Why Do Men Cry?

Why Do Men Cry?

Why do men cry?
O, but men do not cry.
Ooops, my bad, wrong question!
Of course men do not cry;
how else can they be called the man?

 

I meant to ask, why do male humans weep.
For grief, you say, alright and pain,
sorrow, loss, or by any other name
we may call a heartache?
Perhaps, in brief, for all the reasons a female
human might? But of course
the social construct known as Man,
the very image of God, it is often claimed,
how can it cry and still maintain
its self-imposed godliness; no, men do not cry!

 

Rather, men prefer to hunt, and plunder,
and men would love to shed their blood and die,
for a cause they have decided to believe,
and often loot and rape, upholding the said cause!

 

But woe! The thing men truly love
in their hearts, more than all of these combined,
is the role as writers of what
the definition of a woman ought to be!

 

So, of course men can never cry.
But female humans can become men too
and in shame, the man in male humans too can die!


 

Ce n’est pas un Poème!

Ce n’est pas un Poème!

Don’t tread on me, my sweet little Dove!
You don’t want to free the Peregrine now, do you my Love?
Thanks to my dear Life, you cannot
play a game that It has not played before,
at least a thousand times with me.
So, what are you waiting for? Come and let the game begin!
And we shall play a game of chess,
on infinite blocks of pure black and white –
with our Bishops and their leaping Knights’ barren swords;
but do not tread on me, I’m not your diving board!


To Poets!

To Poets!

Dedicated to all the unpublished poems in the world.

 

Have you ever written a line,
as penetrating as those of Shelley,
a verse or two as sublime as Walcott’s?
Neither have I. Still you and I,
nevertheless, are poets of course,
perhaps of a different kind, or not!

 

Perhaps we are historians, but unlike
Herodotus or Thucydides, recording
atrocities and kingdoms of the bygone days,
we take snapshots of the now on a plate,
smeared grey with silver nitrate from the past
and hold it out against the future’s effervescent light!

 

Perhaps we are social critics as well,
but unlike Fareed Zakaria or Yuval
Harari, we want to keep it brief, we do not explain!
Perhaps we are like Florence Nightingale,
a statistician turned healer, or Keats,
an apothecary, healing the human souls instead!

 

Or maybe there is no reason at all,
that compels us to write, save that we are
madness incarnate, with countless thoughts buzzing in our heads
and emotions, by the name of hormones
flooding our hearts and until we unsheathe
our humble pens for blood and to bleed, we simply cannot rest!

 

But for every word that we write
there are always two or three we must hide,
and another bunch are buried underground,
like those pillars we do not see
traversing the visible structures around!
But they’re there, thankful in their thankless duties.

 

So, let us celebrate those words, unseen,
for without them, poetry could not have been
the iceberg that sank the Status Quo of Titanic!
And to all the heroes, unsung, who bled for writing it,
let my humbly audacious pen sing this unworthy song –
Hats off to you and your words, soar as high as you can, for as long!


 

Idiotic Journey!*

Idiotic Journey!*

Threescore and twelve years ago, our fathers
carved up this subcontinent, in the name
of a religion, imported from the West.

 

They hacked up a double-handed axe
into a fractured trident, with the stem
and the central blade denouncing
their ‘British’ epithet for good,
while our fathers, like the remaining blades,
decided to unite, despite the distance
and a huge difference in everything
between the East and the West – from language,
geography to culture and heritage!

 

Woe! They chose religion, instead
and how long did that marriage last?
On the fifth year, the East was forced to understand,
language would have been a far better cause!

 

By twenty five, with an ocean of blood
we had to write another tale again!
This time more secular on the surface,
although deep inside, more or less the same.


 

Love Revisited

Love Revisited

Someone said it, and I remember who,
but when, I forgot. Was it yesterday,
or in my previous life, I cannot tell.
“You must love yourself first, before you can
truly love another soul.” Yes, I know
how vital loving oneself has become,
in today’s synthetic world, poisonous
and not just that, highly venomous too,
for it will so often bite, like a snake,
and the toxic thoughts will course through our veins,
returning to our lovelorn hearts and brains.
So, I must admit, loving oneself is
one of the ways. Is it the only one?

 

Human beings have a part of God, they say.
If that is so, we are part God within
and of course, part the human beast as well.
A beast that can murder and create, a beast,
who can both kill and make love, just for fun,
and do things, undreamt of in our philosophies!
Yet, we can choose, can we not, which of these
two, we shall cherish and nurture in life!

 

If we choose our Godly side, which is One,
and nourishing, let it grow to its bloom,
let it color our entire existence –
the human beast, its heart, brain and the godly soul
we do not need to love ourselves, any more
to love another human being, because –

 

“He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,”
She made and loveth all!


17.07.2019