Occupy my heart

Occupy my heart

I am in the winter of discontent

Not in the summer of suffering

Nor in the spring of desires

Nor in the autumn of fading hopes

I hope for your cuddle,

For the warming dreams,

Fora bridge to connect  our hearts

And for the tender caress.

There with you flow the rivers,

Reverberate the surfs in the ocean,

West and East meet through your land,

Occupy my heart.

Snow falls in my veins

Fog has wrapped up my pains

I shout in silence over in my cabin,

Streets echo me in louder strains,

Crowds sing in chorus the tunes of class war

Winds become stronger

Bush asks why the crowd in its bosom

Gorges disheveled see bright eyed cats

Ready to jump upto the noises of liberty.

Occupy my heart;

Cities cry in thunderous tunes

Markets sell flowers to cuties

To garland their loves in the march

They march in peace

Hunger and poverty in unison

Black and red ware empty abysmally

White has a little mirage in the pots

Occupy my heart.

Shed your sweat away,

It's winter and  you are hungry

Below the bridges of poverty

Above clamor of men of pomp

In limousines of affluence.

Occupy my heart,

His barracks might be full of ammunition

To fuel the the roads and streets

To return to the streets of Chicago

And soak the clothe in blood.

I am in love, occupy my heart,

You have all space there,

To rest and fight in valiance

Men and women of America,

Come, occupy my heart. 

When you realize

When you realize

 the people demonstrate for your sake

 and you did not know it,

 you are sure to feel sorry for your self.

 Every struggle is fought

 by the working class

 not for individual sake,

 but for class sake. Like an ecologist,

 he is fighting for a flower or a plant or a tree

 or even a moth, a sparrow or a falcon.

 We can easily remonstrate struggles

 and the inconvenience they cause you.

 But  it is a sacrifice of multifaceted kind;

 first you fight for others forfeiting your subsistence;

 you are scolded not for a deed done for you,

 but for the whole mankind; 

You call it a class, I say it's mankind. 

THE LAST LONELINESS.

Alone in the dark of night

I stand in orchard in my lawn

A star shines solitary

Blinking with a secret of heaven

Angel has left to the skies 

With its colored wings

Pervading the hearts of men

Which were filled with a fragrance

It smells none of earthen flowers

Nor those of paradise

It smells none of mountain buds

Nor those of the rivers

An island stood above the sea level

With a coral forest around

Reefs suffer assaults 

From the deep blue water. 

Mountains join the ocean 

In this tiny island

Heaped with sumptuous fruits 

And with a grove of trees. 

Afar, comes the ship

With wingless souls

The captain has a sinister smile

In his lips closed and thin. 

A crow in my dream

A Crow In My Dream

Every night I drink the cup of life

Pure water from my own well.

It intoxicates me to the brim

And I am a drunkard of life

Every night I think of my meadows 

Where I clinging to my pop's fingers

Roamed about under the skies blue

Dreaming of soaring into the skies. 

Wings would come from the winds

Beaks from the pointed rocks

Eyes from the tiny little plants 

Legs from the soil I touched on the earth.

Groves would fly under my wings

Rivers make a sky below the lands

Oceans reverberate under the dreams

Cool hands cuddle me in the wind.

Children call out I am a crow

While I, in fact, is a golden bird

A sparrow or a sooty tern

What flies over islands.

Realizing not that I am lonely

I flew in heavens over the isle

Between oceans and a bunch of trees

And my wings are tired to fall.

Thatched Cottage

I started from the thatched cottage

Where the oldie my mother cooked porridge 

burning dry leaves fallen and collected in bags of palm leaves

The porridge will be shared by eleven stomachs

Some times even thirteen, if the neighboring kids are starving. 

Disinterested in a half-starving porridge He left the chapel 

To the pebbled patth, with no lawns, but natural flowers blooming

Every step takes him from home to the lanes and footpaths full of coconut palms

The champa in the southern corner of his house spread fragrance and said stories of coupling in twines labyrinth. 

From lanes he came in the open

To the vast paddy fields, where his father and mother worked 

But no yield thereof satisfies their want, fill the stomach of their children

Inch by inch I moved from lane to field, to the rivulet,

 Along the rivulet I traversed the hungry stomachs and dreamy eyes. 

White cotton fly away from the plant to horizons of fear and satiety

None could weave a cloth from them, it wouldn't suffice his requirement

A song born in the depth of heart I suppressed, none would need it, 

Song that reverberated my heart was already sold, the master would say,

His master's Voice prevails; stubborn, I suppressed the song and the chant

I looked back at the torn up sides of the thatched roof

Through which my brethren saw light ; I looked back, again I looked back

There is a mom and pop that share their kids' food with the starving neighbours

A grandma to stitch slacks for men and blouses for women. 

She learnt it by mending the tears and wears, then a full blouse, for no wage. 

Poetry can dwell in piracy and poverty, and I choose poverty to piracy

I did not wait to reach my primary school that taught me my tongue and mind

And the great bards that sang for devotion and sacrament,

I returned to my home, my mother standing in smile blooming, father weighing love.

Nest Is Empty

http://www.thanalonline.com

I've always wanted to hear you,

Perhaps clumsy as you claim;

I want your sounds.  Instead,

You write long lines and stanzas on your life

And on the destiny of mankind.

But I want to hear them;

Your sighs, your fragrant tones,

Words uttered, not written.

The nest is empty.

I cannot stay alone in winter;

I can't enjoy the bloom of trees in spring

When leaves fall and fly through the air.

Autumn goes away without me,

Summer shines and sends me its burning laughs,

Roads tarred with vitumen and rubber

Show me mirages, water flowing ahead...

I have traversed continents and seasons

To hear a sound from you.

I've become a tearful lad plucking grassroots

To write my lines into your eyes,

To hear your cries of ecstasy.

Far distant, you stay within or chirp outside;

You may roar or sing, 

But I need to hear you.

I call you in the wilderness,

My noise echoes and returns.

Valleys laugh at my madness,

Still, I want to hear you.

Long passages are written,

Emails fill the trash in the inbox of my desires;

Have you spammed my pleadings? 

Once, only once, tell me something, 

Scold or praise, pour forth accusations

Or screech in the dense wood of emotions.

It's your noise I lack...

cp aboobacker: If I see the sun again.

cp aboobacker: If I see the sun again.