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Poetry
This is a literary review of my work, offering a taste of my perspective.
Thank you for taking the time to read my poems.
Please feel free to leave a comment by sending an email to information@manasvallabh.com.
"A shiny object" Courtesy: Manas Vallabh
The star as it appears against the darkness,
I wonder why it gives away its brightness -
Twinkling and sparkling in all of the imagery,
So to prove we don’t need a change in scenery?
I keep questioning the motives of brilliance,
As if all of us are in need of some alliance -
The way a star less often ceases from being a star,
We realize it needs alot less of effort to set the bar.
Times we had and times well spent,
Including the value of the frugality, resplendent,
In all of the privileges of that we are sure -
We are at leisure, seeking pleasure of a better measure.
As a course of repetition that we were to learn,
The way of examples set through generations,
It appears that it is precisely a reward we earn,
When the sight pleases in all of the visualizations.
As seen in a constellation worthy of impression,
With comrades, relentless and in progression,
Proving an age of acceptance is not at best, underlined,
And that there is more to us than being stars aligned.
Crunch times – boiling and melting points,
In languages unknown but we are to shine,
Among a thousand stars that each self-appoints,
A nominal head although lucid to an appreciating enclosure of a shrine.
Amazed at what a declaration of it seems like,
As if a light emitting diode needs access to a spike,
In current, and throws at us a glaring reality,
Explaining to us that distance is in subjective enormity –
I say this with all of that I know is honest,
As mentioned with all of the brilliance and its sparkle,
A star is a not a provision for the work of a sun,
For the discipline and illumination of its entire system.
It goes to show only one little unnoticeable aspect,
Of that we can learn for free, of stars and acknowledge the same,
When a glaring realization strikes that you do not expect,
The application may not be as simple! What a shame!
Also, a note to make that is not to be ignored -
The metrics are about the same as approached,
Now, that is not a matter of just substance,
When to me, I measure and understand distance.
"Sticks, can be evil"
"Sticks, can be evil"
"Sticks, can be evil"
I feel a little choppy today,
But so do waters in the ocean,
That go freaky in a way,
To trouble your existence.
And I expect a perfect storm.
Then a miracle happens –
I change, and feel different,
But so do the waters,
In the middle of the ocean,
When they stop clashing!
So, it happened today.
I could have pulled the shutters down,
When and with all of your excuses or reasons,
To put me down, and,
That, you can feel,
A little better, in your arrogance,
On a pretext of an exercise,
In teaching me a lesson.
I get to understand that,
To put you in your place,
In day or night –
It is quite easy.
Just so you realize and it goes without saying –
With a pointed nail,
When I say, I can
Pick your rising pretense,
As a moody reaction – Anytime and anywhere.
You may say I am young,
And have an advantage!
Well, I have to be honest –
I am knowledgeable,
A gift that many obsess about but don’t possess,
And it bothers you,
From what I see.
And you show me in many different ways,
"The displeasure".
Make no mistake, I can be just like you.
While you may be having a good time,
Hiding in the dark and you are up for some fun,
I realize – I can do too!
As you seem determined,
To make things happen as you please,
And when you fail every single time,
I can make it seem easy,
By sticking to the basics and make it evident!
Somehow,
It’s a secret you will not know!
But, what you should know
Is that,
It’s about the wicked game,
You play, behind my back,
And it matters to you,
Not how you play,
But if you win or lose.
Alas! On this day I decide to be about a cause,
And beat you at being better.
Your reason for revenge,
Fails you and you now seem,
Lost on a day,
That can be even more beautiful.
It is Valentine’s day, and I have a few nice words to say –
I am what I am! Now, that is nice enough.
I will change, make no excuse,
When I see a reason and a perfect time,
And when I see fit.
I am at the mercy of none,
And I am well in my limit,
When I claim that you are like any other,
In my pursuit of an extra-ordinary life.
Now challenge that just for today – as an exercise,
Son of a gun!
If not, you may make a quick note,
On taking a crash course: "How to teach dummies to get a life"
Courtesy: Manas Vallabh
“Carve”
"Sticks, can be evil"
"Sticks, can be evil"
To sense the heat in the pace of creation, unhalted,
As such it is the flood in the greatness – uninhibited,
When our eyes engage with the artist so delighted,
Of what has been accomplished with no hesitation.
