On that voice.
I have heard much.
from the people around me.
But I’ve never heard from
that which I cannot see.
That voice that speaks weakly
as it remains buried in me.
It’s given no hope or help.
Left unable to express itself.
Perhaps it is not loud enough.
Because it is not proud enough.
Thinking about what it has to say
It is of no use anyway.
So I ignore that voice.
For me, it’s a choice.
To do what I want.
But it is what I want.
What do I need?
Perhaps I should quiet down.
Listen to that voice.
Perhaps what it wants
It is the better choice.
For who knows their needs?
Better than themselves.
So now I leave on a journey.
To where the truth dwells.
Lost at Sea
I see a sea of people.
As big as one can be.
I can feel the waves.
of thoughts and actions
Splashing around me.
Ideas and beliefs galore
Arriving on the shore
Of my mind.
But storms also occur.
And my thoughts are a blur.
For I cannot understand
On which side should I row?
My boat in this vast sea.
One boatsman sends this way.
Another sends me that way.
While both argue
which is the best way.
I row my boat in circles.
All night and all day.
Never knowing
What’s the right way?
So many guides,
So many maps,
Yet there’s only one way for me.
Who’s lost in this vast sea?
What I see
I see blue skies, adorned with birds,
flying away without a care.
I see green lush fields, with lovely cows,
rushing here and there.
I see the sunlight, shining bright,
throughout the day. I see the movements of those who are living,
I see them breathing and feeling,
even where it is not to be found.
It may be a wild forest, freezing lake,
or on a desert’s burning ground.For they are wild and unforgiving in their ways.
No comfort if you are stuck in there for days.
A mixture of the elements they are as well.
Even on Earth exists, both heaven and hell.
But ignoring my prejudice, I will say,
They are all beautiful in some way.
The Power of the Pen
Freedom is earned.
With a pen.
Lessons are learned.
With a pen.
Ideas are spread.
With a pen.
Ignorance, made dead
With a pen.
Love is expressed.
With a pen.
People were impressed.
With a pen.
For every thought,
Idea or belief,
There is this pen,
To express
And give relief.
That what lies within the mind is heard
The ideas are no longer blurred.
Now ideas come out of me.
For all to clearly see.
What all do I reject?
And what I want to be.
Maa
The greatest and the bravest soul.
Whenever I felt broken, you made me whole.
You were there with me at the very beginning.
Then through every summer, winter, or spring.
You were there, caring for me,
when I was sad or hurt.
You were there, fighting for me.
when others questioned my worth.
Those eyes that saw my pain.
That heart that kept me sane.
Wisdom in your every breath.
Strength in your every step.
You are my inspiration.
You are my idol.
I thank you and love you.
My Dear Maa.
Can we be proud today?
Can we be proud today?
This, I hope, Man still wonders.
The world has grown much.
With still too many blunders.
Can we be proud today?
Of the technologies that we made?
While the natural world burns,
Greenery now invisible, long decayed.
Can we be proud today?
That still in such enlightened times.
Women still feel unsafe and afraid
Of being victims in most brutal of crimes.
Can we be proud today?
With intellectuals, both shallow or fake.
Filled with ideas best left unsaid.
For my own sanity’s sake.
Can we be proud today?
In times of learning and tolerance
Where spreading of lies and hate.
Is still easier, there’s no debate.
Can we be proud today?
Surely, yes we can.
Nothing goes to waste.
But there’s still too is still much to do
Get to it, then. Make haste.
