Poems by Anup Chandran V

Insane Highways

a poem by Anup Chandran V

Shadows lurking in the shades
darkness has so many hues
and within these labrynths
there is light.

The walk through the lanes
is the worth as everyone
pretends, they have been
where no one has been before.

Strangely though everyone
touches the similar base
and that is the link
between the sane side walks
and the insane highways.

Not in my name

a poem by Anup Chandran V

Strut your strength by all means,
Shut out the irritants and gain,
Police the world on your ‘truth’,
And see your pain as the greater pain,
But when you say, you do it for me,
Then I beg to refrain,
not in my name, brother,
Not in my name.

Presume the role of the ‘messiah’,
Speak the language of fervor,
Take pride in your lead and savor,
And fantasize on your utopia,
But when you harvest your crop of hate,
And you say, you do it for me,
Then I beg to refrain,
not in my name, brother,
Not in my name.

Feel your freedom as ‘the’ freedom,
Believe your belief as the gospel faith,
Assume the ‘leader’ mantle,
if it is your wont
but when you preach,
what you don’t perceive
And you say, you do it for me,
Then I beg to refrain,
not in my name, brother,
Not in my name.

The bombs that you drop,
Shower your backyard,
The force that you use,
Gets used against you,
The fear that you evoke,
Becomes your nightmare,
As you face your indignity,
And you say, you do it for me,
Then I beg to refrain,
not in my name, brother,
Not in my name.

Thank you God

a poem by Anup Chandran V

Thank you god for the “blindness”,
that you blessed us with,
or else,
we would see the look in the eyes,
of the deprived man.
We would see the rags,
held tightly around her by the woman,
full of dignity.
We would see the baton,
that silences mercilessly.
We would see the smirks,
beyond the smiles of hypocrisy.
We would see the darkest spot,
behind the brightest lights.

Thank you god for the “deafness”,
that you blessed us with,
or else,
we would hear the abandoned babies wail,
on the doorstep of our society.
We would hear the screams,
of humans forced against their will.
We would hear the sobs of the old,
left on eiderdown beds, to die.
We would hear the desperate cry,
of the fallen in this rat-race.
We would hear the silence that suffers,
behind the loudest screams.

Thank you god for the “dumbness”,
that you blessed us with,
or else,
we would shout, at the top of our voice,
at the atrocities heaped.
We would cry, the loudest,
by the dazed old parents and the widow.
We would talk ‘heart to heart’,
with the lonely and the depressed.
We would sing a lullaby, to calm,
the orphan babies whimpers.
We would speak the words,
that were silenced by our hollow self-consciousness.

Thank you god for allowing us to think,
that ‘cowardice’ is a ‘survival instinct’.
Thank you god for making us feel,
that ‘insensitivity’ lives outside our selves.
Thank you god for the ‘excuse’, of inaction,
robed in the guise of wisdom.

Two sides

a poem by Anup Chandran V

The battle continues
the practical and the romantic
in an ever engaging tussle,
the right from the wrong
the paths to take
not that there is much choice,
either way, ever engrossed,
intertwined and yet distinct,
the practical feels empty,
the romantic distressed,
the practical feels the elixir of achievement,
the romantic, the peace and oneness,
the realist and the dreamer,
who is right and what is right,
whether there is really a difference,
isn’t it all a point of view,
is there so much of a difference,
questions rage on and on,
and somewhere in between, there is compromise,
the call of survival, the subsistence way,
the compromise that is recognised as “wisdom”,
but few don’t desire to bend,
they break and their blood,
inspires a stubborn breed,
of brittle heroes,
that die, and only a few,
are recognised,
as martyrs
and the others lie,
in their untitled tombs,
covered by layers,
of the sands of time
the mortal remains,
of the immortal quest.

Every one Knows

a poem by Anup Chandran V

Every one knows, no one ponders,
on the “mantras’ of goodness,
dried ink on books stacked,
on shelves of dust, forming,
the sands of time, best forgotten,
searching questions that are least comfortable

Every one knows, no one reaches within,
to practice what is preached,
religion, a “feel good” thing,
a “two minute high”, quick shot,
to fix the surfaces of the crumbling edifice,
with a fresh coat of paint.

Every one know, no one analyses,
spoken words on the podium of politics,
the “cliches” and the “bravado”
that hides the slinking cowardice,
plastic faces, rehearsed lines,
and in the gullies, the truth dies.

Every knows, no one admits,
the easiness of turning, a blind eye,
and try not to understand,
“what goes around, comes around”,
passing the parcel of blame,
and wager that the music will not pause.