An artist’s approach to the work and the process,
So as to begin with the creation, in small bits,
Stone matching stone, as such to say,
And the pieces, with which the creation separates,
We see the creation, the stone, as carved to a shape of perfection,
From models of people or from sheer imagination,
Set out to bring a huge change in perception,
In the viewer, with a presence, as with a projection.
Past incidents of interest under a circumstance,
From all the resources, a few found unselected,
Within an imperfect assembly of people captured,
From a world, with quite a disarray in stance,
It can be believed that the source and motivation,
May be, a few times, at a lead of aberration.
It is known that expression as for experiments,
Attribute success to many such elements,
And with the arrival of a particular echo,
In thought and with that, a manner inspired,
We explore sides as it would be promptly said –
‘Leaving some under process and unfinished’.
Opportunity that has come of it, not in proof,
Where an arrest in carving makes it, in due,
To the relatable time at hand and in motion,
Expands all imaginable possibilities of fortune.
To the contrary,
The artist with a creative intent measures the worth,
Of a part of his creation left undone and puts forth,
The under- applied or aptly set aside, unfinished work of art,
Definitely knowing where to end and of course its start,
With all of the motives that can’t be recognized now,
Putting the view unsettled with the know-how,
While leaving for speculation a few mysteries,
In the name of hidden signs of creative liberties.
Courtesy: Manas Vallabh
“hair for grown-ups”
(A little of untoward humour)
Then, being opposite,
To the sites as,
Are the number of heads,
In emptiness, also in abundance,
When a closer look suggests,
Lack of hair, appearing,
And amounting to having,
None of any progress.
In capability of and being as a mark,
I see hair carrying an expression,
Of stimulation and its intention,
As we measure with thickness,
Of it, being found in all likeliness.
A deeper insight would be,
Its absence from the area –
An easy take-off space for ideas,
And their easy access, at least into,
A creative space open,
For graffiti,
From what I see, as being on top of a head.
Ah- Ah, don’t even think of it,
As just another joke and something,
Which can be made fun of,
While as I see, we may have warriors,
Down to the make,
Against, on an irksome remark,
And Dishoom –
Down, down and down.
Evil is dead.
On second thoughts,
Hair and its growth,
Are in connection,
To establishment of,
Inheritance and it being
Effectively propagated.
In other words –
DNA.
I certainly have to apologize,
If, I, in anyway indicate at,
For my lack of sensitivity,
In calling, having thick hair,
As a sign of manliness,
Lest we forget amazons.
And hence I comment –
Well, it is not exactly my opinion,
But to say in least words,
That,
Beautiful long hair in women,
Running from her scalp,
To her waist,
Makes an appearance,
Even more adventurous.
A shout out –
To,
The brave, the braver and,
The bravest –
For the people,
Succumbing to baldness,
And,
For those moments,
When a wig falls off.
Courtesy: Manas Vallabh
“A few words of encouragement”
Courtesy: Manas Vallabh
When young -
Talk big, but don’t lie.
Talk slow with intent, yet with no compromise.
Talk fast, but be understood.
Sometimes, just be silent.
Eliminate dishonesty in words and look in honesty -
You may find perfect vision.
To say,
You may fail but can rise again, and see perfection.
You may fall but can walk again, and see progress.
You may hibernate momentarily but can dream big, and see future.
Also, sometimes, one can fail to be attentive.
And may miss an unessential moment.
But, when a momentous moment passes,
And you are at a pause in attention,
It makes you submit in realisation,
That a thousand lifetimes may not level up,
To the cause of an implied significance,
In deliberating on an imperfection that arrived at a price.
It is fair to call ‘Perfection’ - its absence and its presence,
And necessarily the mismatch,
To be both a boon and a bane.
Peace.
Clearly, an under appreciated asset,
Has to be an outlook -
When you see in every completed part, a flaw.
In every finished work of art, a revision.
And hear in every composition of music, a better match.
