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
Saturday, 13 November 2010
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
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
Thursday, 11 November 2010
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
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
Saturday, 6 November 2010
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
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
Thursday, 4 November 2010
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
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
Wednesday, 27 October 2010
Oxymorons of Perception...
There are no fairies,
far the fairy tales...
There are no heroes,
far the heroics...
There are no sages,
far the miracles...
There are just men,
and just the mundane...
There is no ordinary person,
there is no extraordinary...
The soul,the spirit,
there is nothing at all...
A bliss flowing through the chasms,
and those fires,and waves of ballads,
unsung for a long time,forgotten...
Miracle,it is there everywhere...
Miracle,it is nowhere...
All pervading,non existing...
You all look at Light,
some smile,some laugh,
yet others frown and close their eyes...
It is in that light...
You feel darkness,
within and without,yonder,
but there is a flame which but flares
in that plight...
Some are blind,others blinded,
it is there,lurking as a shadow...
Darkness shadows the light,
and this flame shadows the shadow...
Yes,it is there,and it isn't...
After all,it is what you see,
and seeing is believing...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
far the fairy tales...
There are no heroes,
far the heroics...
There are no sages,
far the miracles...
There are just men,
and just the mundane...
There is no ordinary person,
there is no extraordinary...
The soul,the spirit,
there is nothing at all...
A bliss flowing through the chasms,
and those fires,and waves of ballads,
unsung for a long time,forgotten...
Miracle,it is there everywhere...
Miracle,it is nowhere...
All pervading,non existing...
You all look at Light,
some smile,some laugh,
yet others frown and close their eyes...
It is in that light...
You feel darkness,
within and without,yonder,
but there is a flame which but flares
in that plight...
Some are blind,others blinded,
it is there,lurking as a shadow...
Darkness shadows the light,
and this flame shadows the shadow...
Yes,it is there,and it isn't...
After all,it is what you see,
and seeing is believing...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
Monday, 18 October 2010
Address to Goliath of my Legion...
You say hi today, and the next,
you hear byes,goodbyes...
Today night you sleep,
you imagine yourself having a smile of peace...
And tomorrow Ye wake up...
And find empty farewells on your day's periods...
A voice inside my head speaks,
says all that has been,and shall be,
within your reach is incomplete my lad...
I survived against the tides,
of despondence and sorrow,
but truly,I see all that I felt true to,
follows me down,to the Valley of Doom...
Roses sprung through the thorns they say,
but noone thought,those thorns tore those
very blooming sweet roses...
Ye sing my song,oh twilight rays,
Ye sing my song,the dying thunders of ending rains...
That umbrella of protection,
from dampness and gloom...
Has but been forgotten,
torn amidst those fences erected in the middle of the road,
and I sat behind that wrongful wall,
wondering at my blinded faith,
and at those disillusioned dreadful wraiths...
The swords of those mighty have fallen accord
with the order of the sighted few,
who survived...
But Goliath of my Legion,
know this,and vow to make others know this,
Achilles also had his ankle,
and Ajax his rage,
Ulysses hath his age deceived,
and all fallen to gloom and immortality...
And so,have I bent down to inevitability of fate,
with my unseconded and now broken faith...
Now I believe,all you can create is,your journey,
and you shalt never besiege another soul,to share the realm,
that meant to be your path,and
thou shalt never intrude,
the realms of those who live behind the
Mighty Walls of Troy,
Troy of their heart...
A war won deceived,
is war not won at all...
And hence,thy servant perceivest this truth,
and at this hour,accepts and lays down contended,
contemplating his loss...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
you hear byes,goodbyes...
Today night you sleep,
you imagine yourself having a smile of peace...
And tomorrow Ye wake up...
And find empty farewells on your day's periods...
A voice inside my head speaks,
says all that has been,and shall be,
within your reach is incomplete my lad...
I survived against the tides,
of despondence and sorrow,
but truly,I see all that I felt true to,
follows me down,to the Valley of Doom...
Roses sprung through the thorns they say,
but noone thought,those thorns tore those
very blooming sweet roses...
Ye sing my song,oh twilight rays,
Ye sing my song,the dying thunders of ending rains...
That umbrella of protection,
from dampness and gloom...
Has but been forgotten,
torn amidst those fences erected in the middle of the road,
and I sat behind that wrongful wall,
wondering at my blinded faith,
and at those disillusioned dreadful wraiths...
The swords of those mighty have fallen accord
with the order of the sighted few,
who survived...
But Goliath of my Legion,
know this,and vow to make others know this,
Achilles also had his ankle,
and Ajax his rage,
Ulysses hath his age deceived,
and all fallen to gloom and immortality...
And so,have I bent down to inevitability of fate,
with my unseconded and now broken faith...
Now I believe,all you can create is,your journey,
and you shalt never besiege another soul,to share the realm,
that meant to be your path,and
thou shalt never intrude,
the realms of those who live behind the
Mighty Walls of Troy,
Troy of their heart...
A war won deceived,
is war not won at all...
And hence,thy servant perceivest this truth,
and at this hour,accepts and lays down contended,
contemplating his loss...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju
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