On being forty two

Look at birds there

Doing bird things 

With other birds 

In sky

It appears 

I have lost touch 

Doing human things 

With other humans

Right here

When I was younger 

I used to think 

Such disconnection 

Goal of high solitary life

How learned learning appeared then

That I am rusty now On the easy unlearned things

Only to come to see — No portion of learning

Can soothe the daily day-to-day heart

Like the simple human things 

With other simple humans.

——————————————————-

https://3quarksdaily.com/3quarksdaily/2025/12/on-leave-in-this-world.html#more-293086

Water - with ND

  ND:

The ripple fears the wave 

For the wave can engulf it

The wave fears it would one day

Be washed out by the tide

They all fear annihilation

As eventually even the tide

Will meet it's sure end

If only the ripple or the wave 

Or the tide could stop

And look beneath the surface

Would they realise their own depth

And the fear would be far gone 

For there was never a ripple

A wave or even a tide

It was only water all along

———————————————-

The ripple fears the next wave 

For it overwhelms, if only for a moment.

The wave itself fears one day

Being washed over by the tide.

No wonder you say then

That the tide too fears its end

If only the ripple, the wave, the tide

Were to look beneath the surface

Would they realise their own depth

For there was never, my dear reader,

a ripple, neither a wave nor a tide.

They were never apart from the eternal ocean

They were always only water all along

Through and through

Coursing fearlessly along ...

Mind Games - with ND

ND:

Oh my mind, I'm on to your tricks!

I am bemused to watch all of your antics
You're busy reveling in your own fantasies
How endlessly you play out mental movies
You refuse to see the obvious truth
You dismiss it with arguments, clever and smooth
You can create your worst nightmare
Which you blame on others, why do you care?
You seek pleasure and avoid pain
Even though, without pain there is no gain
When you have what you want, you demand more
And when you don't you're unbearably sore
Oh does your drama ever end?
You're your own foe, my friend.

———————————————————-


Oh Mind, I'm on to your tricks!

Bemused, I watch all your antics

Very busy you keep, revel in your fantasies

Endless, and how you make them movies!

Refuse to see the simple simple truth

Dismiss through arguments, clever and smooth!

You fabricate those worst nightmares

Why blame on others? Why do you care?

You seek pleasure, Avoid pain

Don't you know No pain No gain....

When have what you want, you want yet more

Alas... when you don't, unbearably petty and sore

Oh will your drama ever end?

Aren't you your own best foe, my dear friend? :)

Physics departments // Comfort listings

Comfort finds baby in mother's bosom,

a father's slap on the teenager's back,

busy parents in their lair; the day has ended

The artist in his studio, messy or pristine

The poet in her writing desk, wooden or plastic

The athlete in her sweaty gym or ice baths

The archers, the chess player respectively

The IT person near the hum of the server racks,

The community cook, high-end chef in the kitchen

about to be busy in the umpteen videos 

The daily commuters in moments stolen

The public transport drivers, the salaried workers,

the plumbers, fixers somewhere surely 

like Gods hiding in cloudy cushions

on a break from running the universe.

Comfort greets narimus the non-seeker in coffee stains and splotches,

soft chalks dancing on beautiful blackboards,

familiar symbols holding tautological mysteries,

The halls and corridors of physics departments 

visited by brightest of egos, deepest of thinkers,

biggest of intrigues that maybe five persons care about,

humblest of scholars even now,

and the most interesting of all,

the non-trivial clowning of hand-waving monkeys...

--------------------

Comfort finds baby in mother's bosom,

a father's slap on the teenager's back,

busy parents in their lair; the day has ended

The artist in his studio, messy or pristine

The poet in her writing desk, wooden or plastic

The athlete in her sweaty gym or ice baths

The archers, the chess player respectively

The IT person near the hum of the server racks,

The community cook, high-end chef in the kitchen

about to be busy in the umpteen videos 

The daily commuters in moments stolen

The public transport drivers, the salaried workers,

the plumbers, fixers somewhere surely 

like Gods hiding in cloudy cushions

on a break from running the universe.

