A patient note 
 
I am in a hospital: dressed
in a hospital gown, reclining 
in a bed of pain, aware 
 
of an irritating catheter draining
the pink urine into a bag; 
                                           the city skyline
 
illuminates my room window;
                                            I scroll down the pictures,
the people, in my phone;

                                            an absence fills
the shelves of my mind. I pine
for simple things, like piddling, like washing,
 
in privacy, with dignity.

(07/03/2021)
(Setu Literary Magazine- USA)
©https://www.poeticnoesis.com/

Our brain

Our brain, as old as the sea, carries 
the footprints 
of our every activity, 
our eternity; 
carries a shape 

carved by our experiences, 
our ancestors, our environment.
Like a cask of memories
carries our, identity, heirlooms, 
our universe 

filled with our own sunshine, 
clouds, people, and beasts. 
Like a parliament, our brain, 
debates endlessly
about our conflicting, endless, desires.

Our brain, a shape-shifter, constantly 
rewrites its circuitry.
Every day our brain 
tries to break free 
from its reptile instincts, its ape behaviours, 

its Neanderthal desires. 
All our ecstasy, anxiety,
depression, fear, and love, 
spring up from the recesses 
of our brain. 

Despite all the hyperbole 
about the human logic, 
most of our activities run 
on an autopilot, by-passing 
reason, by-passing consciousness.

(The Beautiful Space- A Journal of Mind, Art and Poetry 2022)
©https://www.poeticnoesis.com/

An Attic Hand

There is a steed
of life, within all of us.
 
It is tall, muscular,
hyperventilating with the air
 
of our desires.
We all mount it, gaily,
 
carrying an armour
of reason, a sword
 
of free will.
We all make our steed
 
neigh, trot, and gallop
at our own will;
 
until an Attic Hand
grabs its reins.

(Poet's Espresso Review- USA)
©️drjal02

Forgotten orphans

The face of an orphan boy, sitting 
In a lawn of an orphanage, is imprinted 
On the canvas of my mind. 

Like an autumn leaf that has fallen 
From the tree of life, during the spring, he sat 
Among the scattered autumn leaves. 

A veil of misery covered his face. 
An emptiness in his heart overflowed 
Through his sorrowful eyes. 

He sat, wearing the raiment 
Of sadness, orphaned 
By the arrows of a conflict. 

His haunting eyes, tattered garments, revealed 
His sail, a ship without a rudder, 
On the turbulent waters of life.

He lived in a local orphanage like a bird 
With broken wings, with a childhood 
Crowned by poverty.
 
His childhood is stolen,
With insecurity
Sowed in his heart,

With a crown of thorns 
Placed on his head.
His bruised heart whispers 

Into the ears of my soul: 
The cries of orphans, like him, fall on the walls of 
His political masters- a legion of pygmies, 

His priests- a band of empty tin pots, 
His people- a multitude numbed by a turmoil.
With no helping hand 

To rescue them from the claws 
Of poverty and despair, they beseech 
The heavens to relieve their sufferings.

They whisper with the lips of their hearts
Into the ears of the divinity.
They invoke the all-seeing eyes 

Of the Providence: to induce an awakening, 
To plant the seeds of compassion,
In the hearts of their indifferent countrymen.
©drjal02, © https://www.poeticnoesis.com/

​O dreams 

O dreams, you give wings
to our lives.
You encourage slaves, born 
in the cradle of misery, to aspire 
freedom from their masters.
Your fire emboldens a nation 
to rise against a tyranny.

O dreams, you sweeten the pain 
of a pauper. Riding the chariot 
of hope, he carries the dreams 
of possessing the riches.
Your saccharine consolations
help a prisoner to fight
the pangs of loneliness.

O dreams, seeds buried under the blanket
of snow, in your warm company, 
sprout during the spring.
You squeeze out the sap
of stagnation
from our hearts, from our minds.
You inspire us to know the secrets 
hidden in the heavens.
 
O dreams, in your pleasing company, 
we navigate around the boulders
of daily difficulties, carrying
the earthly, and the celestial dreams, 
in our hearts.
 
I say: hold fast to your dreams,
for they manure the roots
of hope, for they illuminate
the precincts of our hearts,
for they sustain us
between the alp of life 
and the precipice of death.

(Gushing Fountain- A Collection of Poems)

@drjal02

I love dreaming

I love dreaming
About a place, Pahalgam,
Where I whispered with a friendly breeze, 
Where I discovered the face of peace, 

Where I observed the fluttering wings 
Of colourful butterflies. 
I still hear the soulful music 
Of its river, the symphony 

Of our tolerance.
I remember, a forest, collecting 
Pine cones as souvenirs, galloping 
A white horse in a meadow,

Sitting on river boulders, 
Dipping my feet in the river, when no one 
Chained our steps. 
Here, across the oceans, I recall 

Everything: the sweet delights 
Of student life, camping 
Along the musical river, shuffling cards 
Of happiness, the comradeship, 

A neighing horse calling 
"I am here, where are you?".
One day we shall return 
To that magical place, 

The gateway to the cave 
Of a deity, when no wailing 
Echoes from its valleys,
When no grief plays on its flute. 

One day we shall sit, again, 
Along the river Liddar, breathing 
An air of safety, 
Under a white moon.

Until then, we shall continue 
To carry the sack,
Of our dreams, 
On our shoulders.

(Scarlet Leaf Review-Canada)
@ https://www.poeticnoesis.com/