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~

 

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: 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

Poem: The Tyranny of Time

The tyranny of time

To the beings of earth,
To the stars in the sky,
To all t’were birth’d,
To all yet to die,

The tyranny of time,
reigns o’er us all,
o’er the bone and stone,
o’er the giant and the small.

All things but man,
live in a state o’ bliss,
for tis only man,
Who bound time’s manacle to his wrist,

With the fleet foot of the first,
With the slow step of the second,
With the tardy tread of the third,
Triplicate handed time turns till infinity

Man burns his time and health,
to earn his wealth,
and then he has health and wealth,
but lacks in time,
and in his twilight chime,
He has time and wealth,
and no more his health.

~Me~

Helloo, SUNDAY!

Much machinations and the occasional expletive emanate from my lab, as I continue wrestling with Eta to gently bludgeon the last few flaws out, and then try dealing with the other mountian-load of work I’ve self assigned. I feel like I’m in a constant race against time, practically hearing my lifeclock click every second away. I’m always in two balanced minds about most things, and time is one of those things which both halves can agree that I need a bit more of. Just like a watering can, we can keep pouring time onto our little garden, trying to rear it the best we can, within our lifespan.

Signing off,

Adithyaa Raghavan

Poem: The Oasis

A harsh sun rises over the foreign land,
an endless waste of stone and sand
In the night, the animals wake
shriek and shiver, bark and bay,
but in this ocean of unrest
lies a oasis, a place blest,
a ring of palm round a pool,
filled with water, clear and cool,
a circle of tranquil in a sea of strife,
the image of peace, solstice’s wife,
the sun again, on its godly path,
once more, bares its burning wrath
and this refuge, a haven to all
sinks and melts into the squall.

-Guess who? ding ding ding, -Adithyaa

Hellloo SUNDAY,

Here is an old poem o’ mine, hailing from 4 years ago, 15 december 2012. Ironically, I wrote and blogged a poem about the desert during the middle of winter. If the increasingly discombobulated weather doesn’t affirm climate change to you, I don’t know what will.

Do interpret this poem as you will, I can’t quite remember what was going through my head at the time myself, so the most creative interpretation will be chosen as the official one 🙂

signing off,

~Adithyaa~