"Open Sesame!"

To drag your butt up the high-rise

You take to the elevator,  but you   little surmise

The machine trundling worse than your creaking bones

Its tracts sounding in grave baritones

Ah you step in with the hope of speedy dispatch

Ere long you are stuck in the slowness of a snail-snatch

Imagine, being caught in a time-warp

Everything freezed,  on the time lost, you could less harp?

I have no time to ponder

Or the patience to wonder

Sniffing the cocktail of smells in an elevator

the madding crowd within, as distrait as strangers

need I endure such a ride, whatsoever?

You anticipate the total black-out

The abrupt halt, to send you reeling, no doubt

Even worse is coming to a standstill

With the peeved pet or the sulking snob,

Their unstoppable utterances,

would you dope them with a pill?

The ordeal is never over

When, it stops finally, the elevator ejects with rancour

for the obstinate doors to wrest open

should I spell “Open sesame”

or be  caved in, in despair, this machine ever in a state drunken?

Phew, the machine seems to elevate all right

Your state of being, under duress, no slight

Yet you emerge as the sage unruffled,

Whose ordeal, with the devil unduly shuffled

And yet you gravitate to the contraption, saving on your energy

Or would it be piling on your ever laid-back lethargy?

You would not mind hopping in again for the ride

For dragging your butt up those storeys,  

that’s indeed a task

you would rather shrug aside? 

O' this Pretense!

How pricey, Pretense turns out to be,

when its skin grows on you;

you are groomed in its shadow

in plastic appearances,

when there is only seething animosity

your mask puts up a friendly show

how much it eats into your being

to please, propitiate, placate

to keep up the civility of a social being

to be in camouflage, till your needs nestle in that living

you strive to conform than confront;

You fit in to be the crowd than becoming lone

 If only I could make myself see

How hollowed out, I have become

In pretending what I am not meant to be!

"Structures, Systems, senses the vastness?"

(How often we reason out with customs, beliefs and challenge the norms associated with a system? )

Complex as constellations
 structures find their way into my small urn
in seemingly abstract customs  that behold a promise
for the better, the brighter, the bigger?
I seek the reason,  the science of their being
I seek the origin, the divine, the bliss
 The quintessence of the infinite,
could it be limited in my little urn?

 

Yet I go into the thickets of the man-made
I need to traverse that journey
To discover soulfulness
I need to know what the chaff is
To sift it from the grain and sow that seed of knowledge
To  be in  darkness and let those shafts of light fall in…
Till the journey lasts, its my belief that tows me
Maybe in those set patterns
What my mind senses in that urn
To absorb, absolve, or let go
 In those structures, I am bound to,
I finally realize, I need to break free!