Comfort greets narimus the non-seeker in coffee stains and splotches,

soft chalks dancing on beautiful blackboards,

familiar symbols holding tautological mysteries,

The halls and corridors of physics departments 

visited by the brightest of egos, the deepest of thinkers,

biggest of intrigues that maybe five persons care about,

and also the humblest of scholars still....

however and the most interesting of all,

the non-trivial clowning, the hand-waving 

of those tool-wielding strategically-scheming monkeys

-- maybe a small group, a medium-big guild, or downright a big corporate --

maniacally obsessive to know more, 

do less, measure better, tweak further,

and/or perhaps right at ease with not knowing....

doing more while keeping a good measure of things...

Blessings in Disguise

 Four clever kids a toddler follows every footstep

Prank you outside the neighbourhood temple

Laughter all around, good bye bhaiya for half a km

The clichéd leaf or flower falling

In your lap while you stroll somewhere

In the city

A kind word in the sea of anonymous crowd

A bus ride conversation a long time ago

That flowed freely out of nowhere

The vertical rainbow at sunrise

Cooped up in an airplane coach

Right now

Even the jiggling derriere in front

Along the canal the other day

Who asked for all these riches?

The golden bird gone missing

There was no one day when I realized 
I wasn't any special. 
Work happily told of the many tiny pearls 

in the sea, that they are all beautiful. 

There was no one day when I realized 
I wasn't my young self anymore.
With a knowing smile, Hope again pointed to Grace 

playing hide and seek along the inevitable course of nature.

There was no one day when I realized 
Powers that give you life die or leave
Experience whispered heavily that trudging on
somehow comes off as dignified.

Near the mesmerizing statue,
the golden bird was gone one day.
Wisdom came to console me.
But I was inconsolable that day.

-------------------------------------------------------------

 

The moral dubiousness of modern society // The Florida Project

O God,
make me as big as you.
Sometimes I just can't take it.
In the middle of all the right and wrong,
it's heart-breaking for a small soul
to make any head or tail of it 

At all.

The wise men tell me
I should be floating along
but this sinking feeling sometimes
seems to be everywhere
I look. the good feels tarnished,
the lotus is blind

I come to you now, can you make
it right and no wrong?
Being small, being blind
This feeling will pass over...

To ND

Like the bountiful river
         running a beautiful show
                 every morning, every night
Knows not any dry spell,
                                rough weathers.

What is it celebrating?
                                     You tell me.

Missing

Sometimes
I wish
I were not
Quite me

So that
I stop
Picking at
How I am

And
Put down
Where it feels

Yet
Saraswati watches over me
by the river of words

The Silence of Loneliness

What breaks when
Not much does break,
But Silence when it makes
Silence in its wake ?

What breaks then
When not much does break,
As more silence bakes
More silence barren ..

Pensive reflection by a Stream

Young Kids. Stream goes by.
Simple stuff. Aged Man. Same stream.
May it be simple.

She walks along ...

She walks steady -

Slow simple poise

Gracing every step -

Down the stone steps.

The leaves scattered,

Casual and pattern-less,

Swirl in no hurry

Around in silence.

The breeze swaying

The auburn hairs gentle,

She touches the stones,

Fingers brushing slightly.

Content in the moment,

She walks along ...

Man to Man

After all the glib talk

And lofty theorizing

And super stardom

And romanticizing,

When the curtain falls

Comes that moment

When there's nothing really

to say.....

I say to you then,

"My fellow do good

Be a good man.

Help a man if you can

When you get a chance.

Listen to a hymn

Or a sweet song.

Look at the sheep graze,

The freight truck delivering produce,

The mother carrying the child

Or whatever you fancy

With a true heart."

But in that moment

When breath is keenest felt

I am no father

Or friend or philosopher,

And I say this to you

Man to Man.

--------------------------------

sometime in July'10.

The Procrastinating Researcher's Defence

While leaving my beloved dept.

Around the midnight hour

(With mostly forays inept

And a little new hope's flower

Which makes a day end good

For us who walk a seeker's way),

The slight summer rain imbued

In me a silly kind of inner joy.

For now there was a reason legit

To wait in an armchair's sway

(Oh ! how could I get wet a bit ?!)

