My Universe

I live in a circle with no pie
And diameter of one span
No further than the tip of my nose
This is my universe
Full of sacred words
I love oppressed nations,
At least this is what I am told
Although I always conform with oppressors
I hate dictators and despots
And again, my taxes go to them
And I never ask “why?”
May be the radius of the question
Extends beyond my circle of sight
I saw a woman in short skirt
Planting political placards on her lawn
My neighbor waved at me praising
Democracy and Freedom
Our WORLDS differ, I ponder
Beyond the tips of our noses
A vast space of nothingness lives

Christmas of 2011

A small framed aperture called window
Two pieces of clouds, a branch of tree
Gray sky, barren, and shadow of a structure
That is my opening to outside from my office
Siren of an emergency car or truck breaks the silence
May be a woman is giving birth
May be an old man is in his passing
May be it is carrying victim of a crime
by a teenager to emergency room
For An IPAD, IPOD or IPHONE on a platform of a bus station
That is the sign of a living town
in this gloomy afternoon of December
Sound of music fills the air from afar
Heavy metal and nerve racking rap
May be someone is dancing, or a ritual
For initiation of a gang member
Who knows, that is life in the gloom of a
Town with concrete trees and plastic grass
May be I do not know that much, but
I cannot ignore the flustered face of hunger when I see
Or the desire for a toy in a child of no means
In this Christmas week of 2011

Lost Nation

We are confused and a lost nation
Split in many parts
Once it was South and North
Many decades later, South is in North
And North in South
White becomes black and
Black becomes white
We became a nation of tablets, texting and
Portable phones
We use calculators for addition and multiplication
And we are lost without them
We forgot how to add, multiply or subtract
We are good at division

A limerick for someone especial (in chaos of war)

In the heat of nights, I often sing
Neither for a queen nor for a king
But for my only sweetheart afar
Whom I lost in chaos of unjust war
And became the passion of my being

The Year of Truth (Third Year of Obama)

A Promised President of Change
Resurrection of King’s dream
On global scale
Warier of cause, the voice of oppressed
The herald of change from America to Middle East
A Noble prize winner
And a lost soul in dust
Oh DC, the mother of all irreverence to dignity
Oh DC, the broken chain of integrity
You corrupted the man with your bosoms
You intoxicated him with your vine
He sold his soul
For a handful of votes
To remain with you
To drink from you
Oh DC, your vine is poisonous
As the chalice, Athens offered Socrates
Now he is a false prophet in the line of many
Defender of oppressors, distorter of truth
*************************
There was another prophecy
Foretold at inception of life
To come a man in skin of Africa
And flesh of Siberia
To carry King’s dreams
To burial land of deception
He will sing your songs
As the Sirens of uncharted sea to sailors
*************************
We brought him gifts
The toil of our sweat and blood
Carried on our back
City to city, town to town
He whispered the sacred words
Justice and dignity to all oppressed
Masses roared as he spoke
A new Messiah, a new prophet
*************************
On third year of his reign
In the castle of white walls and many rooms
And from the podium of UN
He showed his true face
A mockery of Noble Prize
Face of Ku Klux Klan buried in African skin
*************************
We will go our way Mr. President
You carry your deception
You celebrate blood and lies
We will sing the ballad of justice
Peace and equality

Dreamers

We were the dreamers
With eyes fixed on stars
And feet trapped in Earth
One arm stretched towards oppressed
One arm covered with gun powder
On our plates, was carved sacred words
We tilled the land with blood
Mine and Yours
Sowed the seeds of hatred
And reaped more blood
Mine and yours
We were “Dreamers”
Who did not know
How to cultivate the land

In the Realm of Dream (a limerick for no one special)

In the heat of nights, often I sing
Neither about a queen, nor a king
But about my Sweetheart afar
Whom I lost in chaos of war
And became the passion of my being