Every one knows, no one waits,
to reflect in truth and sincerity,
the blare and the glare ensures,
numbed senses, on the fast!!! track,
where the external reigns supreme,
and the mirrors are broken with impunity.

Every one knows, no one acknowledges,
the fear of facing themselves,
the layers of make-believe,
the rituals of back slapping,”bon-homie”,
and the inebriation of “achievements” ensure,
the glint in the eye.

Your Grace

a poem by Anup Chandran V

I thank you for which I needn’t thank,
I appreciate you which I needn’t appreciate,
all that I do is superfluous,
as I see with the eyes that
have already seen,
I think the thought already thought,
the borrowed eyes and the borrowed thought,
cannot bestow on you,
what has not already been given.
I thank my good fortune and your grace,
for the warmth in my thought,
and the moist in my eyes.

Stranger and the Self

a poem by Anup Chandran V

Simplicity complicated,
in images imagined,
expectations by the
ever moving multifarious,
viewing from varying vantage,
society kaleidoscope,
searching stability.
Ephemeral in the quest,
to engrave,
in the folds of eternal rocks,
on the lines of a statue.
Layers of perceptions crafting,
an image.
Clouds of imagination trapping,
an image.
Kneading innocence into contours,
the clutch of suffocation,
of the self.
Bursts of tears or tempers,
momentary succor,
the knowledge of the complicity,
complicates further.
“Faith” a crutch, to lean on,
and leave it to another imagination,
call it “god”, call it “religion”,
the weight of the “specific” overbearing,
the seas of “abstract”, an ecstatic refuge.
Call it “spiritual”
the refuge to seek, in the despair of the self,
the heavens that instill,
the positive and the good,
the dulling of the senses,
straying in the wild,
the lulling to sleep,
in the arms of the unknown,
the stranger who doesn’t appear, strange,
and had seemed to lurk,on every tear,
of frustration, on every quest,
and every restless.
The stranger in whose arms,
peace comes easy,
the stranger that seems to be,
the self.

Tryst

a poem by Anup Chandran V

Mother! Please don’t wait on me for dinner tonight
For I have gone a little far to fight a war,
I know you will as you always have, understand
I leave with you that part of me which will relish
with all its self, whatever you decide to feed.

Mother! Please don’t wait on me for the morning prayers.
For I have gone a little far to fight a war
I know you will as you always have, understand
I leave with you that part of me which relaxes
as it hears, sitting by your side, your chantings clear.

Mother! Please don’t wait on me for your daily blessings.
For I have gone a little far to fight a war
I know you will as you always have, understand
I leave with you that part of me which looks forward
to touch that feet that always, always is revered.

Mother! Please don’t wait on me when the shadows lengthen.
For I have gone a little far to fight a war
I know you will as you always have, understand
I leave with you that part of me which worries
at your anxiety, and hurries to be near.

Mother! Please don’t wait on me when they bring me in.
For I had gone a little far to fight a war
I know you will as you always have, understand
I leave with you that part of me which died
for your thousand sons, to be safe and be in good cheer.

Mother! Please don’t wait on me when they bring me in.
For I had gone a little far to fight a war
I know you will as you always have, understand
I leave with you that part of me which justified
your love for me, the only way that was known to me.

Mother! Please don’t wait on me when they bring me in.
For I had gone a little far to fight a war
I know you will as you always have, understand
I leave with you that part of me which will always be,
yearning to keep dying for your almighty grace.

Theories

a poem by Anup Chandran V

Theories, everywhere
everyone stressing, emphasising, believing
the shadows that refuse to recede
clouds that seldom clears
there is god, there is no god
there is religion, there is no religion
on and on and on to talk and feel comforted
me, mine, myself, their language
glib talking their way, into the realms of a fool.
Simplicity, has but one question
why this complication?
Goodness, has but one question
why this difficulty in comprehension?
What does it matter if three letters sound God.
Why is religion, one’s inadequacies shroud.

