Am I really Free?

Am I really Free?

Am I really Free
To pray to any God without being attacked?

Am I really Free
To eat anything I want without being persecuted?

Am I really Free
To move on the streets without being violated?

Am I really Free
To drink without me and family being jailed?

Am I really Free
To speak my mind without being trolled?

Am I really Free
To wear what I want without being judged?

Am I really Free
To love another human without being convicted?

Am I really Free
To live in society without ,on account of caste ,color or gender, being discriminated?

Am I really Free
When,after 70 years my personal freedom is still shackled?

Am I really Free?
I wonder!!

Bloodshed over Water

Fight over water
Is this what we have come to ?
Have we forgotten how to share Nature's free resources too ?

Can you really lay sole claim to a river? Madness like this makes me shiver

How petty can we get ?
Our common needs forget

Today we control the river's force Tomorrow we may try to alter the raincloud's course

Don't we have a sense of shame?
For the current situation we have ourselves to blame

Nature must be shaking her head in disgust
Wondering to which monsters did she her treasure entrust

Can't we share and give,live and let live? Can't we bury the past forget & forgive? Why point fingers and blame others?
All are brothers and sisters born of different mothers

Nature's gifts are meant to be shared and cared
Not to be fought over ,with ugly fangs bared
At this rate there will be nothing left
No rivers,no forests ,of resources bereft Let us join forces to find a solution
Live as a family and have a fair resolution

Life after Uri Attack

Though I normally do not endorse violence I am forced to pen this today

Our blood we spilt to wash our land
Will you let it flow in vain?
Restore pride to our motherland
Relieve her of her pain

Enough of needless intrusion
Its time to hit back
Peace is an indulgent delusion
Please just give it back

For once just pick up your arms
And your country defend
Don't waste precious soldier lives
Don't to be a dove pretend

Like an eagle just soar high
And in one precise fell swoop
Wipe out a few of their terror camps
Don't let army morale droop

Sick and tired of pretence
Our neighbors don't seem to learn
Seems retaliation is a given hence
Let them in their self lit fire burn

Peace should not be seen as being weak Our dignity we must protect
An eye for an eye,a tooth for tooth Inaction will not help

Just rise to the occasion this time
Give them a fitting reply
Let them squirm in hostile clime
For once let bullets fly

BIRD

B orn with wings I soar in the sky R evelling in the knowledge that He D esigned me to fly B lessed am I to be free R oaming at will returning at D usk to my nest in yonder tree B rother of mine I s trapped in a cage R immed with gold it may well be D esperate to fly he flaps his wings .....he cannot escape can he? B e kind enough I beseech you R elease him back in the sky to D o what he was born to do ...O just let him fly

Poetry

Poetry is a spontaneous overflow of emotions
Poetry is magical but needs no special potions
Poetry needs only a heart full of love and devotion
Poetry keeps coming in waves,it's a bit like the ocean
Poetry reveals the poet's heart ,it sets feelings in motion
Poetry is a delight , a stress buster akin to soothing lotion
Poetry helps me stay calm in the face of impending explosion
Poetry helps me pen my thoughts
when overcome by emotion

Happy International Poetry Day

No shades of gray

Black and white are the only shades I know
Not for me the shades of gray though
Not for me the pressure of pretence
Not for me hypocritical show of reverence
I wear my heart on my sleeve
Am not afraid to my own
opinions weave
A majority need not always be right
Why give up easily when for truth we can fight
By my values I will always stand
Even if it means living on a lone island
Mingling with others should promote healthy creativity
Not for me the bane of herd mentality
Even on that island I'm far from alone
For I have my best friend with me, He who I call my own

Death -as explained by a not quite 3 year old(Event Oct 2001,Poem 2010)

A simple child
That lightly draws its breath
and feels its life in every limb
What should it know of death?

Beg to differ Mr Wordsworth
There are some babes as young as three
who know the meaning of death
and know what death can be.

Mum, “ said he Why do you cry?
For your Grandpa that died, said she.
But he has gone to another world
Waste not your tears, said he.

For he who comes but has to go
Cant stay forever, said he
Such is the way of the world, you know
Space is limited you see.

Some will come and some will go
The cycle will go on you see
Wipe your tears and move on with life
Memories there still will be.

Etched in my memory is that day
When that little boy not quite three
Explained to Mum what death can be
As simply as ever could be.