Some silly poems written in 1992.

The Oracle  ( After reading Yeats and the Greek classics. The oracle here is an imaginary amalgamated figure.Not just Tiresias)

Thus spake Apollo through
the lips of his devotee true.
The oracle of Delphi divine
the wisdom beyond homo-design.

The oracle father within his heart,
bore the lofty Aesculepian art,
condemned Oedipus when he came,
warned him of his fate of shame.

Sceptic Socrates challenged him
in Athens thus faith grew dim.
Great intellects of Attic thus
opposed Sophism and all the fuss,
of the hemlock man's  cult of doom,
that swept away Zeus soon.

Swept away is the base
of civilazation and human race.
The gods have died a premature death,
and so would happen, the oracle hath saith.

The oracle father was the bond
of earthly knowledge and that beyond
which lies in misty milky way,
without temporal night or day.
Where eternal mystery pervades all
and heaven is silent to human call.



Written in memory of Prof. Dr. A. W. Mahmood.


I recollect seeing him
from the eternity of
 my mother's womb.
I recollect the sombre hymn
he sang of wisdom's doom.
I recollect seeing his
silvery hair and I miss
his wrinkled loving face
in front of me - symbol
of a vanished race
of men of knowledge.
He has his ancestry 
back to the ancient tree.
The tree of Vedic Knowledge
the tree of an Aryan air.


I recollect seeing those faces
of men I think I knew
in my previous births.
Births of Neanderthal races
to Paleolithic ages
coming down to Cromagnon
and the grim faced Grimaldi,
that intermixed freely and 
transformed into the Mongoloid,
Caucasoid and Negroid,
preparing us for the eternal void,
soon to usurp the racial 'oid',
embracing creation in
 a passionate nothingness.
The virile love of destruction
for the beauty of creation.


Those creatures dwelling
in my grey cells
have begun singing and dancing
like primordial men-
uncontrolled, breathing life
and exuding life and
paralyzing senses
into a mere consciousness.
In a second the flame goes out.
What matters most?
To find it, do we roast
our knowledge or fry it?
or boil to the point
 where everything is ether lit.


It is the inevitability.
It is the last smile
of understanding futility.
La Gioconda knows it
Da Vinci taught it.
She smiles at him and at it.


 Grief


Something suffocating.
Something terrible.
Something inexplicable.
Something saddening.
Something sometimes troublesome.

Something sometimes tear some
to control.