Final Past Poem:

Hello, Monday!

It would have been splendid had I dug this particular poem up earlier, for it is one dedicated to mothers. Let’s get onto the reading,

 

Mother

The path has been long,

The journey makes me tired,

All the beauties of the world, passing unadmired,

I pull my self up, and gather my strength,

My brow weary, my back bent.

I look ahead, staring into space,

I find hope and peace, when I see your face,

The path is long And tis hard to stay true,

All that pulls me on, is my love for you,

For you guide me through the dark, like a beam o’ light,

You are the only thing that makes my life bright,

You guide me on, the voice of reason,

A faithful companion, in all seasons,

When I am lost, in the evil of night,

You are the thing that helps me stay right.

When I am lost in the deep with no other,

You will always be there for me, My Dearest Mother.

-Adithyaa.R

22-03-2012

Time certainly flies, doesn’t it? Mother’s are the first other being that the child recognizes, and play an irreplaceable role in our lives, from our births until our independence.

Until next time,

~Adithyaa

Poem: More past poetry

Hello, Friday!

Here the second poem I dug out of the archives, a poem that has about as much depth as a kiddie pool, but uses what used to be a oft spoken phrase of mine,

 

Me, Myself and I

 

Me, Myself and I

Three people yet the same

Me, Myself and I

Quite different but the name

Me, Myself and I

People times triplicate

Me, Myself and I

One and its duplicates

Me, Myself and I

Not but a phrase

Me, Myself and I

But one which would amaze

Me, Myself and I

Describes the same person

Me, Myself and I

And yet applies to daughter and son

Me, Myself and I

This hast cometh to end

Me, Myself and I

Such a delightful phrase to bend!

-Adithyaa.R

13/8/2011

I wrote this poem about 5 and a half years ago, using a rhyming scheme I rarely practice in, by repeating a particular phrase multiple times. An interesting aspect of this poem is that after one reads it several times, you unconsciously omit the repeating phrase while reading it in your head, and yet, it maintains a good poetic flow even without it.

I used to love throwing idioms and phrases around (As a kid I used to like reading through dictionaries to discover new words), and I used to use “Me, Myself and I” quite frequently when referring to myself. I suppose the phrase had just stuck to me, it has a rather pleasant ring to itself.

Onwards until next time,

Adithyaa~

 

Poetry: Reminiscing on past poetry

Hello, Sunday! Monday!

Today we’re in for a special post, I’ve managed to locate some old poetry of mine, and so for this and the next two posts I’ll be sharing my old poetry written some years ago. Let’s get started,

The Wonder of Nature

In the forest rose the pines,
Overlooking the golden mines.
There, swinging from tree to tree,
Was a great big grinning chimpanzee.

As it swung from here to there,
It had a spied a grizzly bear.
And it started up the call,
Which sounded like a bored drawl.

Others took up the cheer,
Warning all not to come near.
Then the chimp from tree to tree,
Jumped and hooted with sheer glee!!

-Adithyaa Raghavan
VIII

I have no idea how my 14 year old self managed to land a poor chimp in a coniferous forest. I recall I wrote this poem shortly after learning that many species of apes communicate using sounds to warn each other of danger. Either way, I hope you enjoyed this post, and stay tuned metaphorically for next week’s poem.

Signing out,

Adithyaa

Poem: Under Raucous Skies

Under Raucous Skies,
As the sun dies,
And the night city lights,
Spring to life,

And then with a crash,
And a lightning flash,
The bulbs turn dark,
And the city turns black.

The gods are neigh,
Heaven and earth torn asunder,
As the aether burns with fire and thunder!

Hear their cry, ye mortals,
Hide within thy stony abodes,
As night turns to day for a tick,
With the titter of rain on the roof.

Oh ye wise, watch out,
For the powers of yore are about,
Dancing and mocking the sun,
Bending nor kneeling to anyone,

Sway with the wind,
Light up my face,
And celebrate thunder,
As the sun slumbers.

~Adithyaa~

 

Hello, Sunday!

