

We associate the happy ones.

The sad memories often,

Are linked with those;

Whom we never loved much,

Or would rather forget.

A plethora of sunny thoughts,

Fill our minds with happiness;

While thinking of those we love.

The sad ones vanish like smoke.

The exact opposite happens,

When we think of those;

Who broke our hearts,

At some point of time or other.

The gloomy experiences,

That we carry in our hearts;

Burden our souls like lead,

Unhappiness abounds.

Be a giver of good memories.

For memories are all we take,

When our trip to the world is done;

And it is time to return.

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Fugitive Fate

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“Come on…. it’s getting late,” yelled Swarna at the top of her voice.  The children scampered all around with excitement. It was natural.  Soham was six and Sona ten, yet they had been on only two vacations in their entire life. The reason was Swarna’s demanding job and never ending fund crisis. 
 Swarna worked in a small firm. The income was meagre and the job demanding.  All private firms were the same – profit oriented.  In spite of her frustrations, Swarna continued her tedious tasks day in and day out in hope of a better future.  This vacation was planned by her, and executed by her husband Joy. Actually his name was Vijay, but Swarna called him Joy which meant victory in Bangla. Joy too called her Soro; a shortened form of Swarna.  She did like the endearment till Sona pointed out that it sounded like sorrow. 
 But by the time Sona had pointed it out; the name itself was ten years old and had achieved a distinct identity.
“Soro!” Joy called out, “it’s time to leave…” “Coming…”  Swarna replied as she hurriedly opened the trunk in which she kept all her expensive saris. She wrapped the small steel box, containing her jewellery, in an old sari belonging to her late mother-in-law, and kept it among the saris inside. It was a small precaution that she always took while leaving the house, she never left it in the safe inside the cupboard. She knew that would be the first place the thieves would steal from in case of a break in.  “ We must buy a locker at a bank, it isn’t safe to keep so much jewellery in the house,” she thought.
Her years of hard work had been transformed into beautiful gold jewellery which she often flaunted at various family functions.  The envious looks of the relatives and friends, gave her the reason to buy more jewellery each year.  From just a pair of earnings and a gold chain that she had during the time of her marriage, she now possessed about twenty items of gold jewellery as well as a couple of expensive saris that she had bought after several severe altercations with Joy.
Satisfied with her work she locked the trunk, and covered it with cushions which turned it into a chair.
She snatched the lunch from the kitchen and headed for the door.
“We’ll miss the train because of you,” her husband grumbled.
Everything went well, and Swarna  posted as many pics and videos as possible. The children enjoyed the beach immensely. Her relatives, friends and colleagues showered them with likes and comments in all the social media accounts that she had.
Swarna was sure they were seething with jealousy inside.
As they arrived at their house, Swarna requested her husband to buy some lunch. She was too tired to move. Joy got down from the taxi at the crossing; and told them to move ahead.  It was only a minutes walk to their home.
Swarna found the key and opened the door.  “I shall sleep for a day before I do any work,” she said to Soham and Sona. “We too,” they replied in unison. 
A wave of shock passed through Swarna as she looked at her living room.  Everything was scattered on the floor. The sari with which she had wrapped the box of jewels, lay on the floor. The window to the living room had been cut open and the thieves had taken their time to remove everything that was worth stealing.
Swarna sank on the floor.  The children hurried to find their possessions. Somewhere through the daze, she heard a voice. “Soro!” .She felt water being sprinkled on her face, and light pats on her cheek from somewhere far beyond.

An Earnest Plea

Trees also deserve 'Right to life.' It is their world too.
Nature is voiceless. Let us speak out for her.
Photo by Rachel Baskin

Hot summer I can bear,
I really enjoy the rain;
I shall endure cold winter,
When it arrives again.

I love it when the wind blows,
I like it when it’s still.
Everything I perceive around,
Fills me with infinite thrill.

It’s the smoke that chokes me,
The dust is too much to breathe.
It’s poison that I’m inhaling,
While exhaling O2 through leaves.

I writhe in pain as they chop me,
My hands, my arms, my throat…
They’re deaf to my painful pleadings;
As they’re deaf to sacrificial goats.

