What A Feeling
What a feeling it is to say, “This is my own house”
For one who lived years in a rented residence
What a feeling it is to say, “I’m full to my neck”
For one who starved for weeks, being out of work
What a feeling it is to say, “This rag is so warm”
For a half-nude hobo who lives under sky-dome
Small pleasures, yet great gratifications they are,
For those grieving souls, in sheer indigence
The poor are poor; but poorer are the ravenous rich
Who can never reach these richer indulgences
poem by Sathya Narayana
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After Sixty................
You learnt
Something or a lot
For sixty years or more
Keeping your nose
To the grindstone
It’s time to halt
Come on! Throw away
Those grammar books
Discard those language lessons
Try something akin
To your hunching spine
Help fellow humans
Or chant the names
Of the Divine
Of what use, is stock pile
When it is not for consume
Of what use is knowledge
[...] Read more
poem by Sathya Narayana
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Idled Idealist
He is an idled idealist
A muscled, imbecile
A savant to no avail
In search of a new world
While blurring are lines
Between good and bad
Between right and wrong
Dithered of discerning wisdom
He is stranded in the middle
Of labyrinthine lanes all around
Towards which side to stride?
Left? Right? East? West?
Fuddled is the ideal vanguard
No friend to walk together
Nor even a foe to offer
A decent fighting pleasure
In this social warren
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poem by Sathya Narayana
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Let Us Forget
He lost his parents
In communal riots
But he forgot it!
Acquired was his fertile tract
For a paltry amount
But he forgot it
He has to fast many a night
Unable to meet rising costs
But he forgot it
Shattered were hold-fasts
Of many a proletariat
But they all forgot
Nothing to surprise at all
It is easy in this democratic State
To keep people in a hypnotic state
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poem by Sathya Narayana
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Memory Basket
The basket of memories
had started growing heavy
on my wizened hands.
The apples therein
looked as fresh as ever
Every fresh dropp of tear
added to their tone
Every latest spill of blood
improved their colour.
Few more yards on that
dimpled sandy shoal.
I can see the end
half clear; half blurred.
Somewhere I have to stop.
The roaring waves looked kindly
at me.
[...] Read more
poem by Sathya Narayana
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I KNOW NOTHING O' GOD (Burns stanza)
What's good, know not. What's bad, as well,
know not. But lo, my heart does swell
with love, O' Lord and eyes do well
when hear your name.
And why my lips always drivel
Your tales and fame?
I try no logic Lord. No doubt
as well I entertain about
Your greatness, since my brain isn't stout
and faith, just blind.
These songs I sing and pleas I shout
are undefined.
Wisdom is no wisdom; they say,
unless it lays a floral way
to reach, at last, your sacred quay.
But what's wisdom?
Know not I; but belongs my clay
to Your kingdom.
poem by Sathya Narayana
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Snails
She is a snail born with a shell
Like a congenital mogul
Born and brought up in a castle
With two eyes hanging on her head
She is slimy and sly; slides slowly and wary
Peeping along the sea bed for a prey
If preys on it, some mighty sea gull
Quickly she slips into her safe shell
She is secure, on the face of any turmoil
She cares not crab fights; nor fish out of waters
She is all for herself with no feel
For the toiling lives in the roiled waters
There I see snails, millions and millions!
Walking cool through our social ruins! !
poem by Sathya Narayana
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Left And Right
Oh, heckling thinkers!
Oh, inverted intellectuals!
Be you left or right
Sling not mud at each other
Waste not, your chaste anger
Eager, both you are
To offer this world due comfort
Two sides of uncut
One whole you are; our bolsters
Why fight? Mistreading stalwarts!
Stretch your great peers
There! On that deserving rout
Of wolves rambling out
Eating vitals of State to core
Breeding hatred and squalor
No signets they bear
Of nation; just bandicoots
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poem by Sathya Narayana
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Aerial Thoughts
My jet is zooming fast;
Except skyscrapers, high ramparts
Mountain ranges and tall trees
I see nothing at all
I smiled at the pretty French girl
Sitting on the other side of the aisle
I started a chat with Mr.Prat
On US politics and modern art;
About how a tycoon
Died in intoxication
And how a stripping actress
Died of AIDS
Good God!
I don’t see my India from here
And my people dying
Everyday with starvation
I am snug and enjoying
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poem by Sathya Narayana
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Senses
Closed eyes too can see
Visuals on heart-easel
Tight lips too can speak
In eloquence expressive silence
Deaf ears too can hear
Thundering miseries all around
Searching senses work
even when locked
Hungry are they; for truth
Eager are they; to revolt
Sans smut and rust
They know their worth
(This poem is about oppression. Oppressors think they are perpetrating their evils without anyone's knowledge. But there are searching senses around, that are sans smut & rust, which are live to their surroundings even when shut and ready to revolt)
poem by Sathya Narayana
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