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Creative Commons License
Subtle Complexities and Myriad Simplicities by Ashok Subramanian P is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Monday, March 09, 2009

I

Weep not, O little child of mine!
Bask in the warmth of the generous sun,
Dwell in my arms, Safe and cosy,
I'll shield you from the blight you fear,
Partake with you emotions thine!

Mourn not, O light of my life!
The murkiness in the sky shall pass,
The days of sun and toasted wine,
Fresher than ever, in the annals of mine!

Trust me, I swear on thy fair breast,
Not far the times of the ebullient one,
Greener pastures there will be,
No doubt, O love! You have,
These bearded loons will cease to be,
The freedom bells will ring!

God forbid, If there should be,
As much as a rustle in the bush,
Hold my hand, Devoid of fear,
We'll let the moment pass!

II

Leave me not, O fair one!
Don't let my poor heart burn,
Life, What life it would be,
A life for none and, just for one!

III

If one dark, grey, gloomy day,
A bullet should pierce my breast,
Don't cry, Don't weep, Don't even mourn,
Keep in check emotions thine and,
Console your fickle, finicky heart,
Just cherish the smile on my numbed face,
And that is all that I could say!

Cock-a-Doodle Town!

Life at the Cock-a-Doodle town,
Reinforced like concrete on bars of steel,
Up they go, Then they go down,
No dreams their eyes reveal!

Clickety-Clack the hooves of the prudent men,
Hypnotised, Their spiral eyes,
A noose, at the end a foolish ten,
Around some cheese, Excited mice!

Bang-a-Bang his pistol sounds,
Scattering the country bumpkins along,
Ignorance, He finds abound,
Whistles and breaks into a song!

Now the time of lighted lamps,
Activity abates, Voices down,
Yawn-o-Yawn his authority demands,
Such is life at the Cock-a-Doodle town!

Saturday, March 07, 2009

An Ode

You! Yes, You! Every artist's nightmare,
We run hither-thither the fear you bequeath,
A helpless, hapless beast into a snare,
Inevitable your grasp, Not one you spare,
Swell the pride of the phoenix-few,
Catch by the heel of the escaping flock,
Inherent misery, A dead sea beneath,
The pain, O sweet pain! The incredulous virgin,
Know not, just heard the veteran blue,
Know not will he till a good, fine day,
You grasp him with your steely fist,
And to his little child he says,
'Rough was the road that I trod!',
Glorify you, You shameless thief!
The wheels set in motion for the vicious circle!