Till the downpour clears away.

This procrastinator's indulgence

At times, we indulge in gleefully.

When absurdest cause provokes "rest"

"There was no other way, you see !"

Except the tireless workaholic

Who breathes and lives work.

Much Respect for his simple ethic.

Work in Joy, Joy in Work !

But, if I may seriously defend !

(Procrastinated word's as good as guilty)

Procrastination itself is not to blame.

Overdoing it is the obvious folly.

So, well defended, I was waiting away

Staring, lazying, worrying, writing ...

When the window silently whispered to me,

"My boy, it has long stopped raining."

The Little Girl's Evening Walk

Eating an ice-cream with a single gaze,

in a pretty pink polka dress,

the other hand in grandma's care,

she walks as if nothing exists.

Nothing to Say

Should I be writing

about nothing to say,

When I have nothing

absolutely to say ??

This amazing blankness

is pretty awesome I say !

With that I'll cease

this driveling away :)

------------------------

Inspired by Feynman's "I wonder why I wonder" poem

A nice day at Cornell

Lying on ... Libe Slope
(Faraway music's near afloat,
Uris's castle, contours old,
People cheery, lovers bold,
Mom and girl share the earphone,
Baby on Daddy's shoulder broad,
The grass green sunny close)
flaunts our singular campus abode.

The Thought Glow

I thank that surreal bulb. Its staid presence

renders life's low tidings worth some bearance.

On happier days I try fly, snuffing some of its
fertile shimmer's aid, like that free playful kite
or a guitar inspired, into some known unknown orbit.
Happiest chance, if illumes this reel in plain sight !

On a sadder day, to me this same sagacious light

Has been kind. A shoulder to rest, weep on.

Consoled in its way, not human, not quite.

Yet is keenest brutal, its bare honest tone,

Like a competent doctor's who doesn't bit hide,

When it diagnoses open the follies I own.

There in the distance I can see it vaguely.

The Thought Bulb's glow for thinkers at sea.

History's Kiss

Leading this modern life in many a comfort,

By a decade, a day, an hour or perhaps a year,

The medieval man's faithful horse's trot

stumped my brain, amused this current ear.

Cradled in Now's sure hands' long reach,

it is hard to hark the quiet gurgle of History.

No cars, no fire, no invention, not even speech !

That there was such a time when all was mystery.

So foolish of this brain to Think now is forever.

Soon will come a time when we will be ancient,

This computer a kid's toy, this phone a souvenir,

Our "modern" ways old fashion, in a future present.

My Man, modern is but a word, don't take too literally.

Feel History's kiss, tender, passionate, or scary.

Reveal she'll, to one who listens, this perpetual story.

Your and Her work in progress - Mankind's symphony.

------------------------------------------------------------

Our history, for us, she spins

Our now, what we may become.

And how future eye imagines

Us, guess we may, for wisdom,

for finding posts and signs

to our address in Earth's kingdom.

But never ever forget,

O dear forgetful Poet,

In the longest scheme of things

- why that's history's history ! -

like a new diamond ring

pretty but carbon only,

(some twelve, thirteen some)

so are we specks lovely

of dust, flying casually,

In Time's vast vast Kingdom

Memory of an Air Cooler

Sitting, smiling, shaking a memory half full,
my clock takes a break from regular schedule.
This train of thought, on a whimisical time,
Arrives at Past. That place of most charming clime.
Back home, back in school, in the summer times,
the empty school's joy fed our morning crimes.

And hot then used to be, and hotter still !
Yet - carefree abandon - we played until
Our legs took us home, our Ma's shouting shrill.
A happy shower followed. Then, our stomach ride thrill.

We lunched away glorious to our heart's absolute fill.
Soon sleep would beckon and we'd seek your saree's frill.
O Cooler ! So cozy was your nest by the window sill.

You cooled calmed cared, gave memories pleasant still !

-----------------------------------------------------------------

PS : again a 14-liner, not a Sonnet !

this meter business is such a headache :(

Might I borrow, as a template,

your pretty perfect poems, dear Mr. Seth ?!