The Banished

The stony walls of the city scornfully stare at me,

The portals of benevolence are shut against me;

The mirrors of future in the receding sun, cast upon me a sordid halo

Banished by the lords of justice, I crawl upon my shadows.

What friends, what foes, what sobs, what jeers-

The venomous verdict keeps rumbling in my ears,

With remnants rustic, stacked against a stooped back

The people, the home, the future, the past - goodbye to all that.

To quench my thirst with the mist befalling my way,

With my stigma smeared name, am I forbidden to pray?

In the thorny desert that I tread, no oasis lies,

In the envelope of emptiness enshrouding me - what cries, what sights!

Fortune, affection, smile, hope, grace

All went past, bit by bit, merging slowly with the yesterday,

The lamp's long been put out, I survive like a zombie,

In the confines of the hourglass, I die with the passing of each die!

As I serve my sentence, I learn my lessons,

I brood over my misdeeds, shut my eyes in introspection,

Yet, tell me my lords, if I may dare to question -

Will I always be banished, famished; will I never be granted redemption?

Yet it's futile to longingly look back, when I've crossed several oceans,

Standing in the middle of nowhere, devoid of any destination;

Yet upon my fumbling lips, there's but a furtive wish -

Forgive me, if it'd be possible, my lords, when I'd finally fall asleep.

For the whispering voices of banshee echoes onto me,

How long shall I enact my part in this unending play of futility!

I've walked long carrying this inferno, I seek peace -

The silence of graves, the tired legs yearn for a place to eternally sleep!

a poem by Peter Meinke

here's a poem by Peter Meinke, written in 1976. I love it for its simplicity, wit and a subtle yet powerful underlying message...

Advice to My Son by J. Peter Meinke
(b.1932)

The trick is, to live your days

as if each one may be your last

(for they go fast, and young men lose their lives

in strange and unimaginable ways)

but at the same time, plan long range

(for they go slow; if you survive

the shattered windshield and the bursting shell

you will arrive

at our approximation here below

of heaven or hell).

To be specific, between the peony and the rose

plant squash and spinach, turnips and tomatoes;

beauty is nectar

and nectar, in a desert, saves--

but the stomach craves stronger sustaenance

than the honied vine.

Therefore, marry a pretty girl

after seeing her mother;

Show your soul to one man,

work with another;

and always serve bread with your wine.
But son, always serve wine.

Written and (C)1976 J. Peter Meinke

Of Silence, In Words

The potter’s hands; if only I could shape silence, somehow,

In moulds of imagination, coaxed into reality

Or perceptions collective, beyond the periphery of fantasy,

A vindication, a void, or a momentary revelry in ecstasy?

Words, do they masquerade as bridges

Between the islands - you and I;

Withhold what, from whom, in million words untold,

Your promises of nigh, or countless cindered sighs?

Words - are they then a mapping, a function,

A manifestation, collating expression and perception;

Sight, would you deem it then, the underlying

Extension, to paint the perfect vision?

Two ancient rafts, drifting in the tide of time,

Dying embers, of hope, victims of exactitude;

The see-saw life, its musical chairs,

And silence echoes in this valley of solitude.

Bangalore Diaries - For the Love of God

"Bangalore's crazy violence : Violence was incited,"
"Chaos in Bangalore after Rajkumar’s death"
"Rajkumar's death sparks violence in Bangalore"

He wasn't just a hero, he was veritably a god! So when god goes to meet greater GOD, the mortals were natually anguished. They mourned, they protested and in their display of homage a metropolis burnt! No, this isn't a scene from gothic literature or Mahabharata or any other epic. It's a modern day incident of a city loosely regarded as world's emerging technology hub! The aforementioned god is Doctor Rajkumar, a noble soul and a noted Kannada actor who died of natural cause at a ripe old age. What followed however, was the dance of death in which thousands of supposed fans took to streets, burnt vehicles, enforced bandh, theatened non-compliance with physical damages and further dire consequences. It resulted in the death of 8 persons and physical injury to another couple of hundreds, ...
What I'd like to draw attention on is not exactitude, but attitude - of the intellectuals, the intelligentsia and the educateds alike, who regretfully described it as a natural outpouring of the sentiments of masses and washed their hands off, or tried to underplay the whole episode. May be those 8 persons killed were the sole bread earners for their families! Nobody would know that, or try to find out, or worse, would care to know! What then should be the price of a commoner's life as deemd by the mob/society? Who deems the worth of a god, and more importantly, who all are earmarked to pay?
There's a thin line between faith and fanaticism and there's a definite price to pay when it is crossed!
I had also come across this news about a person who severed his thumb as an offering to Amma (a dubious but powerful poltician of TN)!
Reverance of this scale are dangerous indicators. The collective sanity of a million people becomes easy to hijack. The fragility and the utter lack of self-worth/identity of the masses become evident. From this volatility rises often a wild fire that can be easily directed in virtually any direction by any cunning manipulator....
It may be wise to ponder over these lines:
Unfortunate is the country that has no heroes,
Unfortunate is the country that needs heroes.

Lone Star

Crawling my way across voids ‘n empty spaces
Trying to reach out to you for years,
Down, when the officious sun goes, and a wicked world sleeps
I tiptoe into your room, sing lullabies in your ears.

Rooted since the dawn of ages, a lone star in a distant galaxy
Melancholy, deprived; I implore, befriend me sweet child
And come away with me, relinquishing all your woes
Across a starlit Milky Way, let me offer you a joyride.
* * *

Distances spanning lightyears, a lifetime of billion years,
Sentenced by cruel Cosmos, how long shall mourn the tears?
The cries, silent sighs, the illusion of innumerable tries
Futile they all are, sooner or later you realize.

And yet, my scars are no one’s but my very own
To none, at any cost, I’ll shall make them ever known;
Striking a truce with the unrelenting destiny
Putting up a veil, I become a partner in irony.

And you too innocence, perturbed by the scruples of a wicked world
Having cried many a times in silence, wounded by harsh words
And how many times, I see the longing eyes, staring at me
And how many times, I try, in vain, to subdue your agony!

Yet now as we sail in dreamboat, let’s bury the past in its grave
A ray of light has come wandering in this dungeon, let's celebrate
We’ll laugh, sing, dance, and play, have loads of fun
To make the most of these stolen moments, as best as we can.

For, liberty is valued most by those who are deprived
Like the bird in the golden cage, that had forgotten to smile
Like the forbidden music of trumpet, to a brave, vanquished soldier, dying in pain
Like an ever thirsty desert’s longingness for rain.

And what I wouldn’t trade, in this well of pleasure, for one brief dip
Hold on for once, O' jealous clock, I fervently plead
‘Coz the sun wouldn’t shine forever, and rain would flood our lives
When we'd be separated beyond reach, by countless skies.

And you'd slip in your world, and I in mine,
Never meet again, perhaps, churn in hell's grind;
Yet the troubles 'n hardships can never deny the secret gleam of our eyes
The benedicitions of memories, a memoir of our forays into paradise;
It'd be a wonder drug for you, to withstand forthcoming years of vicissitudes
And it's elixir to me, to endure another age of solitutde!