Passion…unbridled

So many have fought and found

A seat at the table, it is an accomplishment profound

Women, people of color, persons with disabilities

Are all supposed to find at crucial tables, seats with ease

Then why does representation still fall short?

Why are they missing more often than not?

There is a table to which they have a right

But is it accessible without a fight?

To enter rooms where such tables exist

Poses barriers too numerous to list

Getting a theoretical seat at the table does not ensure

That discrimination one would not have to endure..

*

There is a seat at the table proverbial

But in order to make adequate representation real

Let the voices of minorities make their way

Into the chambers of decision-makers today

Let the tables around which people deliberate

Be accessible to all, let them accommodate

Those who identify as minorities

Let the table have diverse voices, please..

Is happiness a person, a thing or a place?

Or an abstract concept that exists in mythical space?

Or an elixir in the depths of my consciousness

Should I dive deep within myself to find happiness?

*

How, I wonder, should happiness be defined?

Is it a state of contentment of the mind

A mind in a stable equilibrium between

The visible external world and the inner world unseen

With the ability to withstand both joy and sadness

Without losing stability in the process

*

As I pen these lines, I simultaneously try to evaluate

How I am feeling, how to describe my emotional state

I am not at complete peace though I cannot say

That I am bothered in any particular way..

*

Maybe the notion of happiness is arbitrary

Let me decide right now that I am happy

Instead of happiness being an abstract notion

It is now a palpable, tangible emotion!

(This poem started as my reaction to a news segment on Greek wildfires that have claimed the lives of some asylum seekers.)

No one likes to let outsiders in

And that is where the argument begins

Against immigration, an issue that evokes

Strong reactions, often provokes

Resentment, anger, marked division

Among citizens in terms of their opinion..

*

Yet migration is a way of life natural

How can arbitrary borders limit the fight for survival

For many immigrants fearful for their lives

Immigration is their only hope to survive

Facing untold perils to immigrate

Is a measure taken by those truly desperate

Granting political asylum to those in need

Is essentially a humanitarian deed

*

Some immigrants migrate not out of necessity

But because of the dearth of opportunities

In their parent countries, they immigrate

Based on merit, and integrate

Into communities in new nations

Doesn’t everyone benefit from such immigration?

*

I am an immigrant, and all I can say

I am grateful for the opportunities that have come my way

In my adopted country- my success I owe

To both the countries that have let me grow

I hold myself responsible to never let

My adopted country down, to never give anyone reason to regret

Opening the doors to let me in, let me acquire

Citizenship, to let me pursue the goals I desire

In a vacuum you cannot write

You cannot come up with ideas bright

Out of nothing, your writing you have to base

On your experience, you have to face

Issues unresolved that float inadvertently

To the surface, forcing you to see

The untold secrets you harbor, once again

Stir up feelings that cause intense pain..

*

Sometimes while writing, past issues you can evaluate

From a third person’s view, stay dispassionate

When this happens writing can be

A deeply cathartic process, a form of self-therapy

At other times writing dredges up everything that you

Have tried to forget, bury deep in your heart too

When your unresolved issues remain

Unchanged- convoluted, chaotic, full of pain

Your writing journey does not lead

You to healing, your wounds continue to bleed

But you realize further effort you would require

Before freedom from your pain you can acquire..

*

Sometimes characters depicted in a negative way

Resemble people you know, you know one day

They might read your book, bringing to an end

Your relationship with them, you would not be able to defend

Why your characters resemble them the way they do

Your writing could unknowingly hurt them too

*

If you want to write in an authentic voice

You do not really have a choice

But to bring up secrets uncomfortable

Conflict makes a story intriguing and readable

So write your first draft, unvarnished

Then revise it before you try to publish

Re-read and learn what your writing tells you

About yourself and others too..

(Self-prescription)

How did we go wrong on something so basic

One of the key factors making us sick

Is lack of quality sleep- we tend to equate

Productivity to staying up and working late

Sleep is for the weak, those who are destined to succeed

Must be able to thrive with few hours of sleep indeed

Burning the midnight oil is accepted as the norm

Despite abundant evidence that people perform

Worse on all measures of higher function

Without adequate sleep-impaired is their cognition

We know fatal and costly errors have been made

By sleep-deprived souls, yet we have stayed

With the idea that in order to succeed

To labor late into the night is what we need..

