Holy!

Name, place, animal, thing:
Worldly peace they all bring.
Prefix to them the word holy,
It's hate, chaos and melancholy!

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

Lost In Search

To view the life of another
I left known lands around me;
And boarded a naïve canoe
to search the map-less sea.

There I lost my compass
and rights to speak or see;
And now I search for another:
the remnants of the real me.

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

Houses

Houses are like
Cows:
they silently
graze
every
living moment
of their inmates
and then
ruminate
forever...

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

How To Dance The Peacock Dance

Enter the wild: a rain forest,
reach its quietest foothills,
hide inside a close, thick bush
and carefully watch its moves.
Concentrate on its dark eyes,
its pulsating, buoyant torso,
its passion filled legs,
its iridescent plumage;
Capture everything you see
and inject into your blood;
and at your place
practice and practice
and practice.

Or

Become a peacock
and just amble.

The great ones, I’m told,
became Peacocks.

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

Deepavali

The divine day,
on which the widow sky,
with will sheds her ill framed fate,
with skill cracks her cultural chains
and with pride portrays to her earthly mates,
the way to become,
the hope to become,
and the joy of becoming
a full blossomed bride,
again!

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

Roses

Two girls would always take a stroll,
Beside my little garden of roses.
Their eyes would always miss me,
But never the beautiful roses.

Both their eyes would brighten up,
Both their lips would widen.
But only one hand would stretchen out,
To pluck the lovely roses.

I stopped them once on their stroll,
To ask a long-standing question.
Why one always did pluck it out ?
While the other never touched the roses.

It makes 'me' more beautiful ,said one
Gives 'me' a sense of pride.
Throws many an eye on 'me',
And I just love the roses.

Let 'it' live ,said the other one,
Than die on the tress of a man.
Let 'it' sing and dance in its own world,
And relish its short life span.

She never seemed to have a liking,
For she never uttered the word love.
But she gave me a thought that still lingers on,
Who really loved the roses?

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

On Truth Seekers

All truth seekers are Donkeys.
And truth, the Carrot on a stick:
Existing not, in its fixed form;

But as an enticing Mirage,
That constantly changes,
In color, and form, and size, and shape;

And dangles, in a volatile scape
That, too, constantly changes,
In firmaments, and terrains;

Before the Donkey's rational mind
Which, too, constantly changes,
In motifs and perceptions.

Pradeep Dhavakumar

Test for Love

Take your love and:
Paint to the Darkest shade.
Bloat to the Greatest mass.
Blunt to the Basest voice.
Dress to Unsightliest clothes.
And throw to Farthest land.

And erase for eternity:
Reminding photos and videos.
Bothering others' opinions.
Formatting culture and values.
Glorifying poems and songs.

Now Surround yourself with:
Most Beautiful ever made.
Fittest Physique ever had.
Sweetest Voice ever heard.
Richest Fortune ever possessed.
Highest Intelligence ever seen.

And if your:
Eye lids dont bother to lift.
Ears shut to the sound of their lips.
Lips dont care to speak a word.
Heart still yearns for the One thrown afar.
Perhaps, You have loved.

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

In the Bathroom ( Haiku Series)

Beige shower curtains,
cover shy, naked body,
from peeping mirrors.

Showers and faucets,
change into cascades and streams,
on fingers' voodoo.

Green-apple shampoo,
Rosemary-lavender soap,
garden in the tub.

Lather on fingers,
unadorned plastic walls,
verses on my mind.

Ale of hot and cold,
truths and lies- tighly entwined,
morn's quota of life.

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

Alchemy

Dried red chilli,
in the mouth;
Angelic fire,
on the tongue;
Nascent fountain,
in the eyes;
Virgin river,
through the nose;
Mellow vapor,
in the ears;
Cozy zephyr,
through the throat;
Dancing earthquake,
in the gut;
Golden cucumbers,
out they flow!

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

The Trap

The trap was set.
Planned to perfection.
And the baits were many:
Silky words, False Smiles,
Opulent gifts, faux care.
All concealed with high interest rates.
And the prey did fall.
Good Hunt, Business I thought.
Sadly, the world called it love.

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

Dreamland (Villanelle)

This is the land where I come to meet
someone who appears like god to me
someone who exists only in dreams.

The sand is soft and cool as beach;
The air smells of fresh lavender and peach;
This is the land where I come to meet.

The sun and stars concurrently shine;
Words on clouds direct me to the shrine
of someone who exists only in dreams.

As I run at high pace, black birds wish;
Fields of blue bells, beside me swish;
This is the land where I come to meet.

As I lunge inside, longingly she stands,
Like a pearl waiting for its only strand:
This someone who exits only in dreams.

As I rush to her, like mist she disappears,
And needles like rain from above appear...
This is the land I always go to meet
someone who exists only in dreams.

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

Passion

I never
understood
passion;
until
the day
I spent
the whole
night
and the
next
day
and the
next
night
searching
for a
word
to place
on a
poem
I would
never
write.

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

At The Hands Of A Friend

I was shot
At the hands of a friend.
And I fell down
To a deep dark end.
There I laid for years
With more fears than tears;
Contemplating the reasons
For the change in the seasons.

Years later still dripping,
I stood up again.
With hope as strong as steel,
That it could never be my friend.
My closing eyes opened
To the face I held so dear.
My heart still refusing
That he is the one near.

As I struggled to stand,
As my life left the land,
Came the burning words,
Even the mightiest bullets feared.
'Yes, its me ', he said,
And without the slightest strain,
He shot me again.

