Crimson Tears
Who killed whom?
How many died
our men; their men?
Crushed flesh and bones
knew no difference.
Spilled crimson tears
mourned sans bias.
Remnant pathos
filled the ambience
with quiet noise
and shrilling silence.
OH! Brothers versus brothers
in senseless violence
look at thoses spirits
of lost lives precious
fighting aimless battles
now in repentence.
Look at these scared beings
waiting in patience
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poem by Sathya Narayana
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My Strength
What is in life……so great?
Hard times arrive to hurt
With no notice prior
Fortunes! So promiscuous!
Flirt for a while and disappear
Lo! This is life! Full of
Strain, struggle and strife
But I built my own fort
In my life; a good part
I gave it to jest and laughter
Let come pain or predicament
I can stave off and stay stiff
Like an unbending alp
Believe it or not!
Humour is my armour
My weapon and my forte
Bearing and braving my blues
And cruising my life boat
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poem by Sathya Narayana
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A L M S
A donkey with stacks on its back
Takes what joy in his traipse on roads flinty
Be they sand bags or sandal planks
Earns those same hayricks, as ultimate fees
For a menial, crushing clods
What Sunshine in life, his moil can dawn
In paddy fields or for precious lodes
Rakes the same rewards of few steel coins
Mind you! The meaning of these alms
Tossed by mean masters at their thralls’ grovel
“Alive they come for one more Diem
To fill rosters at the chime of the bell”
With ample breath to toil and shrivel
But not enough to question and rebel
poem by Sathya Narayana
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Know God
You want to know the God
Wish to pave a path, direct
To His ornate abode
Read scriptures, listen to words
Of saints and wise men
Bath in waters sacred
And visit holy shrines
But bear in mind!
From truth when you unwind
When you shun
Your duties bounden
For money when you greed
When you spurn the feeble and needy
And as long as your mind
Is filled with hatred and envy
I’m afraid your path is never ready
Remains just stone and sand
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poem by Sathya Narayana
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Bells
Bells are ringing! Away! In wilds
Blaring aloud enchanting tales
Again trailing under deafening gales
Bells are ringing! Within! In mind
Peeling out plucky feelings to spurt
As well thundering every confession to blurt
Bells are ringing! Always! In life!
Scaring every step you tread! You dare!
Sparing once in a sin you perpetrate
Bells! Bells! Bells! Every where
Caressing the undulated inner lines
Polishing the dormant senses
Loud or mellowed
Harsh or sonorous
Have a heart! Find a taste!
For the chimes that define
Every plane and élan
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poem by Sathya Narayana
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They Need A Foe
They need a foe..
our universal heroes....
Well! They think so...
James Bonds and Rambos...
with licence to kill any one
in the world...
They need a foe...
be a human, a nation or even an animal...
be it Laden, Saddam or Castro...
be Russia, Iran, Iraq, India, Korea or China...
be it a shark, a bat or a rat...
a demon, a ghost or an alien from Mars...
to grease their arms with blood...
to please their cold-blooded hearts...
Come on O' Big Brother...
you know what you're doing...
...and you people know nothing...
Come on...the day you learn loving...
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poem by Sathya Narayana
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Friends And Foes
Better are foes than friends, sometimes, oh friend
Flip through thy pages friends, pretentiously
And say, “It's great, so nice, wondrous and good! ”
But foes! Rummage with spite them ruthlessly
In search of faults, they tear you piece by piece
God knows what foes unearth and well discern
In their inadvertence may discover
Precious jewels you hid in oblivion
And win you accolades of connoisseurs
So, friends or foes, never mind thee, oh friend
To friends say warm hello and thanks a lot
And there they come, your foes, with smiles crooked
Come on, up on thy feet and make salute
poem by Sathya Narayana
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Jekyll And Hyde
JEKYL AND HYDE
He is my friend! An old friend!
With a different kind of mind
For dinner, I invited him
He laughed, “Only Sunday for a chum”
“You know? I’m a busy man”
Yeah! He is busy! Very busy! !
Always in a bureaucratic frenzy
Throwing files and
Scowling at menials
Wielding power and
Shielding misdemeanor
Making rulings and
Raking under the table dealings
Drooling and squealing
Like a swine in sewer stinking
For him it is the Elysium
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poem by Sathya Narayana
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Poet Recondite
With one stroke he can make
With one knock he can break
With one spill of his ink
He can wake the world up
But flying is his mind in the skies
At the bays of the heaven fictional
Unmindful of his legs in the earth
So well rooted one foot up to knees
He’s a poet recondite unmindful
Of his social duties
What a waste is talent that serves not
Populace that is grinding in grief
My advice to fellow poet greats
You better ask your pen what it prefers
Its purpose; if I’m right
It tells straight,
To invest on this earth its finest letter wealth
But it sulks, if at all
Better break its nib-neck
poem by Sathya Narayana
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Makers
Meddle with some gadget; say a radio
A T.V., a cell phone or a clock
For an hour or so, you know
How to make it work
Take a screw driver and open it
Spoil a dozen of such in a row
You may learn how to repair it
Or the parts, you may just have to throw
But lo! You can’t make it
There’s someone else,
Who fits it screw by screw, plate by plate
And instills in it running pulse
The maker! The architect! The expert
Admire him, love him and bow to him
So are the animal and plant gadgets
The superior and complex conundrums
Creations of THE MAKER, the greatest
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poem by Sathya Narayana
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