The Catcher in the Dust...

There is the distance scaled through this mind,
Speed given by this thoughtful find...
The ghost of the past regime,
History of a distant past,
Running and pant of a tired boy and his scream…

Legend of the faces, creases of the age,
And the mind’s own cage...
They are like the stranger passing through
This unknown land, like a whisper
soaked by thought's own hand...

I am the change you want to see,
I will never show you what is there,
that is for you to see, but not me…
I see your soul naked and its fire,
I am the old school, who never tires…

I am the Lancelot of mystery,
I am the Arthur of history…
I am humble as we speak,
As I know I am just as weak...
But inside I am Hercules,
but that's just saying for me…

For this day, and days hence,
I may seem to be a freak,
But I know what I am,
I am the beauty that I wish to see…
Nay boasting, I am the trust that I wish to believe…

You see, faith is what is in me,
And duty is what there awaits…
I am the only chance I have,
And the only person on whom I can bank…
I am the faithful, only sincere to the duties of me
and the slave of this body, but my dream
and my course is free,
‘cos the will of free soul does not sleep…

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

We the Sultans...

We play with those guitars, not the guns…
Last night we went home drunk…
We are the Sultans,
The Lords of how we wish to sing…

The strings on those guitars move,
Fingers rolling over the chords like a swift little breeze…
We get those shivers, when we try to imitate
The snob and those bullies…
‘Cos we are the Sultans,
The Lords of how we wish to sing…

Competition, and search, earnest to imply what echoes
And in our eardrums rings…
When this old guitar is on the road,
And the wheels don’t mind,
Singing the road a lullaby…
And on the road we go,
We move through the highway,
‘Cos we are the Sultans,
The Lords of how we wish to sing…

We play with the Grey old beast,
That dark wicked horse of dreams,
Dreams which, failed, shall ring us a sorry lullaby,
But we never mind, as the soul wishes to sing…
We step up to that dream,
Facing with the ammunition and guitars,
Facing with words and laughter and, why yes,
Rolling fingers across those strings,
‘Cos we are the Sultans,
The Lords of how we wish to sing…

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

A Verse on Nature's Dance...

When all mankind sleeps,nature awakens,
Playing those heavenly dances of wind and rain...

This winter has brought to me with it,
all the joys and happiness,a wishful thought,
and unstoppable ink...

It is in the slumber of man,
in human inactivity,does nature find its activity...

Cold,and inert,a man rests,
and for once the puppet becomes the audience,
and the stage stages the dance of itself...

Rain falls down,whispering
tidings from the warm Adithya
and wind blows off the rain,
earth smelling of wet leaves and grass blades,
bent with the weight of dampened rays...

And slowly,through the darkness,
amidst the clouds,there comes this light,
which stays but for few minutes,
before running away,scouting for further clouds...

But how shall poor sun know,
that clouds,that it seeks,
cover its retreats,and the leaves look up and smile,
while groaning little rodents go back to their mead...

Rain splashes across the ground,and now its night,
all is silent,save for the moon that shines...

But stars aren't favoured by these neighbouring steeds,
who but proclaim with irony
the defeat of fading stars that retreat...

This, and all the allied wind,
woven and spun into a thread or a string...
Now,all that is left is a song that is to be sung,
while the nature plays its tune,
to that friendly game,
where cloud won but still,
everything remains the same...

Nature with its many ecstasies never ceases to sing,
We with our preoccupied slumber,
allow our stupidity to ring...

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

A Song for You...

There is something we see,
there is something we can be,
but then, sometimes we realise,
what we are is worth it...

There is those moments we think,
If we were that one bit different,
Would it have made all that difference in the world?
But then that smile would be gone,
I may not be the person you may find pleasing,
But I have found that my mind,
It stays, it stays forever asleep,
Dreaming that which my heart says...

That day when you danced in the rain,
I felt all my joy saying thanks to that rain…
That day when you cried, I felt,
I felt my arms, stretching out,
Trying to hug you, trying to wipe those tears on your pallor...

Ever since I have known, this fact,
This feeling, and known this soul,
Which made me feel so happy...
You may pardon, or you may not,
But for me, angel who soars above that sun,
it is you...

