Tag Archives: poet

To My Readers

Read my poems
if you should, read
for no reason known
or merely understood.

Or, I’ll wait
for someone else
for months
years or decades.

Maybe for centuries
to come
to find me alive
in my words.

Life of a poet
is better wasted writing
than waiting
for someone else
who writes.


The pen which can sleep for a year

The pen decided to sleep
at least for a year
and except for once
when it woke up for a cry
the pen enjoyed
a painless time.

Let the gift of freedom
even not to write
anything at all
be fully enjoyed
(even) by the pen
unless it feels otherwise.

When did I drink a drop of poetic mead?

Hold your breathe
as you read my words
and your reading is
never completed
if you forget to travel with me
step by step, or maybe
one step ahead
and two steps behind
or even round and round
through the paths of
Prose and Poetic Edda
of Norse poetry.

Know the skalds.
Meet with me
the God of Poetry
of Norse mythology
Bragi,a poet with a harp
and meet his wife,Iðunn
goddess associated with apples
and the granter of
eternal youthfulness,

Such an amazing story
of forgotten time,told!
Know the story
what Bragi says
about the origin
of the poetic mead
from the blood of wisest Kvasir.

Kvasir, who was born
out of saliva of two groups of God
Æsir and Vanir,
and how Odin obtained this mead
which is another story, Bragi tells.

But before that you have to know
about Æsir-Vanir War.
You have to know about two dwarves
Fjalar and Galar who killed Kvasir
to create this mead of poetry
by mixing his blood with honey.

This story of poetic mead
has Gilling, the giant and his wife
and his son Suttungr
who stored the mead hidden
in a place called Hnitbjörg, a mountain
and Gunnlöd,his daughter
who guarded the mead all alone.
Bölverk who was Odin in disguise
met Suttunsgr’s brother Bagui
and cospires stealing poetic mead.
Later, the share of poetic mead stolen
was given by Odin to the gods
and to the men gifted in poetry.

But when did I drink
even a drop of poetic mead?
When did I ever chase it for?
Then why this pain for penning?

A poet divided by night

In ancient time
they divided a night into four parts
not a poet.
This poet is divided by night.

The second “prahar” is now cusped
by the first.
Who there may dare to enjoy
when everyone wakes?

Forget the calculations of ancient time
when electricity was not invented,
computer and T.V was beyond dream
and internet could very well be treated
as black magic.

Poet is mostly busy doing light-
works like math or science
for his children
or repairing a personal finance system.

Maybe he is attending phone calls
or visitors till it is time to sup.
Where he gets time or scope
to think deeper?

Isn’t it always past twelve
when sleep enters?
Now it’s a debate between poetry and bed
and chance of poetry is fair to win
if poet is near fifty or plus.
Is it too bad?

Guess, a poem is taking shape
in the third prahar of night
as per ancient saying when
only the people with illicit interests
like thieves,murderers or paramours are to wake.

No one has said but I guess
poetry or internet may seem like a paramour too
to someone waiting on bed.

Should a poet necessarily
not be a human sometime?
Should someone waiting on bed be always wrong?

A night young, gets old, too soon.
No night comes when time stops for a while.
Should a poet wake up to the fourth-prahar
to give birth?

So far this ancient saying goes
it’s a time for spiritual thoughts.
Where his muse will now take his pen to?

Isn’t a new day now too close to breaking?
What this poet will do now
who is divided into four by a night?