Skip to main content

ego-friendly poem

This is an ego-friendly poem.

It is not trying to make a point
because it admits that you,
dear reader, have a point
and it will not contest that.

This poem is not trying to
say anything new because
it concedes to you that
talent, that right.

It will criticise nobody
for who better than you,
dear reader, to make
a judgment?

Neither does this poem
praise anyone, not even
you, dear reader, because
that again is a form of
and that is best left
to you.

It is not even trying
to do something smart
because, again,
who is smarter than you,
dear reader?

This poem will not even
claim that it is an ego-friendly
That too is judgmental,
is it not,
and that function,
is yours alone,
dear reader.

So this tries to be an ego-friendly poem.


Aug 22, 2009


Re-edited Apr 26, 2016:

This is an ego-friendly poem.
It is trying very hard to be.

This poem is not trying to say
anything new dear reader, be-
cause it concedes to you that power.

It is not trying to make a po-
int because it admits that you, de-
ar reader, have a point and it 
will not contest that. Oh no never.

It will criticise nobody for
who could have more right than you, to make
a fair assessment, dear reader?

Neither does this poem praise any-
one, not even you, dear reader,
because that again is a form of
judgment and that is best left to you.

It is not even trying to do
something smart because, again, who is
smart and who is not, dear reader?

This poem will not even claim that
it is ego-friendly. That too is
judgmental, is it not? And that right
too, is yours alone, dear reader.

So this tries so hard, dear reader

to be an ego-friendly poem.


Popular posts from this blog

She's complicated

She's complicated. She'll charm you with charts, statistics and that corporate smile. But look into those eyes, they're fiercely bohemian. She's complicated. Her chatterings seem to resonate with happy sounds, but listen with the other ear, to an unhidden lament. She's complicated. Her silences agonise, her voice echoes in her absence. And yet there is a mild dread as her name flashes on the ringing phone. She's complicated. Sometimes she's a poetess, shallow, romantic, trying to hide a sardonic, world-weary wit. She's complicated. She could be a spiteful Fury, wrath unabated, but that's just to hide the lamb-hugging girl within. She's complicated. She's an enchantress, a fool, a tyrant, a nurse, an imp, a priestess, but she's generally a good friend. She's complicated. Published in Making Waves - A Poetry Anthology , ed. Pam & Bill Swyers; Swyers Publishing 2011. ISBN: 978-0-9843113-6-1.

Nellie, 1983

Very often the sun rises in warm, golden rays on opening buds, birdsong and dewdrops, and the stench of stale death. Very often the sun rises Upon mutilated men - blood drying over their eyes and gore-caked machetes rusting in their abdomens. Very often the sun rises over hyaenas fretting over the carrion going waste - they can eat no more, nor can the vultures. Very often the sun rises on a day already defeated - shrieking, screeching, screaming, demanding that it go back for there was peace in the night. Published in Tranquil Muse 2018.

To the piece of orange peel in my bag on the trip to Janjira,

You were the only one to stay by my side when all others Had left me to travel that final stretch homeward alone And while I had to throw you away after two days Because of the stench that made me put the bag in the wash And earn mother's censure onto which she piled older grievances You did help relive some happy memories of the sea breeze And the boatmen's chatter and the old bronze cannons’ roar And cope with those whose IQ is less than yours And taught me that I was mortal in that ride across the creek And that like you I too shall one day be stripped of my essence And confined to the dustbin of humanity I miss you, orange peel Published in Lakdi Ka Pul - II The Poetry Bridge 2017 — an international anthology by Twin City Poetry Club