Ode to an aggrieved Brother

Dear Brother, what is your bother?
Do not let us smother.
Are ye not the one to control,
for years we console.
Are ye not the elder,
shoulder the weather.
Haven't you been loved,
why do you shove?

Dear Brother, what is your bother?
Think of our Mother,
our beloved Father.
Do not let them wither.
Haven't they done their best,
(now) let them rest.
Haven't they taught us well,
(now) bring up your swell.

Dear Brother, what is your bother?
Do not be weak,
for time is of a week.
Years have passed by,
but ye have not reconciled.
Have you forgotten love,
Father's friendly trove.

Dear Brother, what is your bother?
do you remember your falters,
and all the somersaulters?
Mother she cared,
while others snared.
It was Father who stood by,
the ones you say to goodbye.

Dear Brother, what is your bother?
It is not over yet,
it is also my bet,
that ye have just digressed,
mind as distressed.
Come come now,
pick ye up,
(we still have) respect respect.

Dear Brother, what is your bother?
all is needed,
that is within you,
which ye have forgotten.
Bring it to fore,
for time is no more.
Strive, survive,
love is there to revive.

Dear Brother, what is your bother?




.....................Adil (8th day of January in the year of peace 2018).

If

If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!



........................................................................Rudyard Kipling



The poet has captured the complete sphere of becoming the being.
It has left a mark, a mark so deep that guides me in my quest for a better being.
I've been dying to upload this poem for so long and finally today is the day.

Death of a Legend

Death of a Legend: Of a Generation bygone


At times, it is hard,
at times, my eyes moist.
Just the thought of you,
Gives life a hoist.

There were days then,
And then there is now,
A vacuum, a dry pond, an empty house,
Blooming flowers and lush gardens all await your grace.

Your presence all-encompassing, yet empowering
So powerful, yet undaunting,
A flow of charge within, an upsurge,
A dose of life.

We may not have been near then,
But today i am lost.
In wilderness i search,
A beacon no longer aflame.

Age is relative,
Your presence imperative,
White beard when i was young,
Today i am old.

Oh! God how selfish must i be,
That i do not see,
Life must move on,
So must she.

God Bless!!!
Written for my AmmA
(27th July 1911 - 3rd Jan 2008)

12th Jan 2008

Death the Leveler

The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armor against Fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and Crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill:
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuriong breath
When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow;
Then boast no more your mighty deeds!
Upon Death's purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds.
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb:
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.

..................................................James Shirley

Alone

Sometimes distances blur
Life Stands by,
In silent whispers
Times go by.

Coming at Crossroads
In paths serene,
Strangers we part
Friends, Foes alike.

Meals we share
At Times, we glare,
A soft glance
A slight smile.

Bright Pigeons
Lazy Monkeys,
Cold Summers
and Sweet Pain,

All in Vain.
Years turn Days,
Roads Gateways
I am Left Alone.


.........................Adil
14th April 2006

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

.............................................................Dylan Thomas

Patience

Do you feel the Anger?
The feeling of being powerless,
Incapable of doing anything.
In this world of nothing,
What can I do is my Cry.

Doing Anyhting!
Is it about the larger Interest
that you talk of,
Is it not what needs to be?

Larger Interest,
What is that,
Can I do something in my Being,
In the neighbourhood of my Living,
Is not that Possible?

My Neighbourhood
is my domain.
I can do, yes can I not!
A small change can
bring in the Tsunami of a Difference.

…………………………Adil
4th April 2006


A feeling of anger when it sets in can cause a burst of emotions. Directing them emotions positively has always been my endeavour.
Regards.

Of A Painted Sky, A Setting Sun, The Mystical Air, Barren Fields, A Lone Tree, The Railway Track, The Plastic Trail and A Station called Takli

""Of A Painted Sky, A Setting Sun,
The Mystical Air, Barren Fields,
A Lone Tree, The Railway Track,
The Plastic Trail and A Station called Takli""


In the distant,
Further than the farthest,
The Colours of Bloom,
Existing in Eternal Gloom,
While the Bird sours High as long as it can Fly.

And there,
Where man can, dare?!!
The glowing Orb,
Burns to Glory,
While the Bird sours High as long as it can Fly.

A freshness, far beyond
that which the Urbs know
Drifts across,
A blessing, an Ode to Life,
While the Bird sours High as long as it can Fly.

The sign of Prosperity,
Of human toil and murky waters,
Of an earth and heavenly Plasters,
The music of Food and motley Souls,
While the Bird sours High as long as it can Fly.

A shadow in the Skies,
A blanket of Life,
But what can I do,
When alone I stand,
While the Bird sours High as long as it can Fly.

I stretch, to bring thee, close
the miles on, I sing the same Song,
I never bond my Twin,
For thy sins, I pay,
While the Bird sours High as long as it can Fly.

I do not exist,
In the minds that I do,
I cannot perish,
For that which not is, is
While the Bird sours High as long as it can Fly.

Now where is Takli,
Oh! How do I care?
A passing thought, a passing flare,
The signs of Despair,
While the Bird sours High as long as it can Fly.


……………………….Adil Hussain Ali


Hi - this poem I wrote while I was on my way to Pune by Train on the 30th of March 2006; it was Evening and I was standing by the Door soaking in the Scenery.
The first four lines is the Title of the Poem and each quartet talks of a different theme in the Title, while the 5th line is a distant cry and is in addition to the quartet.
It is a poem eulogizing Natures greatness, its expanse and the human madness. It is the story of a slow decline of the Human Mind.

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound is the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

....................................Robert Frost

The Brook

I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret
by many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may comeand men may go,
But I go on forever.

I wind about, and in and out,
with here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel
With many a silver water-break
Above the golden gravel,

And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeam dance
Against my sandy shallows.

I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars;
I loiter round my cresses;

And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

---------------Lord Alfred Tennyson

The Tree of My Life

WHEN I was yet but a child, the gardener gave me a tree,
A little slim elm, to be set wherever seemed good to me
What a wonderful thing it seemed! with its lace-edged leaves uncurled,
And its span-long stem, that should grow to the grandest tree in the world!
So I searched all the garden round, and out over field and hill,
But not a spot could I find that suited my wayward will.
I would have it bowered in the grove, in a close and quiet vale;
I would rear it aloft on the height, to wrestle with the gale.

Then I said, "I will cover its roots with a little earth by the door,
And there it shall live and wait, while I search for a place once more."
But still I could never find it, the place for my wondrous tree,
And it waited and grew by the door, while years passed over me;
Till suddenly, one fine day, I saw it was grown too tall,
And its roots gone down too deep, to be ever moved at all.

So here it is growing still, by the lowly cottage door;
Never so grand and tall as I dreamed it would be of yore,
But it shelters a tired old man in its sunshine-dappled shade,
The children's pattering feet round its knotty knees have played,
Dear singing birds in a storm sometimes take refuge there,
And the stars through its silent boughs shine gloriously fair.

.........................................................................Edward Rowland Sill