When the 18th year approaches,
Life's years are counted,
A momentary pause,
The Threshold of adulthood..
Licence to drive, Right to vote,
Licence to marry, Licence to own property,
Right upon right is ceremoniously conferred,
Upon a body hardly out of the shackles of adolescence..
Freedom is suddenly ours,
Unbounded and free,
But the most important Licence,
Is the Licence to decide..
Critical thought is admonished,
Freedom is fostered,
In a sad heart,
Companions become more important than parents..
Life opens up,
And welcomes one and all,
The ceremony of 18..
The beauty of 18..
But is the birthday celebrated in the real sense,
The candle on the cake,
Is blown away in a whiff of air,
Life too is so frail and fragile..
The real birthday, my friends,
Is when we invite God into our hearts,
Awaken the dormant spirit imbibed in us..
That is not a birthday.. but a "Rebirth" day
Contemplate on this my friends,
Dont blow away money on frivolous gifts,
But spend it wise and well,
Help a needy soul..
Stuff yourself with not material gifts,
But with the real gift of love,
As materialism is temporary,
Love is eternal,
Welcome to adulthood..
Happy Birthday
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Does God Exist ??
In this world of ours, torn by strife and war, passion and pride, a question oft arises: Does God exist? The answer is in the question itself. With the very breath that God has given us, who are we to deny his existence. But the mortal mind is a monkey that jumps from branch to branch, in search of the fruit, without knowing that the tree, not the fruit is the source of it’s sustenance. In a village, there lived a tribe known for it’s godlessness, and the rampant way in which it extolled atheism on the basis of a seemingly rational question, ”Can you see God? If you can’t see then how can you believe?” There happened to be a God-man, oblivious of the fact, who found himself in the midst of these non-believers, in the course of his wanderings. Seeing his ochre robes and persona, the people were intrigued. They put this question to him, again: ”Can you see God? If you can’t see then how can you believe?” The God-man said that he would show his God to them, and then they were free to see him and decide whether to believe or not. He asked for a cup of milk. When brought, he kept staring into it. The village burst into a guffaw of laughter, chiding the man saying he couldn’t show them his God. The God-man replied saying, that he wasn’t looking for God, but was looking for butter in the milk. The villagers could no longer control their laughter and said that the man was not a God-man but a lunatic. The God-man sharply reacted to this retort and replied that, if they looked for butter in milk, without boiling it, filtering the cream and churning it; how could they look for God, without doing the same to their bodies. Reason fails when Love prevails. Physics fails when Metaphysics reigns. That is the charm of God.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Hope
In the land of ours, lived once a poor youth,
Was subject to fate's edious test,
Could he walk thorugh life's hardshipped route,
And climb to victory's crest?
Hand to the cobbler, hands in the quay,
Yet lived each day on a morsel of bread,
Slept on concrete beneath a tree,
Knew not comforts of roof and bed.
One moon bundled bread-bottle in cloth,
Wish to climb up away from it's jar,
Next sun rose with it and set forth,
Dust under feet, set for lands afar.
Reached a town,"Ah! God's gift, this rich place!"
But hair moved hardly a hair's breadth, was pulled by the collar,
"Tell me O stranger! What is your face?
If not mine, I'll rob you from blood and dollar.
The eyes are the same, our mouths like mirror,
But comrade, may be the wrinkles differ"
"Boy, the wrinkles maketh me use this dagger,
Tis for the wrinkles,you shall suffer".
Two hearts in him they beat alive,
Inch from blade, inch he moved not,
One heart guarded him in a hive,
The other could not be sought.
For he beat his heart and a fairy appeared,
With a soft and lovely hum,
She sang,"I'll vanish what you feared,
I'll help you overcome".
The fairy flew him over fuel and fire,
Had saved the hunted from the hound,
To climb the mountains she flew higher,
Before she settled him on firm ground.
For twenty something days he walked, ran, and walked,
Through the limitless lonesome land,
His vessels hollow, his throat felt chalked,
In the expanse, he had become a grain of sand.
Two hearts in him beat in vibrant force,
Inch from death, miles willed to go,
He searched in sight for a sustenance source,
Any stream which had a flow.
Beat his heart, hovered the fairy,
And with a soft and lovely voice,
She sang,"Take left, then right, and then make merry,
Behind the dune in the green rejoice.
Fed and watered, he reached a city,saw,
Men in motors race,
In front and behind, round in a salvo,
And splatter mud on his face.
Kill or killed, who bothers any more?
I can be the sole king of space,
"What thou dost to my nation's core"
Tread, trample my pride, to run one man's race.
