Category Archives: Poetry

Damsel in distress

You had said you’d love nothing

else in the world as much as me

I believed you then and want to

believe you now, behind those

lurking shadows of self doubt

 

Longingly did I look into your

eyes, to feed my restless soul

but all you ever craved is

fame ‘n fortune, an eternal life

shackled to earthly laws

 

The more I clung to you

the more you clung to

your worldly possessions,

as if they’d do you any good

in Heaven, in the misty afterlife

Like a pharaoh transporting jewels

across Hades in a papyrus boat,

intent on securing the beyond!

 

My knight in shining armor:

Did you mean to lead me from

dark to darker forests, where

only shimmering neon signs

is all the light you hunger for?

 

Fondly, I bore you children

but they too look and think

like you, earth-bound alas!

by unsevered umbilical chords

yet from time to time they too

stare blankly at heaven, to

seek succor for their souls

 

If marriages were made

in heaven, why do covert

selfish agendas steer us?

Why do we fail and falter,

sabotaging peace on earth,

where we live and breathe?

 

Truly, does more mean less?

Will serenity come only when

our affairs cease to attach

to all that’s gross and mundane?

When will less and less begin

to mean more, infinitely more

in untold mysterious ways,

some unforeseeable day?

 

Shyam Bhatya

 

This poem was written in vicarious mode. Please feel free to critique it, if you don’t like something about it. I’m neither a poet nor a philosopher, just a self-taught nature lover.

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Stir-fried

The nation’s recipe cooks best in subterranean oil

Terrorist traders (on and off-shore) provide the foil

While easy money sinks deeper into deep pockets

Hapless corporations careen out of their sockets

 

Beyond thickly-veiled scams, scandals brew

Lucky reputations soar, unlucky ones stew

Quick! Get the guards to beat around the bush

So craft and greed may slide underfoot

 

Now, you’d have thought you were real brainy

But, who’d you think will yank whose chainey?

Tell you won’t be any Tom, Dick, or Harry

Sure won’t be a name worth collin’ Mary

 

Your prescription for anxiety, President? you ask

Is Healthcare that needs healing up to the task?

When thousands have lost their honest wages

And pensioners weep over life’s last stages

 

Infinite justice takes on a partisan stance

While “honest brokers” dine and dance

On deficits, dogma, and bailout-dripping drool

Everybody ends up being somebody else’s fool

 

Confusion soaked in oil reigns with military might

The deprived are easy to beat, even easier to slight

Power corrupts through the barrel of a blazing gun

To some it’s living horror, to others voyeuristic fun

 

Extremists on the West bank prefer Uncle Ben’s

For, Pondalisa’s rice is like cock-pecked hen’s

Warlords are not world-deep, but world-wide too

Cooked in oil, take em in your stride, G’ bless you

 

When the country takes its toll of troubled workers

What’s left is shocking, with shakers and shirkers

Let’s bust rabid moles in their mountain holes instead

When terrorists reign, what sense is trivial bread?

 

Artful dodgers slither in and out, a dime a dozen

Capital gangs (of four or more) get yet more brazen

Between you and me, Jane, and six-pack Joe

Oh, for the sins of our fathers, there will be more

 

But, wait! Where have all the flowers gone?

Shipped to Timbuktu or transatlantic Bourne

Whats come of good old-fashioned chivalry, you say

When money always keeps getting in the way

 

Don’t cry over spilt milk, you sentimental slobs

The cream’s been skimmed, corn’s off the cobs

Now’s the time for good young men to join the parish

If for nothing else…but for the good of evil to flourish!

 

Shyam Bhatya

 

This poem came up for air from under my dusty archives, hibernating as it were for more than a decade. Sections of it might still have relevance today. All we see now is small change. Hope the big one is coming! You be the judge. Comment or critique, if you wish.

Other poems you might want to read on this site are Bravo, cruel sport!, Damsel in distress, Morning shows the day…, and Time rolls by.

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Time rolls by

I have watched time

walk at a leisurely pace

in life’s cold shadow

it’s trembling hands

tucked deep inside two

empty pockets, while

the hours and minutes

loose their presence

 

At times, I have watched

time walk briskly up

an endless road, as if

to get somewhere fast,

its hands moving up and down,

to and fro, in agitated motion

 

By and by, time goes back

to where it came from,

its feverish hands behind

its back, walking pensively,

neither fast nor slow

pretending the present

is all that matters

while all the while

walking away from it

 

I have often wondered

where time comes from

where it goes, if it does

go anywhere at all?

 

Does time really stand

still, deluding us into

thinking about the past,

present, and future in

light years that thread

the darkness and void

of an eternity lulled

as it seems into

lasting significance?

 

Shyam Bhatya

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Morning shows the day its way

Sometimes in the morning

I go back to sleep

trying hard to keep

my dreams from dispersing

or consorting with reality,

which in turn might whisper

to sounds of morning unfolding

The grandfather clock keeps

tick talking back and forth

tea kettles puff and pant

as milk boils over agitated

and hard-boiled eggs feel

the soft touch of butter

on toast. The coffee is cold

when afternoon rushes in

sharp on the hour at noon

as briskly as morning recedes

on the coattails of yesterday

Life begins and ends as it

always has, like never before

 

Shyam Bhatya

Poetry was never my forte, but like you, I have to get it out sometimes. Feel free to critique or comment below.

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