I am nobody, nobody who may make you feel happy,
This song is not for showing you what I am,
I write this song to show you what you mean to me,
This maybe a fairy tale, with an ending as foretold,
Or it may be reality, not really untold...

But now, at this moment, I want to say,
All I care to say to you who are dearest
of all that is dear to my soul,
All I want to say is,
Dear, I just love you so...
All I want to say is,
I just love you so...

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

Wintry Truth and A Song for the Rains...

One two, one two, one two,
And so the key notes sound,
Almost as though they have
Played it, this tune of pain,
All along… There is the key note which
Reminds me of rains, and there is this key note
which talks of the hoof on the wet lands…

You might get up, and see,
Rising sunshine,
Which talks of the happiness that is in the form of those rays,
And the joy of small droplets falling across your sill,
While it is you, sitting by the window,
Curtains raised, welcome the dance of playful nature…

Few drops come down to kiss you,
Some just pass along with a gentle touch,
Wetness of emotions, touching the smiling pallor,
Much has that pallor suffered pain, and this…
And these droplets , they wash away the hurt
They wash away those pains, which are unsaid and unheard…

There is this sweet respite in the notes of Piano,
Which notes the sweet song of the wintry rains…
Fair and sweet, this coldness speaks,
Fair and sweet, this cold nature shows,
It tells us the reason for its coldness
Is for us to find warmth inside,
Warmth of this soul, that which is the greatest gift
That possess the insignificant we…

Winter is oft proclaimed as season of death,
But for an esthete, it proclaims,
It unearths, the beauty of life…
Winter is a sacrifice by God unto we,
To make us remember the beauty of life,
That runs within…

You may feel the Piano lies,
But a key deferred changes joy to sorrow,
And a key differed changes sorrow to joy…
Ye may perceive Winter as death,
But for the lover who romances the beauty of life,
Every season is a great friend,
Guiding us through our short yet sweet lives…

Rains may be tears, but mate, remember the girl
Remember the girl who dances when it showers…
Rain remains no longer formidable pain,
But rather a sweet Elixir of Beauty of life…
Remember the smile after rain splashes
across the face of that beautiful girl…
Remember the huddled little child covered in a quilt of love,
In winter, waiting for your embrace…
Then, my friend, sorrow in the dampened environ
Ceases, and all that it leaves behind is incessant joy,
All that it leaves behind is incessant happiness,
All that it leaves behind is incessant Love,
And all that remains in you is the loving smiles for a lovely life…

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

Flow...

Here I see a cliff,
A cliff,a doorway…
Red sand,and soapstone,
Breaking against the waves,
barricading the ocean…

You see,the waters are those
exquisite thoughts,Flowing in your mind
and you cease to exist…

No longer,your body embodies your soul,
You are like those rays,that sunshine
Which is from the sun,but no longer a part of it…
You break through the doors,and the viels
of those leaves and the tall trees,
you stream these lands,yes,you
as once broken you are the strong and steady soul…

You break through the shackles set by mundane,
The bamboozle of stupidity,that embodies this head,
Has for long been discarded,
And now remains,the endless eternity,
Where we humans,are nothing but the wafting
flavours of God’s creation,endearing elements,
and the remains of the epiphany of Nature’s creation..
I see these verses,rather lengthening
with the weight of thought…
Capturing are these, images
Picturesque thoughts and the beauty of the journey,
And conjuring the creative effort,
I rest this ink,for journey takes me,
With music and art,into its keep,
And I shall retreat before that Satanic sheep,
Come forth talking of those boastful unnecessary heap…

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

The Bane of this Unjust Boon...

Everyone praises you for your gift,
It is common indeed,
But you know, but yourself, how that boon
Has been the bane of your life…

Sometimes I wish to give up all that
And wish, just to gain a normal life,
Wherein isolation is not
the general manner of the day…

whoever said being the black sheep
was of any merit, needs retrospect…
Sometimes you wonder,
What are you, beyond that which is called your gift…

Sometimes I smile, rather in place of tears,
On my much hurt pallor,
Whether people forget the existence of
Sensitivities on a seemingly cold, yet human soul…

I wish you were here,
One who proclaimed beauty of
so-called blessing unto the few odd we..
Sometimes I wonder what has this brought?