Last Monday evening was selfsame to most Mondays. I was getting ready for dinner, then the lights flicker and the power dies, a most familiar feeling in India during the monsoon season. About 10 seconds later, a huge wave of wind rushes around and through our house, as if it were succeeding the blackout, as lightning does to thunder. Mayhaps the wind laid a branch upon the local transformer on it’s way here. Rain and lightning soon followed suit, and the city was drenched once more.

There I found myself, at near midnight, with nothing but lightning to illuminate my page as I inscribed this poem with the black ink of the night while in an inspired fervor. Rain gently tinkling around, while lightning tore up the sky in a most mesmerizing fashion. To steep in such moments  is all the artist lives for.

Signing off, and until next time,

Adithyaa~

Poem: Printer O’ Printer

Printer o’ printer,
whirring by the window,
laying layer by layer,
arose by rows.

O’ Eta o’ mine,
what’s ETA of thine?
with silky strings that shine,
laying line after line,

Spinning through the day,
weaving through the night,
what fine lines you lay,
till dawn’s breaks light,

Precision machine,
makeshift in green,
with rods a’gleam,
layin’ lines so clean,

Till time’s end we make,
for a maker’s sake,
for a creator’s crave to slake,
O’ Eta, Awake and bake.

~Adithyaa Raghavan

 

Hello, Sunday, I’ve been expecting you,

To anyone who doubt’s a maker’s obsession with technology, show them this. Worry not, I have a good psychotherapist, and he worrying enough for everyone.

Either way, I just wrote this yesterday, after nearly a year working on and off on my printer Eta.

Signing off,

~~Adithyaa~~

Poem: The Cage of our Minds

Our existence is ethereal,
formless, intangible, surreal,
and within this mortal body confined,
lies our self, in the cage of our mind.

Words may shake, but are just jitters
that the cage of your mind embitters,
causing your self to fritter,
unhealthy thoughts, like mental litter.

Awaken and rise, it’s simple you see,
and yet it’s the hardest thing to be
the master of your mind, conscious self
finally dusted off its shelf.

That is Will, your only power,
by which your self will tower,
or by the same, will cower,
Unknown, a trampled flower.

Experience joy and sorrow,
the past and tomorrow,
your heart as the horse,
and your brain at the reins.

Shine your mind, burn like a star,
shed brilliant light near and far,
Rid your self of mental tar,
and crown yourself your self’s tsar.

-Adithyaa

Hello, Sunday!

It’s been a while, life’s been keeping me well occupied. I find that one of the most important things to achieve in life is control over oneself. It’s ‘easy’, but also well neigh impossible, which is the tricky part.

See everyone next week!

~Adithyaa~

Poem: Earth

The State of Earth

Towering piles of waste,
Reaching towards the sky,
With poison and toxins laced,
The earth itself, begins to die.

The rule of man is cruel,
and apathy is abound,
We shut our eyes,
and close our ears to the noise around,

of the earth’s clamorous cries,
and that of our fellow man,
We wallow in our bread and circuses,
and blame our fate upon “god’s plan”.

The power of man is great,
He can create and destroy,
but his greed will not abate,
Till the planet runs dry.

Each man, woman and child,
We must turn ourselves around,
and see the devastation dealt,
to our green and blue round.

There may be other lands,
Near far away stars,
but this sand, this soil,
tis naught but ours

We, the people, have been led,
by thieves and crooks,
till our earth has bled,
and dry, run the brooks

There is yet time,
There is yet hope
and we hold within ourselves
The power to make amends,

Each and Every Human,
Rise and open your minds
The earth is ours, so grasp the pen of god,
and let us be the author of our fate.
-A

Helloo, SUNDAY OF ’16! I mean 17!

Here’s to another lap around the sun, and to a few months of writing 16, scratching it out, and then awkwardly scrawling in 7 instead.

This particular poem was written in July of 2014, and has a very SUBTLE message. I wrote this with a different sense of rhythm, trying to go for a more asymmetrical approach, although personally I prefer poems with neat, structured rhyming sequences.

Let’s hope that this solar lap is better than the last one, see all of you 1/52th of a year later!

Cycling away,

Adithyaa