Portrait

PORTRAIT
A lurid looking impasto indeed
With grisly colors dappled all over
Like puddles of cuddled blood
Daubs of violent reds! Gloomy black patches!
Erotic blues and skinflint browns!
Resigned auspicious yellows,
Ashen virtuous whites and
Paled prosperous greens

He is often slipping his palette
Dripping the hues and tripping the easel
His lines running in zigzag jumble
Drawing He, with his quivering quill
The frazzled veteran Artist of unknown origin
“Your mighty hand must be aging! Oh my Master!
Muster your energies to depict on Earth
Your best ever portrait to reinvigorate
Your original beautiful oeuvre in whole for ever”

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poem by Sathya Narayana
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Call Me Not A Poet

Call me not A poet
It’s a shame to Shelly and Scott
A disgrace to Wordsworth and Frost
And heart-broken will be Homer and Tagore

Don’t embarrass those all time greats
Now sitting in the Lord’s court
Crooning their best ever cantos
In elegance, ex tempore

But I have an earnest hope
One day, one of those of my idols
Will sure by an accidental glimpse, from heavens
Catch me, standing on this Earth
With my hands stretched out
Trying frantic, to touch at least one star
In the vast poetic yonder
And make an affectionate chortle
Encouraging my puerile endeavor
It’s all! Enough for me to set on

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poem by Sathya Narayana
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Suppressed Truth

SUPPRESSED TRUTH
In your naïve, delicate heart
Effervescing are outlandish myths
By sitting in that darkness at length
Your mind too is daubed
With the Stygian hue
Remove once the curtains
Allow the Sun of reality in
Bask for a while in His shine
In seconds it will be your turn
To scintillate with a new élan

You have an intimate mate
His name is hope
You have an inherent instrument
It is none other than effort
They are your arms and ammunition
To fight this life long trepidation
Let me whisper you one secret
Take no note of your enemy’s might

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poem by Sathya Narayana
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Shame, Shame

Raunchy rapists, rancorous garroters,
Gangsters, mobsters and white collar cheats are
Sure and secure in political shelters
Bad cops are busy carting homes, dirty grafts
Good cops are kept to guard lords and blackguards
Laws are interred deep under money vaults
Justice jerks, shirks to retch out of courts hearts
Mistake not; rule of law hasn’t come to a halt
Look at those piled up cases, cunning touts
And remorseless lawyers ruling the roost
And those cracking lathis on the weak backs
Of beggars, rikshapullers and street hawkers
Scared commoners dare not even stare
At the reigning outrage
How can an odd poet react; but to catapult
Letter darts; let someone read them or not

poem by Sathya Narayana
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Living With Enemies

Gone were the days of enemy warriors
Who came to you with thrusted busts;
Looking into your eyes straight
Shouted mighty challenges for combat

Exists now a different enemy set up
Of sweet talking foxes besetting you
Their words shower flowers
While their minds grind swords

With or without any reason
Wittingly or unwittingly
You are now riveted to rivalry
When you walk innocently in street
There goes a stealthy stab into your ribs;
Or a gunshot from behind your back;
Or just a bomb or land mine to consume you

How many of you realize?
In spite of your daily prayers

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poem by Sathya Narayana
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My Sweat

MY SWEAT

Educated in English convents
They made cool abodes
As their working precincts
Lawyers, engineers, doctors
Computer laurates
And smart bureaucrats
All this lucky lot
Living at money jetting fountains
Are devouring their fortunes
To downright fulfillment

I followed my father’s school
By going to the paddy fields
And dredging eight hours
For a mere fifty rupees

I never grudge my affluent brethren

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poem by Sathya Narayana
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Honourables

At eighty he is still a coolie
Toiling in paddy lea
Reaping pods and
Heaping the seeds
His sagged muscles working
In wonted harmony
But his brain tired of thought
Of his son who died as a sot; or
Of his daughter widowed at twenty past
Or his wife pulling weeds at another spot
He has to carry on this moil; I thought
Till death to retain his breath

Looking at his pitiable plight
A wicked feeling swept my heart
How great we're in contrast
Honourable servants of the State
We retire at sixty, in peace
Take a lump sum of grant, apiece
Also a pension for monthly use

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poem by Sathya Narayana
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Hopeless Pines

When a pine is felled in the forest
What can the other pines do, but rue
Helplessly rooted to their spots
They rattle their boughs in scared demur
Rock their trunks as if trying to uproot
All in vain, it is but the nature’s rule
To stand desolate amongst piling ruins
Waiting in silence for their turn

But in what way is a common man
Better than the immovable pine
Walking, talking, eating and sleeping
Yet a vegetable enduring
Domineering Machiavellians
Living like a forlorn human pine
Without a fight, bending his spine
Yielding down to ruthless exploitation

.

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poem by Sathya Narayana
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Stifling Bounds

STIFLING BOUNDS
Making tight stifling bounds around
With steep trenches and spiky fences
Of nations, notions and nasty nuances
With narrow minds and wary miens
Brewing envy, rancor and malevolence
Prefers to live parochial human race
Like rotting eggs and stagnant waters

With vision, reason and acumen
Raised his ken above the acme of heaven
Yet his social dogtrot remains
Wandering in the dirty bigoted warrens
Within stinking and shocking confines
Of caste, creed, color and religion

Can one explain? Hey you Mr. Darwin
Why hundreds of wise men, for eons
Bleeding their molten ichors of brain
Could not bring in true evolution

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poem by Sathya Narayana
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Stranger’s Bike

The stranger’s bike preceding mine did look
Precarious. It’s veering right and left,
And screeching wild; jetting out inky smoke.
I kept a safe distance behind this threat

I reached a small village, after an hour.
He’s there sipping some tea at a kiosk.
He laughed and asked, “It seems I struck a terror”
I smiled and said, “I keep away from risks”.

Finished his tea; lighted a long cigar
And drew few puffs into his lungs
“But why you slowed down? ” asked looking ajar
“My bike, you could have well overtaken”.

I too lighted my favorite cigarette.
Over the rings of smoke I did react
“My friend it’s true I keep away from risks”
“Prefer I stay but close to Don Quixotes”

poem by Sathya Narayana
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