I wish humans were humane,
Wish, they were kind like trees.
Wish, they were loving and giving,
Wish, life would flow like breeze.

We trees don’t desire abundance,
We need just water and air.
Humans live for a few years;
Yet, ravage while they’re there.

For us the Earth would be Eden,
But for the human greed.
Stop it! We implore together.
High time you paid some heed.

I cannot cope with pollution,
I cannot tolerate this air.
Please stop destroying our world,
For us this life isn’t fair.

Hot summer I can bear,
I really love the rain.
I shall endure cold winter,
When it arrives again.

Paving the way for turning Heaven into Hell.
Photo by Stijn Dijkstra

Moony Musings

Photo by luizclas

If I ever, ever get a boon;
To wish for what I like.
I’d really wish to visit the moon,
On a full moon night.

I’d sit there smiling all alone,
Watching the stars and sun.
Dear Earth would be emerald blue;
It all would be such fun.

Alone alone all alone,
Without an iota of sound.
It would be queer and creepy too,
To have a peak around.

Craters huge and mountains tall;
Would have secrets to tell.
So would calderas small enough,
To be on Earth a well.

I’d roam about for a long, long time;
Till it fills my soul.
I would skip and jump, and run around;
Happily from pole to pole.

Without a single sound or life,
I’m sure to be bored out soon.
I’d find it hard, and awfully sad;
To settle down on moon.

When silence becomes unbearable;
With plenteous solitude.
I’ll clap my hands, and in a wink,
Come back home for good.

Rebirth

………………………………………………………..

It is said in the Vedas;
That, whatever now we do.
Determines in the next life,
That who will be who.

The good deeds of life before,
Has earned us a human form.
Showering us with powers,
From the day we are born.

But the evil deeds of humanity,
Accumulations due to greed.
For what? We really know not,
Nor is there a real need.

This want for more is endless,
And is testing for mother earth.
Who provides things in abundance,
And never leaves a dearth.

In delusion of achievements,
We’re actually collecting sins.
Whose results we’ll get in next life,
And know what suffering means.

We’re paving a path for travelling,
A life without water or air.
Money and gold are useless,
When basic things are rare.

Polluted fumes shall abound,
In treeless barren land.
The dry, choking hot air;
Shall blow over scorching sand.

Drops of water will be diamonds,
Every fruit and leaf will be gold.
The noble souls shall get them;
To noble souls they’ll be sold.

Only the fit and poor will live,
For they have the true wealth.
The power to endure adversity,
With which they’ve always dealt.

The rich who gained mere money,
By exploiting nature to the core.
Will awaken and gradually realise,
That money has no value anymore.

The air , water and food;
That we take for granted everyday.
Are the real priceless things,
Whatever one might say.

So by planting trees and caring,
For whatever God gives for free.
Is the only path to salvation,
For the world, for you and me.

Now is the time to fix our priorities.

The Forgotten Twig

The poem is based on the uselessness of office politics.
Helpfulness helps the helper.

The little bird forgot one day;
Where it kept its twig,
She would need it again one day;
To make her nest more big.

She went about her work all day;
Getting  food for the young ,
Happily she did her work ;
And laboured till it was done.

And in her work she did forget;
All about the twig ,
She thought that target had been met,
Her nest was nice and big.

The other birds saw her work;
And mused at her forgetfulness.
They hid her twigs because the shock.
Would surely raise her stress.

There was another silly bird,
Who lacked the tacts of the world.
Who liked to help one and all;
And revelled in the joy unfurled.

She saw the forgetful bird go round;
Oblivious of her loss.
She reminded her of the twig,
Which made the others cross.

They thought that the forgetful bird;
Should’ve paid for her forgetfulness,
Her ugly nest should have fallen down,
Her life should have been a mess.

The helpful bird raised her eyes
And asked, what they would gain.
If the poor bird’s nest got broke,
Or if, she received some pain.

They snubbed and ignored the bird;
For her well meant deed,
For the helpful bird, it mattered not
For peace of mind was her need.

She cared not, for what others thought;
She did not care for their might,
She always listened to her heart
And did what she thought was right.