Two hearts in him, all did endure,
Miles his dreams, inches from nightmare,
But every plague in time, has it's cure,
And among the prey, a mind who'll dare.
Beat his heart, the fairy gilded in like a bird,
With a soft and lovely melody,
"If you toil and work, you have my word,
You will bring a happy end to this tragedy".
He journeyed and set foot now on a dazzling dominion,
"Ah! Nature's holist sanctuary",
No sooner then, with danger a reunion,
And cried,"Who has made this mortuary?"
For lives are slain, death thunders and rains,
And the unnoticed suffers,
No one ever makes no gains,
except the gift of lines of coffers.
Two hearts in him, never weary,
Miles away serenity's soul,
And then when flew in the fairy,
He quipped,"Fairy who are you, and who set you your role?"
I give you hope for your brotherhood,
I give you hope when death chases life,
I give you hope to turn all to good,
I give you hope in moments of strife.
I give you hope to achieve your goal,
To lasso the stars with a piece of rope,
It is your heart which has set me this role,
And I am the fairy of hope.
Was subject to fate's edious test,
Could he walk thorugh life's hardshipped route,
And climb to victory's crest?
Hand to the cobbler, hands in the quay,
Yet lived each day on a morsel of bread,
Slept on concrete beneath a tree,
Knew not comforts of roof and bed.
One moon bundled bread-bottle in cloth,
Wish to climb up away from it's jar,
Next sun rose with it and set forth,
Dust under feet, set for lands afar.
Reached a town,"Ah! God's gift, this rich place!"
But hair moved hardly a hair's breadth, was pulled by the collar,
"Tell me O stranger! What is your face?
If not mine, I'll rob you from blood and dollar.
The eyes are the same, our mouths like mirror,
But comrade, may be the wrinkles differ"
"Boy, the wrinkles maketh me use this dagger,
Tis for the wrinkles,you shall suffer".
Two hearts in him they beat alive,
Inch from blade, inch he moved not,
One heart guarded him in a hive,
The other could not be sought.
For he beat his heart and a fairy appeared,
With a soft and lovely hum,
She sang,"I'll vanish what you feared,
I'll help you overcome".
The fairy flew him over fuel and fire,
Had saved the hunted from the hound,
To climb the mountains she flew higher,
Before she settled him on firm ground.
For twenty something days he walked, ran, and walked,
Through the limitless lonesome land,
His vessels hollow, his throat felt chalked,
In the expanse, he had become a grain of sand.
Two hearts in him beat in vibrant force,
Inch from death, miles willed to go,
He searched in sight for a sustenance source,
Any stream which had a flow.
Beat his heart, hovered the fairy,
And with a soft and lovely voice,
She sang,"Take left, then right, and then make merry,
Behind the dune in the green rejoice.
Fed and watered, he reached a city,saw,
Men in motors race,
In front and behind, round in a salvo,
And splatter mud on his face.
Kill or killed, who bothers any more?
I can be the sole king of space,
"What thou dost to my nation's core"
Tread, trample my pride, to run one man's race.
Two hearts in him, all did endure,
Miles his dreams, inches from nightmare,
But every plague in time, has it's cure,
And among the prey, a mind who'll dare.
Beat his heart, the fairy gilded in like a bird,
With a soft and lovely melody,
"If you toil and work, you have my word,
You will bring a happy end to this tragedy".
He journeyed and set foot now on a dazzling dominion,
"Ah! Nature's holist sanctuary",
No sooner then, with danger a reunion,
And cried,"Who has made this mortuary?"
For lives are slain, death thunders and rains,
And the unnoticed suffers,
No one ever makes no gains,
except the gift of lines of coffers.
Two hearts in him, never weary,
Miles away serenity's soul,
And then when flew in the fairy,
He quipped,"Fairy who are you, and who set you your role?"
I give you hope for your brotherhood,
I give you hope when death chases life,
I give you hope to turn all to good,
I give you hope in moments of strife.
I give you hope to achieve your goal,
To lasso the stars with a piece of rope,
It is your heart which has set me this role,
And I am the fairy of hope.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Twilight believes in a hope
Of eternity over the sands,
Yet speck over speck,
It's beauty disdainfully,
Thrown in the void.
Truth belies the philosophy,
'A straw for the drowning'.
Truth they say shines-
'Darkness-night- too is truth'...
When horizons grow silent,
Sparks of cosmic flames,
Speak up...
Not too loud for a weary,
Soul;faithfully though
The slumber-
In beauty,duty and pain,
Or without much to gain,
Blissfully unaware.
The end begins at the beginning,
Not too late or too soon-
'Speck by speck are the sands counted'.
But someday, sometime,
A spell will be blown,
Away may be, for the last time....
