By: Archan Mehta

 

____

Poem # 1: On Feeling Whole

 

I want to dedicate

This poem to you,

Gentle readers, but

I guess I am

Not sure why.

Maybe it is because

I have nothing better

To do: you see, I am

Whiling away my time

As usual because, truth

Be told, I was born

A lazy bum. I am busy

Luxuriating on a sandy

Beach in South Goa, India,

And the rays of the sun

Are caressing my body

Like a massage therapist

With exotic oils and perfumes.

Sometimes, I wish we could

Escape from our daily

Responsibilities and humdrum

Routines and boring, listless,

Pointless and futile lives

And hug the outdoors

Like a child hugs

A teddy bear for

The warmth and comfort

Of a place called home.

You see, gentle readers,

Instead of virtual reality,

I prefer the reality of

Our natural world. In

Fact, I feel like donating

Whatever little I own

To a charity and I want

To jump directly into

The deep end of the ocean.

Do you ever feel that

Way, gentle readers?

I really don’t know how

Or where you get your

Kicks or highs, but I,

For one, would rather

Kick off my shoes and

Run into the jungle

Like an untamed, wild

beast without taking

Any precautions and

Refuse to leave until

I feel whole again.

I wonder:

Have you ever

Felt this way,

Gentle readers?

My soul longs to stray

To keep my inner

Demons at bay

To fill the huge

Void in my life

With the inner calm

And the peace of a rising sun.

 

Poem # 2: Flying in The Face of Death

 

Sure, you’re going to die

You and I

Are not going 

To make it:

So what?

Just shake it

And forget that time

Is fleeting and that

Our human existence

Is a joke:

Drink Coke and eat

French fries

Enjoy the ride

Before it’s 

Time to die.

The dragon will

Eat you alive

Whether you’re in

Or out of your grave.

Enough said about

Dead meat

We don’t like to listen

To those who

Preach anyway.

“Make hay while

The sun still shines:”

Don’t just wait

Your turn

Burn like a candle

And don’t you

Ever give up

Without a fight

Take flight in

The here and now

Don’t worry about

The here and after

Enjoy songs and laughter

While you still can

After all,

That’s what makes

You a woman or man.

 

Poem # 3: Existential Musings

 

If you were

To ask me:

What are you

Interested in?

I would have

To reply:

Well, I’m certainly

Not interested in

Buying and hoarding

Stuff like Bill Gates,

Mukesh Ambani and

The Sultan of Brunei:

Instead, 

I am interested in

Experiencing life,

Event by event,

Like bees collecting

Honey from certain flowers.

If you were 

To ask me:

Where will you

Sleep tonight, poet?

Well, I guess I

Would have to reply:

Preferably, I would like

To camp under the

Starry skies

With a clear view

Of our universe above

And the ocean below.

If you were

To ask me:

What is your

Goal or objective

In life?

I would have

To respond:

Well, I am a drifting

Cloud and happy to

Travel wherever

The wind leads me.

If you were

To ask me:

Where is your

Destination, poet?

Well, I guess I

Would have to reply:

I would like to

Travel to several

Exotic lands to

Enrich my life

As long as I 

Am alive

And live underneath

The sun-kissed sky

And wonder why,

Finally, I am here.

If you were

To ask me:

Poet, 

When will 

You grow up?

Why I would 

Have to respond:

I will have plenty

Of time to grow

Up after I die.

In the meantime,

I want to avoid

Kill-joys like you

And enjoy the sun.

If you were

To ask me:

Poet,

Don’t you want

To do what normal

Or conventional

People do?

How about, for

Example, living the

“American Dream?”

Poet, don’t you 

Want to pay down

Your mortgage and

Own your own home

With a two-door

Garage and white

Picket fence and

An outdoor swimming

Pool and a backyard

Barbecue and a

Lovely lawn in the front?

Well, I guess I

Would have to reply:

Well, that is your

Dream, but that is

My nightmare!

Those who wear

Expensive three

Piece suits and drive

Sports cars and marry

Trophy wives

And produce two

Babies and win 

credentials and awards

And make oodles

Of cold, hard cash

And become socialites

And join the party circuit

And turn into page 3

Celebrities in the print

Media

Don’t really know

The pleasure of penning

A poem like this one,

And are blind to the

Act of creation

Which demands

Feelings and imagination.

As a poet,

I am only motivated

By the creative impulse

And not by power and glory.

Without self-expression

I feel my life is

Incomplete and I create

Poetry to fill that

Void in my life 

Regardless of public opinion.

If they don’t value

Me nor acknowledge

My contribution to

Society, well, so be it.

I am not them

And they are not me.

See?

 

Poem # 4: Death’s Call

 

Remember:

No matter where

You are in life:

Whether rich or poor,

Whether young or old,

Whether good-looking or ugly,

Whether educated or illiterate,

Whether a celebrity or an ordinary citizen,

In the end, 

Death, after all, will

Be your best friend.

Sooner or later,

Death will visit you,

With bad breath, rotten

Teeth with cavities,

Sporting a black beard,

Armed with a carving knife,

Stinking of alcohol and drugs,

And then, of course, death

Will slowly and surely and gently

Whisper your name and call you

Comrade or compadre or buddy,

In fact, death will say:

Come to me, flow into

My arms, lover, like

Land merges into the sea.

Inevitably, Death will say:

See, I offer you this silent

Rose, in your final hour,

Can you feel my power,

Cries Death, foolish and

Naïve and ignorant mortal,

I hold you in my power,

I control your five senses:

Your eyelids are drooping

And your eyelids are growing heavy

It is time to sleep,

Why do not weep

For I am death,

After all, and there 

Is going to be a 

Full stop now to

What you understand

To be your life.

But, rest assured,

Death is not the end

But the start of yet

Another life upon

Our planet earth.

 

Poem # 5: Singing Along

 

If there is 

A song on

Your lips:

Sing along,

For life is

Too short to 

Be little, as the

Saying goes:

Years later,

You will remember

These precious moments

Which gladdened your heart,

So surrender with faith

To the music inside of you.

Leave your workstation,

Which is like a prison

And ride your 

White stallion

Like John Wayne

And return to the 

Wild, open outdoors:

After all,

The jungle was

Once a part

Of you:

In fact,

You once called

The jungle your home,

When you were born,

So sing along,

For our good and

Dear Lord is busy

Playing our song.

 

Poem # 6: Existential Aloneness

 

This pond

Shivers and trembles

At your touch:

The stillness is

Shattered and a frog

Emerges slowly but surely

Out of the shadows.

What am I doing here?

It is time

To settle

On the green grass

And dwell on eternity.

It is time to

Inhale the beauty

Which surrounds me

Like a bird

In a forest.

It is time to enjoy

Solitude in

The lap of Mother Nature.

It is time

To forgive and forget

People who have wronged you.

It is time

To walk away

From worldly attachments

And renounce your ownership

Of goods and services.

It is time to

Abandon the flesh

For the soul is

At your service

And your true

Home is not the earth

But cosmic consciousness.

 

 

 

Bio: Dr. Archan Mehta

 

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