This gift has brought naught save hurt
Hurt of isolation, wherein love and care
Wherein acceptance in the common stream
Is non-existent… Aye, acceptance is non-existent…

These questions when asked with those
few who cared enough to listen
found the answers of indifference…
How else can I describe it, my muse?

Is it my fault, that I am not, what my age speaks?
Is it my fault, that I cared inspite of that hurt inflicted?
Is it my fault, that I still thought, I shall be accepted?
Is it my fault, I hoped?

I wonder, if loving somebody was a sin?
I wonder, if hoping that the attention was more
than a decoy… A decoy was a momentary gain…
Why, my friend? Had you asked in plain terms -

Still I would have answered you, my friend,
Still I would have helped you get through…
You need not have played this way,
In this opportunist and hurtful fashion…

Now, it is me, who is hurt, while you
Yonder celebrate your gains…
You built a stairway to heaven For this hurt
soul who but wished to share few moments…

Those stairs dissolved, in the wisps of decay,
And in the smoke of betrayal and insensitive
Role play… And I have fallen, yet again in these
Sands of earth, where care is like dew,
shortlived and hard to know…

And all, I have seen, and all I have got is,
Just the juices of scorpion’s sting…
All I have won, is the undue betrayal,
Through the bane of this unjust boon…

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

A Contemplative Verse

It was all said in a moment...
That glare of exchange,
that contemplating thought…
Beauty of those keys went in,
With one moment ever lived more than the last…
I wonder, as this music wafts its flavour,
To the taste buds of my ears,
who upon noticing the divine beckoning,
extend their interest in this versified setting…
Contemplating, am I, this silence,
Wherein, a space has been vacated,
And yes, vacated with a single purpose of being filled…
The piano, yes, it is flowing,
Its music is ceasing not,
Naught, considering my own foolishness,
I see it brought out of the womb of Mother Earth,
This beautiful creation of Nature...
Contemplating in these vacant places, am I,
Three beats, and a note…
Three notes, and a beat…
Three hundred days, have unknowingly been spent
by this unsuspecting beast…
The junipers or those conifers,
The foxes or these snails,
Slow and fast, of these merry woods, have grown
And are now gone, but amongst those trees,
The stone walls of forgotten city, decaying,
Has that moist Lichen, slowly crawling,
Even in the absence of such a beauty
as human intelligence,
The papyrus existed without these papers..
Thoughts, aye, my very own,
Of merriment, sitting on that log of my dreams,
Listening to this piano, brings me that merriment,
Merriment that the fox found
trotting amidst the silent snows…
I lay, mute, I am the silent owl,
In a hollow of a green stump,
Ancient, but giving cottage to rising
mosses of the spirited green…

Tinkle of these high key notes,
And now I drift to those walks,
Amidst the woods, of convenient verses,
Amidst the rivers of free words,
That my common friend could contemplate,
As I and he, that friend of me, travelled,
Not very far from here,
But under the canopy of such an exquisite avenue,
That the very earth seemed draped in the yellow
Leafy dress, woven by those very trees…
Moist soil, underneath our feet,
With the Great Black spider,
seeking shade in its much laboured abode…
Moist, and walking down such a lane,
Which thereof remembers that we had been…
For I have never seen, my dear nature,
hiding the history…
All, my wanderings,
And all my curiosities within this small
universe that keeps me busy in dreams,
Has but shown me that all that we lose with time,
Come out, draped within those rusty dust and gravel stone,
All but gained a form, that of nature’s son…
Timid, those birds sang away, in glory,
While the urchins, sent to church, yonder,
Passed that rainy evening, with their smiles flying by…
Now, these simple notes, of the divinity,
Harmony, as I have versed someplace else, of epiphany,
In my piano music, that I contemplate within my ears…
I remind my dear brother soul,
Of those days, when we were young,
and this soul had passed through
Many a wilder mysteries,
And now reflections bring me back a smile,
A smile on the naïve younger me,
And also a smile boasting promise of future,
Waiting to be unearthed
by nature’s sweet melody…
And I say, my brother wearing my clothe,
For you these fingers move,
And you make these untrue lips of mine smile…
Yes, my brother, these days are mine,
And yours to cherish,
as the future is never untold,
But true, as though always told,
Past is which is most untrue,
Unless there is life,
which ran through the mocking woods,
The pigeons and sparrows,
civilization’s own birds, showing
These limitless minds the mysteries of nature…
I verse not, here, in my mind,
With these thoughts to bring
a meaning to what I write, or
Not even to write what I mean,
Such is this mysticism...
Somewhere contentment flows,
Beyond these words,
Beyond those woods,
And beyond also the longing hoods,
Contentment flows,
Which talks me into this merriment…
Soothing, yet I hear the crickets,
And also those frogs,
Birds chirping, in many voices, but a single soul…
The flow of water is just elation for this soul,
Absolute bliss, this refuge, is hardly an confinement or,
Speaking in such terms, may feel as though,
this mind has wandered from the jailed four walls,
to Paradiso...
Flutes, drums and bamboo sticks,
Air, and wind, and everything that soars,
Travel, travel far beyond the imagining mind,
And this music of ancient human brings
that joy back and we find,
Yes, it is done, it is finished,
I am back, back to the confines of my mind
After that soulful retreat and this romantic find...