But,
And again shall the heaven's begin,
With the yawn of the sun.
'A straw' for some, Truth for others,
Hope of life in it's seeds...
But, does it matter,
As ants we waive,
In the eternal continuum? - Yes it does.
Yet speck over speck,
It's beauty disdainfully,
Thrown in the void.
Truth belies the philosophy,
'A straw for the drowning'.
Truth they say shines-
'Darkness-night- too is truth'...
When horizons grow silent,
Sparks of cosmic flames,
Speak up...
Not too loud for a weary,
Soul;faithfully though
The slumber-
In beauty,duty and pain,
Or without much to gain,
Blissfully unaware.
The end begins at the beginning,
Not too late or too soon-
'Speck by speck are the sands counted'.
But someday, sometime,
A spell will be blown,
Away may be, for the last time....
But,
And again shall the heaven's begin,
With the yawn of the sun.
'A straw' for some, Truth for others,
Hope of life in it's seeds...
But, does it matter,
As ants we waive,
In the eternal continuum? - Yes it does.
Computer Love
Dear Cobol,
The site of you increases the clock speed of my heart. You wear a dress with all the colours of an XGA display adapter, overclocking my eyes. When I first saw you in the first row of the second column of the 10x5 set of seats in the bus, I lost my Control Panel. I stopped communicating with my friend and my eyes were fixed on you. I was caught in the web of your beauty. I followed you to find out more about you, but crashed and had to reboot. My desktop is filled with icons of your love. I never had a bit of drink or a byte of my cookies from the time I cut and paste your image in my main memory. My random access memory stops responding when your High-Resolution images start flashing through it. My hard disk is filled with your data. I browsed through all the libraries in my office, but the search yielded no data. I could not contact you earlier as I was down due to a viral attack. If possible, I would like to C you in the Procedure division where a site is being developed. Please don’t truncate my love. Give me permanent access to your heart.
Yours Programmably,
Pentium 4
The site of you increases the clock speed of my heart. You wear a dress with all the colours of an XGA display adapter, overclocking my eyes. When I first saw you in the first row of the second column of the 10x5 set of seats in the bus, I lost my Control Panel. I stopped communicating with my friend and my eyes were fixed on you. I was caught in the web of your beauty. I followed you to find out more about you, but crashed and had to reboot. My desktop is filled with icons of your love. I never had a bit of drink or a byte of my cookies from the time I cut and paste your image in my main memory. My random access memory stops responding when your High-Resolution images start flashing through it. My hard disk is filled with your data. I browsed through all the libraries in my office, but the search yielded no data. I could not contact you earlier as I was down due to a viral attack. If possible, I would like to C you in the Procedure division where a site is being developed. Please don’t truncate my love. Give me permanent access to your heart.
Yours Programmably,
Pentium 4
IRONY
Bound in shackles,
Writhing in pain,
The plain agony observable to those observant,
Through the dry lifeless eyes,
That once spawned a torrent.
The tears have long dried up,
Their wells exhausted,
Burnt in the fire of frustration,
Staring into the sky,
As if asking the creator, what more?
My life is… is irony it says,
That’s it, just don’t ask more…
Irony has bound me, has placed me where I am,
The sufferer suffers more,
And yet he enjoys it more.
Disease has crippled me, ye seeker,
Says he… Pastures long gone barren,
Have been left behind,
Greed has led to this, avarice and pride,
All is with purpose.
Trust me, Life is not without purpose,
Irony irons it all out,
I am an outcast, insane to the world,
But saner than many in this world,
That can only take but not give.
Fire burns, but is quelled,
By the river of experience,
I beg for death, for deliverance,
From this bed of Thorns,
Into the arms of eternity,
Into the arms of peace…
Writhing in pain,
The plain agony observable to those observant,
Through the dry lifeless eyes,
That once spawned a torrent.
The tears have long dried up,
Their wells exhausted,
Burnt in the fire of frustration,
Staring into the sky,
As if asking the creator, what more?
My life is… is irony it says,
That’s it, just don’t ask more…
Irony has bound me, has placed me where I am,
The sufferer suffers more,
And yet he enjoys it more.
Disease has crippled me, ye seeker,
Says he… Pastures long gone barren,
Have been left behind,
Greed has led to this, avarice and pride,
All is with purpose.
Trust me, Life is not without purpose,
Irony irons it all out,
I am an outcast, insane to the world,
But saner than many in this world,
That can only take but not give.
Fire burns, but is quelled,
By the river of experience,
I beg for death, for deliverance,
From this bed of Thorns,
Into the arms of eternity,
Into the arms of peace…
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