We lament -
Sometimes, perfection is not good enough,
But most often it is a becoming of us.
In retrospection -
The closest work to perfect drama, needs rehearsal.
The comfort in winning, comes from practice.
The clenching of the top spot, begs for acumen.
And all this becomes even better with experience.
Then, comes spontaneity.
Sometimes, we are to be unplanned.
And that brings to attention an asset in discovery.
Now, to reveal this discovery is a sacrilege.
Yet, to be open, repetition is to make perfect.
Furthermore, its importance in being a sinner,
As much as it is a thought, presents its prevalence.
Devoid of atonement. Hidden in attainment.
And then, in rewards and recollections.
Away from all of that is a sin,
Forgotten and forgiven,
When once, in a way, to explore new horizons,
Mattering most, is to become of diligence in remaining afloat,
With a balanced temperament and with,
A doctored patience.
To be exact. For a moment -
Forget any plans. Consider it to be just a phase in time.
And it has to become a habit,
Of acceptance.
And more often, a make in and of preparation.
No other action is more of a success.
Generally,
To set sail on waters, an ounce of courage initially,
More than effort is needed.
And,
To see dreams become real,
We strive to remain ambitious and focused.
Repetition and remembrance.
Reminder in reoccurrence.
Nevertheless - “Perfection’.
Or so, it is called.
There are to it, many methods,
In accomplishment,
And when you fancy a desire,
That is to be fulfilled,
Be set on your turf of strength,
Hone skills, and exercise your wit.
Envision. Empower. Engage.
Encouragement never fails.
But character does.
A myth. A legend.
A perfect tale,
Of,
Estrangement from inhibitions and distractions.
A pursuit of excellence.
“Woman”
Courtesy: Manas Vallabh
A woman is the absence of emptiness.
A connection.
An establishment.
A cause of rise.
A course to rise.
All but know a mother, a sister, a wife and a daughter, as she is!
She is a mission, and worthy of it!
She is a plague and subjected to it.
A mere woman on a set night is more than a nightmare.
She is a devil incumbent. A lover induced.
A seductress. A dream. A fantasy.
Everything about her is odd although including her is becoming even.
We, us and I. An inclusion.
A woman. A woman. A woman.
A soothing word. Not just a word. She is more than just a given word.
Women. A plurality. Yet, one.
A gift. A surprise.
And a gentle request made is to woo her gently.
She details life which excludes -
Power and knowledge.
A rhyme and a reason.
Peace. War. And a transition.
Being in awe and beyond.
She is an elemental vibe creation.
She is a vital object and is a miracle that which belongs to a place with none of any disproportion.
There is no mercy.
A cut above. A cut below.
A balancer.
A boss.
That which she claims, a revenge is always hers!
A villain.
A benefactor.
A factor of kindness when a man genuflects!
A better half of a man.
She wields an immersive expression that which causes emotion, feeling and devotion.
A capital surrender in a man.
A comparative realisation.
A superlative phenomenon.
She is of an emboldened colour.
She is a figure.
She is a head in a place of topical gravity.
She is blunt in appreciable and explicable equations.
She is both in equality versus in equanimity.
She is a rapid exchange. Her jaw moves with her. And, there is silence. On a run, bolt. A rampage.
She is an epitome of humankind.
She reckons herself of being a paragon.
In contrast, a man is at a beckoning of a future with her. Unlike his nature, if not for her.
She is a star; And, a planet. She makes a home. Simply as we say on earth - Mother Nature.
She is a rainbow. More than just evaporation.
She is sunshine at sunrise and sunshine at sunset.
A wave. A parody. An affliction.
A queen in her world of drama.
A show claiming to be of magnanimity.
A secret- a galant whisper.
A measure - a penultimate spin in objectification.
A trophy - an ultimate applause.
She is a woman. And remains undefeated.
In character. In accordance. In a subjective succumbing of silence.
She in flight, is a cry.
She is all of forgiveness and she is a clown in reminder.
In mistakes, she is a forceful impact.
She is an impression. An unwavering supporter.
A decency in exclamation.
A pull and a push.
A branch and a root.
Of a family tree and off of it.
