An Old Donkey For Sale
'A donkey for sale' the old man cried
And the crowd went to see the donkey.
It was as old as he - the crowd felt.
'An old donkey for sale ' the old man still cried-
But no new crowd was there to see it.
An odd man came enquiring all the way
'Where can I get an old donkey for myself? '
Then he heard the old man cry 'An old donkey for sale'
And the odd man rushed to him and his donkey.
But he said to the old man, ' The donkey isn`t really old'.
The old man and his donkey are still treading the paths,
The crowds still find the donkey and the man old alike.
The odd man never stops his search for an old donkey.
But a world never emerges at all -
That one can understand the diametrical human minds.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Musings Of A Mid Summer Evening
1
God declares another spell of sound sleep;
Men and women continue to pray,
Drought, hunger and conflicts rage...
Nothing hopeful happens ever.
2
The Indo-Sino reminders of 1960s
Recede into oblivion.
Bloodstreams may still run
And we shall ever enjoy brotherhood.
3
One dies in an accident
Another one commits suicide,
One dies at a murderer’s knife.
Survival is a great feeling.
4
The tears of the mother are seen again;
The utterances of the son are heard,
Where is the rhythm of life?
5
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poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Another Hope..
When the first hope breathes its last
Another one begins to crawl.
A future stares at it though.
When the crawling ends for once
It sits and looks around
And then reaches out to objects far.
It studies at the school of optimism
But the hands of pessimism grip it next
And it wears an attire of illusion.
The hope blooms in a withering smile
As the images of illusion snare at it for long
And there goes the home bell - it should leave.
It returns to a home deserted
By the lone guardian the bold ego -once a strong friend too
And finds no solace in the vacant chambers of the mind.
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poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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India Dreams
India dreams
Unlike never before.
She is sandwiched between
A glory lost and a gory imminent for future.
A painter comes with a fresh brush and a great vision!
But there is no canvas to paint.
The politician speaks aloud till he sweats
And a crowd listens to him in all dismay.
Commoners may soon perish
As the rulers are ever to write their fate.
The motor man cursed rambler
Roams on the road to nowhere.
The laid spirits of Gandhi and Gulzarilal
Cannot rise from the ashes fossil-ed by time.
The trumpets are heard
While the hunger laden flock of men pulls the cart
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poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Perhaps A Heaven May Be Waiting...
A road winding up to a misty top
Travelled by men with feeble limbs..
The journey never ends.
Where should they halt for a while?
This road gives no options
It winds on with an obstinancy..
The men pant and ponder.
What is the solace to these men doomed?
The sky would have been the better destination
As the transperant elemant isn`t that brutal.
Before you begin to tread the road laid by others
Ask a question, ' Shall I? '
The mist over the unknown tops infinite
Never fades out for you, further the road winds on..
And you will curse the day,
As the world looks on.
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poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Being You...
Being you is your own forte my dear,
Unlike being like someone else
Including me whom you call by no name.
Being you needs a phase of metamorphosis.
At times I probe into
Your entity that sans frontiers
Of folly and ego quite often.
Still you are on an orbit alien to me!
Your smile that spans your face
Your wisdom that extinguishes that of many
And your never dying spirit that holds me up often
Are my big wonders, dear one.
At times I crave for you
But quite often flee from you.
For a while I search for you
But miss to see you by me!
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poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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A Man Of Oblivion
Oblivion is my refuge and
It`s worth a life`s deductions.
From the day my life sprang up
From the mercy of the Creator
My oblivion has been my pal beloved.
Oblivion is my strength and
It`s nothing less than a grace.
Transferring my pains and woes
Into its inner chambers my entity triumphs
And my ego surges forward.
My oblivion has two phases-
One is of my life haunted by myself,
The other is of my life ravaged by time.
As the lilies fade out the former does and
As the islands in the Pacific submerge does the latter.
What is an oblivion of your kind?
Do you ever make such deductions?
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poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Can Streams Flow Along The River Sides?
Can the streams run upto the oceans far?
Can they run along the side of the rivers known?
You were a river and I a stream
Who flowed together once.
Using the sixth sense I read your mind
The one none could read before.
Each line written on your mind
Unveiled a portrait painted never.
You were a river and I a stream..
Aside my failing senses old
Triumphed my sixth sense young.
You, the river got flooded
And I, the stream was drowned.
Denouncing the last reason left you kept even my soul off-
An act someone else could have done.
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poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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A Candle And A Man.
Someone lights a candle
And I see the things around.
A candle must burn like this
Nay, every candle must burn like this.
I begin to tell every one.
A candle dies as it lives for us
And we appear to live while we travel towards the end.
A candle lives and lives while it appears to be dying..
A lot we have to learn.
I begin to learn none.
It`s a candle which lives and lives throws greater questions
And I begin to be introceptive
-A mental exercise on a confined mind.
When shall I begin to live like a candle?
When shall I give out a flame that lives?
The questions begin to boomerang on me
As I sit in the candle light and see everything.
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The Lambs On The Road
The lambs on the road were dismayed
Bleating all along they wandered
There lay the slain shepherd
The sun descended.
A flock lost!
The new sky was cast ever clouded
The men from the East never frowned
Their wisdom was long before eroded
And their return was irredeemably abandoned.
A nightmare unveiled!
The lambs still bleated along the road winding
They were to reach a peak triumphing.
The shepherd was thenceforth forgotten for ever!
And the bleating had given way for a shout of joy before.
An euphoria unyielding!
The bleating music has been on and on
The shepherd has somewhere been laid to rest.
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poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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