*

We are a mass of human beings perpetually sleep-deprived

Who are irritable, overweight, chronically ill, and yet who strive

To forego sleep to achieve every imaginable goal

While lack of sleep relentlessly takes its toll

On our bodies, minds, relationships, and more

When medicine and therapy are futile, why don’t we explore

The healing effects of something as simple as sleep

And hit our beds earlier, for sleep restorative and deep

Your dear friend has just accomplished a feat

Getting a book published is pretty neat

You, as a reader and a loyal friend

Buy the book immediately, you intend

To make it a priority to read it, it’s obvious

That to know what your friend has written, you’re curious

*

You start the book, quite excited but find

The book does not really engage your mind

The plot seems amateurish, the writing too verbose

You stick with reading, but cannot wait to close

The book after the last chapter is read

You feel a bit let down, you are not impressed

Then you remind yourself that your friend

Deserves to be applauded for this effort, you must extend

Grace to them-seasoned authors most of the time you read

But everyone starts somewhere indeed

*

You send a message to your friend that you

Have read the book, and enjoyed it too

Of course the way things work these days

Your friend requests you to post a review, that’s the way

A book gets noticed, and authors make their name

You cannot refuse a contribution to your friend’s fame…

*

You see there are only a handful of reviews, they are all positive

Even under a pseudonym, you are afraid you cannot give

An honest review, because your friend would instantly know

That it came from you, it could hurt their feelings, and so

You give 4.5/5 stars, then try to write a detailed review

Trying to focus on what you really liked, but that’s hard to do

So you end up using the generic terms you use

To respond to social media posts and photographs, you refuse

To put in complete lies and you decide at the end

You would not review another book by a friend…

*

There is a reason why conflict of interest is a thing

Honest opinions can cracks in relationships bring…

Art is a mirror and always has been

Of the society, bringing to life unseen

Facets of prevailing social mores

In clever disguise, questions art can raise

About social activism, morality and justice

For change, art can in many ways be a catalyst…

*

Sometimes artists say merely what they want to say

Sometimes the prevailing zeitgeist they portray

Though you expect freedom of artistic expression to be

An undisputed fact, often it is different in reality

Many artists feel compelled to check boxes that are right

They bow down to the powerful folks’ might

And modify their art to be politically correct

For fear of being canceled, their art does not reflect

Their true sentiments that are sacrificed

In the era of cancel culture, art pays the price

*

Art that has to bend to conform to rules arbitrary

Is no longer true art, on the contrary

It becomes a vehicle for the dominant narrative

You see a warped image of the artist’s true perspective..

*

When a work of art appears too neat

The very purpose of art it defeats

You may applaud it for its contemporary appeal

But you would not know how the artist truly feels…

I want to grow, but I do not know

What growth would mean, I have been

Trying to find a way such that I can stay

Perpetually inquisitive, as long as I live

*

At a hurtling pace, life I seem to face

Limited does time appear, therefore I fear

If I paused to learn, precious minutes I would burn

If I lagged behind, that would occupy my mind

Learning, I believe, would be difficult to achieve

Being busy conducive is not, to giving something new much thought

*

How much time would I need, I must figure out indeed

If I handle my time with care, perhaps I can spare

Fifteen minutes every day, spent intentionally in a way

That I learn something new, it is however true

That I would have to concentrate, I would have to dedicate

My focus complete, to learning, so I don’t defeat

The purpose behind exercising my mind

To learn and grow, hopefully I would know

If it’s a good strategy, if it works for me…

*

Change takes time and patience, but these short bursts intense

I hope would make a difference, add up to something immense

I have been busy making a living

But time is running out, time is unforgiving

Instead of a living, it is high time I made

A life, memories for money trade

*

Let not infinite moments pass me by

Without being experienced, let time not fly

Without my pausing to make memories

Let me, wi my loved ones, weave stories

*

To make a living, I’ve invested in my profession

Now I must count all the blessings in my possession

And make a life with gratitude immense

Mark each moment with my presence

*

I’ve made a living by giving work my best

I’ll make a life by focusing on the rest

Relationships, community, service, charity

My life goals I can see with amazing clarity..

*

Making a living is but one part

Of making a life aligned with my heart

I am making a life- bountiful, abundant

Where I am fully present in every moment

Most of us like to fix broken things

A wrong made right immense satisfaction brings

We fix broken things using our skill-sets

But are often left discontented and upset

When things are broken beyond repair

And we have to give up in despair

When forces beyond our control are at play

Sometimes we cannot get our way

*

When fixing something is an integral part of what you do

You have to always have something to fix too

Since there are many unfixable problems you face

You start trying to fix things not broken in the first place

You end up making a change in something that did not need

To be altered or upgraded at all, indeed

Soon you start believing in the changes you make

You think you’re fixing broken things, but that’s a mistake

*

A lot of us keep spinning our wheels this way

“Fixing” unbroken things, day after day

The true fixes that work are few

and far between

But they keep us motivated behind the scenes..

When someone asked a question that to me

Appeared redundant, meaningless or silly

I would feel amused or be critical

How could someone not know something that simple

My judgment was heavily flawed, I later did realize

The world I saw was different from the one viewed from their eyes..

*

Each generation has different perceptions based

On the prevalent norms and traditions they have faced

While growing up, therefore when a new generation brings

New liberal ideas, new ways of doing things

The members of the senior generation feel perplexed

Trying to understand new ideas leaves them vexed

The questions they ask represent an effort to understand

The newly minted ideas, the unfamiliar lay of the land

*

Now in my middle age I am on the other side

Of the difficult-to-navigate generational divide

I’m slow to imbibe concepts that are obvious to my son

And my ignorance is often met with his exasperation…

How do you open up your mind

How do you let new ideas find

Their way into the fossilized part of your brain

Imprinted with biased opinions that are ingrained

Deep within you, essential parts of who you are

How do you get rid of them, how do you go far

From the forces that keep your outlook narrow

How do you experience the diversity the world has to show?

*

When you make an effort to step outside

Your echo chamber, get a taste of the wide

Range of human experience, you realize

How transformative it is to have your eyes

Opened to ideas diametrically different

From yours- you start seeing through a wider lens

The world and its varied inhabitants

You no longer feel your identity is threatened

By those who hold opposite views

You uphold your own and others’ right to choose

*

So, why don’t you tune into a different radio station

Or watch a different news channel for experimentation

Or read a book completely different from what you read

At the very least I promise you would be intrigued

To see what the other side has to say

You might pick up fresh ideas along the way

Or start thinking along lines that are new

Even if that narrative does not resonate with you

*

Go outside your echo chamber, new ideas imbibe

Form new neural networks, let your mind thrive