A prison is a cageWhere untamable beastsLie in disquiet, quietly ragingAs the iron bars melt in the heatOf their volcanic minds –Or like me, frozen beneathAn inundation of emotions.
The time is nearing to leave.File – save as – give a nameAnd it becomes a partOf my documentsHidden behind a passwordWhich I only know.In the recesses of my hard disksC:\ My documents\ Kottayam, or-Some other name that I declineTo tell you.Later, in a lonely nightI will access the fileAnd glance through itAt random.This flower, that faceThis light that flicker in the darkness
Drowning, choking, slowly killingMyselfIn the swirling waters of currency notesBeneath the debris of credits and debitsSettling downInto the mud of greed, of breach of trust,Of bribes and frauds and distrustSinkingInto the quicksand of speculationsHopes of life bursting like bubbles of my breath –I dream -Of snow-capped mountains…
In the air-conditioned chill of the officeIn the desktop picture of Mount EverestIn passwords like Ganga, YamunaBadri, Kailas or Manasarovar -Leafing, surreptitiously, through the books on treksTo Himalayas and wildernessDreaming meandering throughRhododendrons and snow bound paths-I imagine the sips of water from my bottleTo be that of the streams in the mountains.It is really so easy; all I have to doIs to get up from my seatLeave the complaining customerWalk over to the window at the rear of the officeAnd look up at the skies…
My God (oh, let me call Thee mine,Weak, wretched sinner though I be),My trembling soul would fain be Thine;My feeble faith still clings to Thee.Not only for the Past I grieve,The Future fills me with dismay;Unless Thou hasten to relieve,Thy suppliant is a castaway.I cannot say my faith is strong,I dare not hope my love is great;But strength and love to Thee belong;Oh, do not leave me desolate!I know I owe my all to Thee;Oh, TAKE the heart I cannot give!Do Thou my strength--my Saviour be,
A Pit -- but Heaven over it --And Heaven beside, and Heaven abroad,And yet a Pit --With Heaven over it.To stir would be to slip --To look would be to drop --To dream -- to sap the PropThat holds my chances up.Ah! Pit! With Heaven over it!The depth is all my thought --I dare not ask my feet --'Twould start us where we sitSo straight you'd scarce suspectIt was a Pit -- with fathoms under it --Its Circuit just the same.Seed -- summer -- tomb --
What does the hangman think aboutWhen he goes home at night from work?When he sits down with his wife andChildren for a cup of coffee and aPlate of ham and eggs, do they askHim if it was a good day's workAnd everything went well or do theyStay off some topics and talk aboutThe weather, base ball, politicsAnd the comic strips in the papersAnd the movies? Do they look at hisHands when he reaches for the coffeeOr the ham and eggs? If the littleOnes say, Daddy, play horse, here'sA rope — does he answer like a joke:I seen enough rope for today?