Gulliver's Travails

It was destiny that washed up Gulliver to the shores of that island nation, that kingdom ruled by tiny intellectuals. Gulliver's ship was wrecked and he was desperately seeking land while floating on a plank of rotting wood. So, it was only for the good that the tropical storm that thrashed him one night, also landed him on the shores of Lilliput.

When you've been marooned for days, any company is great company. So, Gulliver took to the Lilliputians like a cat to dry land. Despite differences in size and perceptions, Gulliver was only glad to have found his feet.

After spending around five years in Lilliput, Gulliver had had a good time, learned a lot, made friends, But now a sense ennui was slowly creeping up on him -- he had reached a plateau, and he felt a strong need for a change. Desperately seeking counsel, he called his wise friend, Newton.

"bip-bip-boop-bip-boop-boop-boop-bip"
"riiiiiinggggg!"

"Uh...who...what?"
"Hey, Isaac, it's Lemuel!"
"Heeeeyyyy...Lemuel! 'Sup dawg?"
"I'm cool. What you doin'?"
"Ah, nuthin, just chilling under mama's apple tree. It's kinda loaded this time of the year, but I'm too smashed to pluck one myself, so I'm just waiting for 'em to fall. Wish you were here too! We could've done this together!"
"Naice! K, lissen, Issac, I need you to sort this thing for me, man. You know, in Lilliput, I'm the tallest guy around. So, naturally, I can see the farthest. After five long years, I've seen as much as I could from this island nation. I want to see further. It's weird to say this here, but I want to grow taller! What do I do, man? It is either here or Blefuscu. And the only difference is in egg cracking."
"Lemuel, bro, know this: if I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants."
"Say whaaaaat?"
"Bro, I think you should move to Brobdingnag."

Call It a Day

And before I know it is time
For me to call it a day
Eyelids laden with sleep
Consider the passage of age:
“What transpired today that stood out
In the backdrop of yesterday?”

The day was like any
Of the six others that make a week
Like a uniformly drawn rainbow
Of seven white bands
A single bright bow
Stretching from peak to peak

An urban, mechanical truth
Of things zipping past in a blur
Work and business not stopping
To say hello and chat
To look at one's feet and smile
In deeply satisfying wonder

Days, like granules of white sugar
Melt in the stove of eternity
And all that is left floating
Is a memory caramelized
That questions the fickle faith
Of terrestrial fraternity

Ask the guardians of chronology,
"What happened of the day?"
They say, "We don't know,"
"It turned into a week!"
"And what about the week?"
"We can't say," they say

"It turned into a month!"
"And where did the month stray?"
They say, "Well, it seems,"
"It is now a whole year!"
And before you know it is time
For the year to call it a day

In the City Zoo

In the city zoo.

Look out the tiny cage
Of my personal space.

Listlessly. Aimlessly.
Fed and burped.

Millions of visitors.
Unlisted Exhibit, I.

Survey around to find
Animals of hues all.

Living in content cages
Of their personal spaces.

Millions of residents.
Don't see, don't hear.

Don't need.
Don't want.

Eating, drinking, mating.
Eating some more...some more.

In cages of personal spaces.
Aimlessly. Listlessly.

In the city zoo.

Put Some Water Out

It's hot!
Burning hot!

Seared senses perceive only mirages
as the sun rains down fire with a vengeance.
Wind, like invisible flames, licks the very soul of beings.
The horizon looks close and far.
The destination seems unknown, unachievable.

Put some water out..

For thirsty of the earth,
the birds, animals and people without shelter,
whom god has forgotten today.

Put some water out..

For the parched of love,
who never got a full cup
from the vessel of life.

Put some water out..

For there is a drought of hope
in this conflicted city-state
of harsh realities.

Put some water out..

For that seed buried deep
in the bosom of the fertile
may sip and reach out.

It's hot!
Put some water out..

Éphémère

Today
A single blank page
In a one-paged journal

One spotless page
For today, only today

To be filled with words
That lived today
For today, only today

A journal that will be discarded
Into the invisible sea of yesterday
Tonight

The Emperor's Old Clothes

Hey, look, an emperor of fate's define!
Say, his jacket's made of cloth so fine!

Cloth so fine as invisible fumes
Spun in complex, convoluted looms

Dressed in that finery and arms outstretched
In the middle of a square, an enormous spread

The subjects look at him as an object of amuse
With kaleidoscopic eyes, they see what they choose

So, while he's all naked as the day he was born
Some see a chimera and some see just porn

Question of the Sinner Stomach

Burning eyes and shallow my breath.
A knocking buzz constant my head.
Revolting against inertia deathly,
Limbs, spine, heart and belly.
The brain begs and begs for mercy.
I put foot down--ever so gently,
"Just a few more hours and we'll be done."
"One last push and this'll be won."
But, we are here, in an interrogation room.
Not being bailed out anytime soon.
Tortured beings out of tired souls,
Bleeding away from minute holes.
Struggling away with a question plum--
"Where's the next meal coming from?"

The Communion of Rocks

I was once drafted

Into a communion of rocks.

There was a war out there

Between various pointless blocs.

A war between rocks,

Rocks dumb and inflamed.

They fought with words,

empty words that blamed.

A rookie soldier, I,

Among leaders of rank nonsense.

It all seemed alien to me—

Somewhat touchy and tense.

And on the battlefield

Of halls lined with chairs,

Armies met across mahogany,

And oak and pine squares.

Rocks of all denominations—

Jagged, smooth, big and small,

Glared at each other

Eyeball to eyeball.

Then bang-bang of sentences,

And boom-boom of exclamations.

It was a foreign tongue!

A lingo of an unknown nation.

A language or battle cry—

No one understood a word.

There were pauses and periods,

But the meaning was blurred.

Yet everyone spoke it,

Simultaneously and separately.

Some nodded agreement,

Some disagreed vehemently.

No one attempted to

Figure a word that was flung.

Who was I to question—

A pawn on the lowest rung.

What are we fighting for?

Who are we aiming at?

What will be the casualties?

What will come of that?

Words were screaming inside me,

Gnawing their way out of my brain.

I numbed the seething agony

With an overdose of refrain.

I was invisible to the rocks—

A speck of dust at best.

Little did they discern

Of the turmoil inside my breast.

As I stood on a cliff

Of fiery, incandescent rage,

A question raised its hand—

Should I or shouldn’t I engage?

The inferno glowed bright

And spot lit a strange wisdom.

Something that could assuage

My deepening conundrum.

You see, the communion of rocks

Is a meditation of sorts—

Of sitting still and quiet

In a sea storm of retorts.

Of not getting lost

In a garden maze of baloneys.

Of keeping your faith intact

In the cacophony of phonies.

With a few simple scars

I came out of that battle.

Ready to be herded to the next one

Like simple, innocent cattle.

Umbra

As the queen's shadow rose higher,
higher than even the Sphinx;
The Great Pyramid was dismantled,
inch by inch by inch.

Many a king lost his crown,
Many a general lost his sword;
Trust was in the gutters of Cairo,
and shame in the waters of the Nile.

Soon Egypt will be in ruins--
a corollary of fears, desires and whims.

Paper Tigers

Tiger, tiger, burning bright;
Made of paper, serves you right.
Tongue of steel but fluffy butt;
All you can give is a paper cut.
Proud of rank but courage scant;
Your middle name is psycho-phant.
Questions aplenty, answers none;
If we question, we are done.
Silent footsteps and hidden claws;
Playing us around with wicked laws.
When its good, you scowl and hover;
Trouble brews and you run for cover.
Tiger, tiger, burning bright;
Made of paper, serves you right.