Entangled

The entanglements of the world

are my making;

every call for me is eagerly 

received and promptly

responded, as though

it is the raindrops for 

the waiting summer bird.

Holding tight the lifeline

thrown to the drowning,

I get dragged into the

congested and the crowded

marketplace that trades

rewards in exchange for respect.

I never knew how to enter

nor how to exit.

So here I am inside

and outside the entanglement.

Be my guest

All my life I have been 

finding fault with you:

your habits, your driving

your choice, your language

except your heart, warmth

and affection.

You give your best in cooking

and I in hosting.

Now time is running out.

All I can do is to host you.

Be my guest for a change.

Cry of the Being

The whole humanity is

in a twist and a bind

of its own making:

what will happen and

what will happen to me?

And you say,

you take each moment as it comes

not bothering to see beyond

or look behind.

I am buried under pile 

of history that came crashing

on my head

from a construction that was defective.

I am not crying for help.

I am crying for what I did

to my being.

The Little One

So pretty, so self-assured and graceful

it's a hope

you wouldn't practice stealth!

Keep spreading joy

you little one, for

it's not a small thing

to bring goodness to

this wretched world.

Your house

I was in your house and
you weren't there; the first time
this happened and now forever.
But you smiled at me.

You have left behind that smile
and that is more than enough
to tell me what life is.
It is all that is presented to us
and all that is selected by us
and all that is offered by us.
You added joy to everything
you offered and faith and warmth.
All this was there yesterday
but you weren't there.
For the first time I could hear
kindness in my heart.  You were
there and you weren't there.

Reaching....Out

I thought it was over and out.

My innings was over.

I would never come back to it.

Then it kept popping out of side walls.

Sometimes it jumped from the screen in front.

It took wings on a question - what do you do?

Reaching out is still an effort.

But even getting ready to do that

warms the cockles of the heart.

No Turning the clock back

The hurt is deep
the hope that it heals
looks like a mirage in the vast desert;
The guilt is eternal
there is no hope of redemption;
The soft grass of the mind
that held the dew of dreams
got burnt badly the other day.
All that is left is
to now gaze at the horizon.....