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

Through an Insect's Eye...

What if we were the size of ants?
What if every grain of sand,
were like a boulder,
and every rock,a mountain,
on which,we climb and stand?

What if,we were like
a bee in a rose,
seeking sweet nectar,
we could swarm those lands...

And,what if we were
those small insects,
which would take a long walk
on these human hands?

A larger,more wondrous,
our world might seem...
Lesser,a burden,
our life might be...

I see,Ye God,
I see Ye in those bees...
I see Ye bumbling away,
while on a feather me sleeps...

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju

November Rains...

Endless it pours…
North and East, seen and come,
Such, far and long, has been its course…
It finds its way, through the busy day,
Into the waves of Mother Ocean,
which has been its source…
Yes, all I can say is I agree,
Flawless, it soars…

The mellow thoughts,
Vacant brackets of mind…
Gloom, foretold, experienced upon ridicule…
Soars, singing those songs, from the high wet Eastern shores…

November winds,
And autumnal leaves,
Reminders of decay, which say
Life once bloomed,
And dirt now grooms…

Mellow, yes, mellow again,
For the fortune was beheld in uncanny veins…

There is a call, from those high mountains,
Reaches my ears,
Intense, those vibrations in the
Darkness of the night…

The pen glistens,
As I verse, my random thoughts…
Droplets trickle, filling the sill,
Slow and patient through a laboured wet grill…

I lie cold, bereft of notions,
I lie observant of the deathly silence…
Is it for me to speak,
Or just watch us mutate?
Well, perhaps be a part of it…

I watch, amused,
How my fingers move,
For the few ears which hear,
And the eyes that observe,
That which is near…

The lonely darkness,
Lays appealing…
The drums, the violins,
The keys of that board,
All blend in harmony with
These November rains…

Humanity slumbers,
Insomniacs don’t, ailed by their woes…
But all that live through
The freezing cold,
All that go back
To their tropical hold,
Are these rains…

Yes, it vibrates…
Bringing the autumnal chords to rest
In that sweet cold winter’s nest…
Reprieve, it does stay stealthy as ever…

Alone, and at peace,
What beseeches, one cannot see…
Neither happy nor sad,
This soul stays aloof,
From all that is earthly and un-free,
And why yes, bad…

For once, this ink fails to stop,
And the heart and mind waver not…
Blank, empty solitude,
Blissful retreat of my fortitude…

New, yes, new and untested,
With this heavy heart,
Blank and foreboding has there been
this untold future’s start…

This music has tried,
To convey to my heart…
What I write is just,
a beginning or a humble start…

These November rains shall again remain,
Etched, complex, divine remains…
Yes, this moment shall be cherished for long,
As it is not always, that one
Becomes soulful and strong…

Yes, it is not always, that one
Finds deep and assuring warmth…

I have penned enough verses,
To talk of this cold moment…
It seems now, that I have said,
Conveyed that message,
Of laughter and joy, and aye,
of those wet pains…
That which was shown to me,
In the warmth of these November rains…

© Karthik Adithya Singaraju