Her affection is a translator and is translucent as she is in her periodicity.
She is nimble in her catch about a time of negligence.
For herself, in all her selfishness and self-centredness - she belongs in wisdom and prudence.
Her beauty - she knows of her foot and her hand.
Of her fingers, toes and her nails.
She engages in flattery and sticks to every uttered word in compliment.
A woman in all honesty must be considered to be an essence.
And a man transcends his remark of his ability to be a part of her life.
She is a goddess to a mere mortal man. Antithetically, a bane.
She is a modified ingenuity. She makes-up for lost time.
She debates with herself in the presence and absence of a man, a woman, a boy, a girl and a family.
She corrects but doesn’t stand corrected.
She poses but not in an approximation.
She is the length and breadth of a lifetime.
Now, a woman has myriad estimations.
Some at a price. Some being a prize.
She is in necessity of an engaging elimination then becoming a reason for treason.
She is in proximity of an opposite postulation then becoming a resource.
All in all, she is a force.
She is a fan and also demands fandom.
With or without her, she is in life and she is in death.
She is a name. A principle of progress. A saviour of reputation.
She is an expert driver of argument. An unbeaten champion.
A companion.
A desire of a structured phase.
A medium of communication.
A vision. A giver. A smile in introspection.
All of this in actuality occurs only if she concurs.
We are at her sometimes relevant and sometimes irrelevant encouragement.
And she abides by no law,
In inspection, and in retrospection, by code or conduct.
She is in all humour a hidden criminal creeping in all of that is innocent.
And that is in a man, she is a pleasing resonance.
She is a form in becoming a close act of circular manifestation.
Now, more than a form in woman is still a woman.
A woman. A prayer. A submission.
There is none of a blame game without her.
In acceptance and in rejection.
Abraca Dabra! Life without woman is a magical experience fading away and its recollection comes to matter when the trick is played again.
I go on and on. Yet, women have an end ?
Without me, my definition of my woman ceases to exist.
A woman of mine is my statement.
You may agree or disagree!
She is a treasure. She is a specific reason for existence.
She is what she is ! A woman- a blessing in disguise.
As a note,
I must mention she is this woman to me as in adolescence of my relevant space.
“A licence”
Courtesy: Manas Vallabh
I should engage with you in a stimulating conversation,
That could connect you into worlds of fortunate association.
Then, I should praise your appropriate nose dive into my invention,
That couldn’t be more at a bone of contention.
There can be silence about the magical experience,
As being smooth, at a disregard for a brief substantiation,
In a selective disapproval of an extensive elimination,
On a drive of a point, mostly at lowkey interference.
Please forgive my innocence, in rounding off on a calculation,
That you are at a place in being of acceptance to my estimation,
Of a command followed by a witness in life of allowed issuance,
Around a subject of a discord and toiling at a word in abeyance.
Abrupt in arranging the sound of a much-liked symphony,
Uttering that word around which the person had an epiphany,
Can be made obsolete now, when it comes to be a reckless tragedy,
As I reckon with an alignment in precedence being a relative remedy.
A permission can be of a given nature, when the upcoming existence,
Of that I am sure, at a particular destination of relevance,
Begins to be as it becomes a repetitive tantalising experience,
And that which entails is a sprout of astounding allegiance.
A medium of communication that reeks in expansion of paranoia,
Under a pretext of simulation about life lessons being in cultivation,
And we being subjected to various insinuations of phobia,
Keep enhancing a distant yet a largely looming expectation.
When the whole world turns to the unfortunate mockingbird,
Willing to save the less opportune of being in a misdirected herd,
As amusing as it is, it being a menial yet fancy-looking minion,
In that expectation of it in grand humour being a champion.
In a batch of commands piled up at extreme bits of sublime,
The order is then implemented with less fanfare this time,
As the meaningful luxury of limitlessness is taken off prime,
And nobody now is prepared to spend even a freaking dime.
Why then all the hullabaloo as part of the bamboozlement?
I guess it is to be a stereotypical embrace of measurement,
In an exhibition of strength and a test of existing caliber,
To prove “the bird” is as normal, in any nest, at scheduled labour.