Act

Strive
to soar beyond visible horizons.
Dive
to explore unfathomed depths.

Pick
only the path that you want to stride on.
Stick
to your passion, come what may.

Give
to others so that you may gain.
Live
to experience both pleasure and pain.

Learn
to be strong though you fall down, friend.
Yearn
to sustain happiness till life's end.

I Dreamt a Dream

I remember the teddy bear I sketched
when I was nine years old.
It held a tennis racquet in one hand
a ball in the other.
I felt proud on completing it.
I admired its beauty at length.

The sewing machine in the bedroom
holds evidence for my interest in verbal puzzles.
The scrambled letters of my father's name
scrawled on the wood in innocent, cursive writing
still brings a smile to my face.

My sister and I 'invented' our own language,
complete with a written script.
We sang songs of being cooks with 'theepettis'* in our hats.

We laughed heartily when she sang,
"Run, run, run
for a bun, bun, bun.
You'll have fun, fun, fun
if you run, run, run
for the bun, bun, bun."

I remember winning essay competitions;
donning the roles of Tiruvalluvar, Shylock,
Puck and Tenali Raman in school plays;
playing the flute for the school orchestra;
being a part of the school choir.

Little did I know
I'd be writing this particular poem.
But I dreamt I'll become a poet some day.
I told myself
I'd become a better poet.

Till date,
I've been tirelessly working on it.

* - matchboxes

Oh! Wicked Universe

Oh! Wicked universe,
With your wicked ways.
Impregnating the heart with many a dream,
Inscribing on the mind many a thought.
Is it a game you play with innocent souls?
Or a test you keep for our indomitable spirits?

You open a window,
But you close the door.
How are we to enter paradise?
The weak are meek;
They don't get what they seek.
Those strong like teak
Only reach the peak.

How wonderful you are!
You make a complicated conflict
Between the heart and the mind.
It's a fierce bettle
Between being practical and positive,
Rendering us helpless,
Making us toil so much.

But then,
Isn't the fruit that waits long
The ripest of all?

Aham Brahmaasmi

In the drop of paint that unites bristles;
In the notes of music born out of reeds
Is one of the most fulfilling deeds,
Completing which the heart joyously sizzles.

While holding a pencil to make a sketch,
While twisting the legs to make a step,
While saying a joke to make feel pep,
While producing music with a magical touch.

While giving shape to a mound of clay,
While stringing words to make a verse,
While knitting yarn to make a purse
Moments of idleness does a man slay.

While breathing life into an inanimate figure,
While chiseling an idol out of a rock
Mortality does the creator mock.
His/her heart does grow bigger and bigger.

Glowing bright, creative light
Exhibits its eternal, joy-giving force.
An artist in his/her life's course
Demons many does he/she tirelessly fight.

Red Hot

I walk hand in hand with art,
With an open mind and a joyful heart.
I bestow upon it matchless love,
It comes to me easily now.

Music amazes me,
Poetry amuses me.
My fingers have created the same.
Passion is that force's name.

Red hot does it glow,
Through my blood does it flow.
In many an art am I self-taught,
For, impossible there is naught.

I'm one of the infinite artists
Who never bare their teeth nor clench their fists.
For, the language of heart is what we speak.
Love makes our knees go weak.

Love, passion and gratitude
Have moulded my ever cheerful attitude.
I'll never ever fall in life,
For me it's a festival and not a strife.