Name Dropping : An Ode to Blindness

Name Dropping : An Ode to Blindness

Is it sad, unfortunate or downright ironic,
that despite all, my words, deeds and thoughts
seemed insincere and ridiculous in your eyes?

   

Yes I am a jester, a motley fool,
whining like a gadfly, a hunchbacked descendant
of Tiresias, Abelard, Hamlet, Faustus, Quixote,
Descartes, Rousseau, Adonis and the Fisher King
who sadly became a cross in between
J. Alfred Prufrock and Bernard Shaw;
a ridiculous mix on any page of history!

    

Or perhaps the faults do not lie
in my stars, as I have so far claimed
but with the peculiar instance of time
a crossroad that is yet to be named,
when the world in general, has grown to be
fond of summarily ridiculing sincere thoughts!


 

C’est La Vie, Mon Chéri

C’est La Vie, Mon Chéri

The final countdown has begun,
cruel winter is coming to the temple and the crown.
Feting the unweeded growth of life, I should have known
her majesty, Death, has many faces, of which
too much life is the devious one!

   

O sweet life, how I longed for thee
in my fretful dreams and my sleepless wanderings,
a loner, walking on the lonely path of life
and though the final hour is at hand, now I know,
blessings can be veiled ironies!

   

One, who has lived his entire life
in dire poverty, how fitting it is
that the tragic end of his walk should be
steeped in such filthy abundance!


 

A Godly Descent

A Godly Descent

Guess, I wanted to be a god in my previous life!
I, a mere mortal fool, with the audacity
to desire an abode and everlasting peace
atop Mount Olympus, Kailash, Fuji, Sinai
or any other name one calls it in their mother’s tongue!

    

In the beginning, like a proper fool, I thought,
I was destined to become the winged god of Love,
until I saw, two things were missing from the scene –
the bow and those little, sweetly poisoned darts, dipped in
the wild passion that proudly runs through his fair mother’s veins!

   

If I must have a bow, I thought, why not the best,
so I set my eyes for Apollo’s golden one;
for the next while or two, it seemed to work – the pen
despite its sheer lack of potency came alive
until the very dream woke me up and muttered, good night!

    

Now I rule the fiery pits of hell, though not as Hades
but a mere mortal one, setting his future bed of nails,
still dreaming of a Prometheus unbound, to bring some light
unto the dark world and succeed where this mortal fool has failed!