Age of Poetry

Toddler poetry
Beautiful word shapes,
Simple joys,
Of poetic license

The Power
To spurn grammar
To ignore punctuations

Awkward adolescence
Gangly growth
Big words
Here and there
Mauling rhyme

And slaughtering scheme
Exposed to masters;
Inadequacy seen

Teenage poetry
Hope flourishes
And Ideals sown
saga's spawned
And skills honed

"The world will change
Love will prevail"
says the hoping soul .

Ageing is seldom graceful
Dead weight of expectations
Faded Realms of fantasy
Reality crushing you

Grand vocabulary
Enchanting imagery
But nothing left to say
Inferi of literature

"The Pen can but pen
Nothing ever changes "
Despair and helplessness
Pound you to submission

The Pen falls
Through the air
And the Mind,
It Fades to black 

All that he ever could be,he was

What if  a person can be all that he/she ever wants to?What if all your dreams can be intertwined to be the one driving force of your existence?What if these would define who you are,be your  epitaph when you pass away,and linger on as your legacy?This what I'm thinking of right now.

I want to work for India,but I am not the kind of guy who can live in villages and serve.I like to write.I'd like to be an entrepreneur of some sort.Since I'm doing my Computer Science Engineering I'd like to make an impact there as well. I would love my life to be in the company of people who are not afraid to use their brains,who are comfortable with who they are,who do not tread the trodden path,"who go instead  where there is no path and leave behind a trail" . I would not want even an ounce of my potential to be unrealised. It must be said that "All he ever could be, he was"[my quote].

What it all came together like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle,everything integrating to one glorious whole.A mixture of inspiration,passion,the right company,creativity,logic and independence.What if dreams were for real?

Reality

Am I getting illusions of grandeur? Delusions of self importance? Face the facts old man. You are redundant in today's world . Sure,you were a mover and shaker in your prime, the world paid rapt attention to your every word,limelight hogged your every move.

Heads of government ate out of your hands. But now the mantle has passed. The legacy remains, not the power. It is the legend they pay respect to, it is but a show. You are but a figure head, the face of the cause, a cause which has surged ahead, leaving you behind, impotent vulnerable.


The strings have slipped from your hands, the puppets now dance to their own fiddle. What you have is, at the most, a respect for what was not for what is. Face up old man.Your values are outmoded;dead values. You are dead to them;like a Che in contemporary culture.

It's over.

Integrity

She refused cash
He refused to call
With a lamb's pride
She said go ahead
Man of integrity
He kept his word
Her little courage
Began to wither
Bravery to begging
Son please answer me
Sensing weakness
He steps up the demand
A shared account
She shudders

Squeezed mercilessly
Between love and integrity
Integrity which refuses
To destroy by caving in
For him she must be strong
She must prevent character suicide

This she knows
But her courage
Is that of a lamb

On seeing the knife
He brandishes
Threatening to stab
Her forevermore
Prometheus and the eagle

She caves in
Cash in hand
Black at heart
He dumps her

So long mother
What started with balance
Lost balance
Lost.