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Emotional Blackmail

Emotions, O  feelings of being helpless

Our destiny writing for us

How we bow down before emotions !

If on the other hand ,we take up cudgels

Not to bow down before anyone

Not even emotions,

telling enough is enough

Can we do that

someday when we shall

Write our own destiny

And our emotions taking a backseat

By then we surpassing

All tests that could ever be

To overpower , to kill

Emotions vainglorious

Be not proud thou ever be.. 

Sprouting Life

 

A dry leaf falls,in the little hollow

It leave behind, a drop of sap appears,

Hardens, and then.. Falls off.

A tiny bud emerges..light green ~ like a baby

Parrot’s wing. Slowly it opens..just a little,

Reddish like the buds of the Karavira tree.

Soon the number multiplies, like garlands

Woven from the red down of the bulbul,

They grow…widen…veins develop…

The stems turn green and stand up.

Sheen appears as the shades of green

Thicken, brighter and brighter,

Day by day, until a thick foliage

Hanging down ~ a whole crowd of it

Enticing to the eyes…..

It then happened on every tree and vine.

 

© Sarada

Van Gogh -Night Cafe

 

Van Gogh wanted to mix a material rainbow of colors

From primary red, yellow and blue in the sense of divine.

In the Holy Light, the love time of the flower clock discolors.

The empty glasses on the tables lack the Holy wine.

300px-Van_Gogh_The_Night_Cafe

The ideal round tables assume their infinite regress,
While huddling down in a stupor the lonely men around.
Their eyes do not see the sense of life and true noblesse.
From a corner view, silent colors search for the sound.

Tables for awakening, for life and for the fate’s game.
In life, a complete circled awareness needs time.
In many forms, the epitome of tableness is the same.
It keeps a purple silence for the painted mother of thyme.

This irreconcilable demon -woman hung on the left wall
Needs that freedom engraved on the emerald green door.
The watch on her hand shows the time for a masked ball.
Destined never to meet are the parallel lines on the floor.

Love is for completing the time as pink is for the emerald green.
In the mirror, this nuance of green reflects the sadness of life.
Against the red, pink and white, in games, the cue tip can lean,
Because all the main complementary colors are at strife.

The white coat of the waiter is a symbol in the glow of the lamp.
The perspective looks somewhat downward toward the floor.
Extending to new dimensions, Eve sits or she just up to vamp.
The flowers wither and the life disappears after an endless war.

An Independent Candidate’s Frustration

Elections are over
Results have come
People failed
And failed for a long time.

I stood with hope
Against a flock of bastards.
No money
No Power
With education high
And warm blood
I contested with hope.

They had it all
Money
Power
And also an ugly wrinkled image
To crush me down
And boot on my chest.

I now forgot
That I am a citizen of
A democratic paradise
Filled with people
Who carry herd thoughts
And stitched attitude to
Stay stereotypical
In making alternative governments
Enthroning him or her.

I contested with hope
To create a change
And build betterments
Through education
… to employment
But people proved intelligent
They rather prefer freebies
Than my upliftment schemes
And now dumbstruck I sit
Thinking that people have failed
And failed for a long time
Pity!
Their fate is so
Their heart is so
An independent candidate
Is one among them too
A literal fool.

My Mirror

My Mirror.
When I got up once upon a time long ago I saw myself in my mirror.
I did not look like what I was told, but had a different view shown before my eye.
Innocent as new-fallen snow, naive and shy as a child I was.
But the picture I saw was distorted but they did as I did, no understanding in mind.
Past eyes so full of lies, past speech from a distance as called upon, everyone was so mad.

Not long ago I stood up and looked in my mirror.
I looked like what I was told by myself, but had a different view for my eye.
Adult and experienced as a man of the world, but shy and sensitive as a child.
But the picture I saw was distorted by myself, who did not understand.
Past eyes so full of lies, past beautiful words are not of this earth.

I get up and look in my mirror.
I look like none of it I get told, but the vision I see telling the truth.
Older and somewhat wornout, but shy and empathetic as an old child.
But the picture I see is only distorted by the time passing and that I don’t understand anymore.
Past eyes so full of lies, past platitudes became today’s truths.