Story Teller

a poem by Anup Chandran V

Unravelling the minds impression,
that finds life in a story.
the life that is twisted, contoured,
turned, shaped, cut and cured,
pouring out like lava,
from the story telling mind.
Finesse of language,
the gentle breeze that cools.
the enthusiasm, fine waves
that flow to kiss the story telling feet.
Energy it creates, as it flows out,
and goes behind the story telling reach,
the life that it derives seeks and attains,
an independence beyond denial,
of the story telling god.
The beginning and the trail may be preordained,
but the course revels in itself,
and for moments ephemeral,
tastes freedom,
joy unalloyed and then it surrenders to the will,
of the story telling master.
The master can’t but realise,
that the mouth piece was his,
but the voice was its own.
That the thought was his,
but the inspiration was its own.
The story telling master can’t but acknowledge,
that creation is far and beyond,
and can never be acclaimed as one’s own.
The story like a child, newborn,
momentarily dependent,
but ever its own.
A guest that dwelled for a moment,
in the mind of the story telling host.
The story which appears as his creation,
but in fact, was ever its own.

Human Spirit

a poem by Anup Chandran V

The power of determination,
path within to chart,
engaging shadows of,
doubt, regret, remorse,
exorcising the negative,
exposing the light,
nurturing and sharing it,
through the medium of the eyes,
forging high roads through,
the “maya” maze,
ever glowing and growing,
inspiring,
the within and the without,
the art of knowing oneself,
to know all.
The knowledge that,
killing and maiming,
is cowardice prancing as power.
The knowledge that the,
skin and bones old man,
going by the name of “Gandhi”
the “naked fakir”,
on the chariot flown,
by the doves of peace,
and the mantra,
of non-violence,
could silence the
fiercest weapons.
The knowledge that,
the lamps lit by the
fire in his eyes,
burns safely in thousand minds,
for thousand years to come.
The knowledge that,
the hatred may singe the skin,
but come nowhere,
near the lamps of peace,
that warms the soul.
The lamps that lights the way,
through the deepest darkness, within,
stoked by the Christs, Budhas, Gandhis,
our fathers, and our sons,
humans,
the spirit of humans,
away and beyond,
the ephemeral burst,
of the despairing fears,
the shallow lights blown away,
by the slightest breeze…
The spirit of humans,
away and beyond
the groping hatred,
of the cowardice,
swaying and trembling,
by the slightest breeze…

Thin Lines

a poem by Anup Chandran V

Running criss-cross, weaving intricate
boundaries defining, limiting,
the invisible thin lines,
spaces above us,
spaces between us,
spaces that spread and mould,
to and fro, back and forth,
ever violating those thin lines,
rules and measures,
do’s and dont’s,
ever converging and separating,
that which is felt,
that which is perceived,
the invisible lines, that are crossed,
the spaces in our minds,
web of existence,
spreading beyond the sensibility,
into the horizons far,
and managing sometimes,
to concise in the palm of our hands,
the spaces beyond us,
the spaces within us,
the spaces to meet,
whenever, wherever,
the thin lines to cross,
however, whatever,
the spaces not invaded by the thought,
with its limitation,
of being concrete,
the spaces of infinity,
the spaces of thin lines,
what is and what appears,
the freedom and the bondage,
intertwined in those thin lines,
the vibrations of life,
the stillness of death,
the confusion of the sane,
the revelry of the insane,
the thin lines that are crossed,
moment to moment,
monumented sometimes in the,loves light,
sometimes in the shades of the,
tombstone.

War

a poem by Anup Chandran V

The fire of hell, packed in shells,
a march, a knell on humanity tells,
claims of righteousness, just as well,
pride in blood and guts to dwell.
The torn face of love, ‘Ravaged’ berate,
bugles to sound on memorials ornate,
a scar washed in tears exasperate,
of the mother, who lost her sons to hate.

Of journeys and goals

a poem by Anup Chandran V

Everyone in heaven and hell, daily stroll,
the good is the ‘white’ flight,
the bad is the ‘black’ fall,
everything registers in the innermost core,
to know the scriptures within,
is to be in fore.
Suffering in variety shades, no ones free,
to do so for others,
sets an happy spree,
morose why on “what will be will be”
Destinies are afterthoughts,
what faith’s decree.
Good is to know the role,
that burning lights the soul,
the pain in selfless extol,
is not the journey, but in fact,
the goal.
For now, it seems…

Rat-Race

a poem by Anup Chandran V

Step on my shoulders, by all means,
if that takes you up and away,
to the threshold of the satisfied,
beyond the stench of then wretched.
But if you do it cause you can’t deem,
the smugness within me, and my eyes gleam,
then I beg you my dear brother,
to let me live and let me dream.
For to silence your inner scream,
please don’t throttle my breath’s stream.
I am a nobody who aims for nothing,
I don’t even know who I am and why,
I AM NO THREAT TO ANY ONES QUEST
let me be, please let me be.
Such a me, if you see,
as someone you must slay,
the only thing that you can take,
is this nothingness, in nothing’s wake.