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

Man's Relationship With God

Would thou still stand before me? , asked God,
If I can no longer wash thy sins.
Would thou still read my scriptures? ,
If I can no longer offer thee a place in heaven.
Would thou still sing my praise? ,
If I can no longer grant thy selfish desires.
Would thou still want to meet me? ,
If I no longer have my magical powers.
No! Never! , said Man,
Otherwise, I am not Human.

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

Wind

O 'Wind- didst thou bring
the breath of those I miss?
O'Wind- wouldst thou say
If their breath is still happy and gay?
O'Wind- wouldst thou stay
and take my breath far away?
O'Wind- wilt thou say
that I breathe with them every day?

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

The Code of Silence ( Sonnet)

At the crossroads of hate and fear,
I met those whom no man held dear;
A Donkey, a Hippo, a Canetoad, a Viper,
All spoke a code, so hard to decipher.

Their code of Silence, I tried to hear,
With my Mind alone, for many a year;
I wore their skin, I stood their boot,
I lived their life till I found the truth.

In Silence, there was, the donkey's song,
The hippo's polka, also, floated along;
The canetoad’s hug, viper’s deep kiss,
The code did contain, their love, their bliss.

Who said just void, Silence does possess;
How else these Hated, can better express?

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

Wines, Bottles and Plato

I knew that old wine in a new bottle is better
than an old wine in an old bottle but not as good
as a new wine in an old bottle. But to clear my doubt

whether the new wine in a new bottle is better
than a new wine in an old bottle, I invited Plato
for a drink. He took a bottle, drank the wine

and placed the empty bottle on the table and
showed me that what goes inside is the wine
and not the bottle. Any advice? I asked.

Make New Wines he said, not new bottles.

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

On Guilt

Guilt is like
a Salmon: It sprouts
at a place of
pure, follows
the streams of time
and travels
and settles
in lands: unrelated
and far; absorbing
along its way
every grain
that life spurts;
and accruing
knowledge,
while growing
in weight;
and once matured
in morals
struggles
to get back to
the place where born
to die.

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

The Resonating Note

I knew not of the place and time
Or the forces that lead me there
But stranded I was, in the dark
With a guitar, left, for my pair.

I knew not of its shade or wood
Or ways to hold, to pluck or play
Yet, fingers somehow slid and hit
A heavenly note, lighting the day.

That note, I swear, that day did make:
The bod of earth, as soft as silk
The blood of sea, as sweet as wine
And cheek of night, as white as milk.

To learn the art, the legs did leave
To lands beyond the sights of mind
As nothing less would quite suffice
The piece of craft, the hands did find

For years I learnt, as much I could:
Of chords, and sharps, and bars, and scales
To hold, to pull, to slide, to strike
And acoustics of sounds, and waves

The learned now, has many met
And walked on many strings and frets
Yet that note I heard, when none I knew
Somehow, inside, still, resonates...

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

Communicative Clouds

Having adorned them with words before
I flung my pen to the sorority of clouds
and stood beneath for a repay in verse.

Fearing solitude, addiction and perhaps
madness most of these extroverts slipped
away citing reasons of duty and time.

While some slyly waited for the dark,
others scratched their heads for words,
convoluted, then separated and died.

To hint and interest them on metaphors
I stood still, circled, walked on four legs,
and even briefly wiggled on the ground.

As light began to devour its dessert
just one escaped the magician's hat
and appeared determined to write.

Now this cloud has been standing there
for months, changing to a moon at night
and a longing, innocent eye in my sleep,

always observing but never voicing;
portraying a woman in a closed society;
perhaps asking to write on their plight.

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

Moonlight

Promenading with eyes
faithful to a moon lands
a man in a pit. Proceeding
still through a hand-made
hole leads to a nascent, silver
suite where the moon permeates
the whole sky. Continuing still
evaporates every grain
of matter, in and around and
metamorphoses himself into
the moon: dead, solitary
and at another’s mercy; while
the moon that ravishes every
night in many plush lands to
whomever who croons becomes
the proof of Darwin’s theory.

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

Possession

Oh! here She is
In My fingers' wrap;
On duty, She holds
My morning fuel.

But once She lived
On the plains of class;
The sculptor’s Sperm
The painter's Child.

Oh! Possession
What hast Thou done?
An Art abased
To a coffee Cup!

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

An Obsecration

The pious, I obsecrate
To perceive and apprehend
With an unprejudiced mind
Every Other's Scripture.
Juxtapose and scrutinize
What do Thy mind see?
Differ do all, omnifariously.
For Veracious be One,
Perfidious must Others be.
If perfidious could be One,
Why cannot All be?

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

Painting A Relationship

It’s not a masterpiece I aim for
But a rudimentary piece of art;

Two mountains for faithfulness,
A sun in-between for happiness,
A soft river below for peace,
And white swans in it for purity.

But every time, I try to finish,
The mountains laugh and crumble,
The sun smirks and disappears,
The river flouts and evaporates,
And the swans burn and become black.

--Pradeep Dhavakumar

Zooming Two Lines of Shakespeare’s CXVI

“O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken”
– William Shakespeare, Sonnet CXVI

How beautiful does Shakespeare paint true love:
As a calm, strong and steady being amid chaos!

But what the bard fails to address is the real cause
of that tempest and its relationship with the fixed mark.

Four hundred million years ago, a large meteorite,
as big as ten football fields, on landing on a peaceful

earth catapulted waves as big as mountains,
rains of eroding acids, violent thunderstorms,

extreme temperatures, global darkness, land separations,
and destroyed fifty percent of most life forms

and made the earth like a mad man, in complete madness,
jumping, screaming and tearing out his cloth and bod;

While the meteorite remained an ever fixed mark,
as if it did nothing but was bravely watching and surviving.

Pradeep Dhavakumar