Life as a teacher

What a great life it is!

I know not how long I live

No one knows it too.

Indeed, it's a great life

I know not how long it lasts

No one lasts long too.

To read, to write, to speak

I exist, but with no claims,

No one thought I could.

I read, I wrote, I spoke

To some fine souls

No one knows but I.

This time, my time, is

Finer than ever, than

Anyone else imagines.

It is not the longer life,

But a long teaching life,

God, grant me for you.

Being Wanted

What is the greatest happiness one can have in life?

Is it money, food, sex or power?

Money's value diminishes

Food's taste is short-lived

Sex leads to frustration

Power powers to hatred

None of these lasts forever.

One who lays trust in any of these has a universal name: FOOL.

What is the greatest happiness one can have in life?

A moment of being wanted.

Tes, the feeling of being wanted.

A moment of giving.

Yes, the act of giving.

These differentiate the HAPPY from the FOOL.

In the last couple of months, 

I have been happier than ever.

I have the feeling of being wanted.

Being wanted by knowledge-seekers,

Is an amazing feeling.

Oh! I can feel it.

I can't think of a session without some of you*.

You make me better.

Although I cook the same,

Like every time a mother cooks

the most delicious food for her children.

But I am getting the 'unlikely' response,

Of these magnificent ones

And that makes me feel better.

Oh! I can feel it.

O God!

What a happy person I am!

Help me serve better.

Help me feel more wanted,

Even at the cost of every loss in this world.

Supply me with knowledge seekers

To whom I can offer my life.

Enkindle me, a candle,

To be melted to the last dust of the wax

For these great ones given to me.

*My most vibrant and ever-responsive PhD scholars....

An ode to a wonderful student

Can I believe my eyes?

How do I trust my senses?

With sheer unbelief, I started twitching my eyelids.

With utter mistrust, I started testing my senses.

Never had I seen someone so scholarly attending my sessions.

Seldom I  sense someone reshaping the uttered words into structured treatises at ease.

No one has any idea how happy I am.

Did someone tell you anytime that you have the gift of words?

No wonder, if it is so.

But, did someone tell you that you have the extraordinary gift of abstraction?

You are focused.  You have an enviable power of clasping.

May God bless you to be a mother of infinitude of written words.

Quo vadis?

What a great run during these months! 

A run in a circuit shortened by the former and the latter normals.

Restless I may, but overfull is the desktop in all sense.

Life is changed inevitably, but that is life.

Society is changed reluctantly, but that is society.

Being part of a changed society with a changed life is what I experience now.

Some pass the day fearing the unknown and the unseen to pass them.

Some fear the pass of the unknown and the unseen days.

Some pass the fear of the unknown and the unseen.

But some, like me, fear the unknown and the unseen may pass them.

My run in this short circuit makes me pass the comment

That the known and the seen are always the delightful ones.

FISH on the shore

Fear.
Ignorance.
Suspicion.
Helplessness.

I was safe in the water.
I could go to the deep waters.
Sometimes, I could go to the shore.
I was in the sea of confidence.

Suddenly, the water is receded.
It continued to recede.
So also is my confidence.
Masked, sanitized, alienated fish is out of water.

Deep sea fish is no more in the deep.
It is in the shallow water.
Fear. Ignorance. Suspicion. Helplessness.
Alienated to insanity.
Sanitized to be masked.
Masked to be alienated.

Divided we stand. United we fall.
The new philosophy of the time.
But not a new one.
Many human covids tried to divide the people
Before the covids appeared.

Empathy
Knowledge.
Acceptance.
Support.

Rise up humanity.

She had gone to the Lord

She cried, when I was born.
I cried, when she had gone.

She bled, when I was born.
She bled, when I was torn.
She was torn, when I was bled
She was done, when I had gone.

She cried, when I cried.
She smiled when I smiled.
She cried, when I walked,
With joy, she talked.
She cried, when I talked,
With joy, she walked.

The stories she told,
Are the berries I hold.
The memories I hold,
Are the stories she told.

She kissed my cold skin
Soaked in blood when I was born.
I kissed her cold in the coffin
Packed in when blood is gone.

I cried, when she had gone,
With the dead, to the mud.
I cried, when she had gone,
With joy, to the Lord.

Write anyway...

To write always
Is right always.
The pain to write
Is the gain to read.
With pain, may ye write
the rites of our rights.
May ye gain then, time
that is your me-time.