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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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

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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.


Golden Moments

The world is an amazingly adventurous place … just look through my eyes.
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Speech is silver, Silence is gold;
Such proverbs are somewhat old.
Silence gives us blissful peace,
A silent Siesta’s  each man’s wish.

It was a hot summer afternoon, when
Venturing out would make one swoon;
The fans were on, the rooms were cool.
The ones outside were surely fools.

Mom told stories of kings and Queens,
Of a lovely princess and her dreams.
Hoping her stories would put to sleep,
Her toddler son and daughters sweet.

As her story ended she fell asleep,
Drowning in a peaceful slumber deep.
The daughters too had fallen asleep;
But toddler son wished to have a peak.

He was feeling hot, had a little sweat;
The bathroom tap could make him wet.
He toddled there, and turned the tap,
Sound of water broke the sister’s nap.

She found her Bro, missing from bed;
‘Wake up sis! you sleepy head.’
The younger one to the elder said.
And saying so leapt up from her bed.

She tiptoed to the washroom door;
Sitting happily on the  floor,
His expression one of joy untold,
The noon was hot and the water cold.

Splash, Splash, Splash went his feet;
Thump, Thump, Thump went the beat.
As he splashed the water with his hand,
At the door he saw his sisters stand.

He laughed out loud in greatest joy,
The tap water was, his newest toy.
He shrieked in glee, he felt so free;
To solve the washroom’s mystery.

The sisters pulled him from the tap,
And a towel around him wrapped.
He gave them a one toothed smile,
Knowing what he did was vile.

 The sisters laughed to see him so,
 But what he did, mom must know.
So they carried him to their mom;
And gifted her a towel wrapped son.

It amused mom, to hear the story,
Of her son’s endeavour to gather glory.
Speech is silver and silence is gold,
Not so when you have a one year old.

Memoirs of childhood days.