RAGE - A POEM BY Deepak Menon

RAGE

Simmering Rage, this gentle world fills
Blind Rage fanned by sympathy,
Sympathy which around us mills
Arousing Rage instead of empathy.

Rage that we cannot our conscience still
Rage against our hidden guilt,
Rage blurring and blinding our vision till
Sympathy is covered with a dark quilt,

Of apathy, on which we proudly walk
No longer seeing the ones in need,
Of indifference, on which we boast and talk
And to sympathy's calls we pay no heed.

We hear not the supplications of the weak
We care not whether they starve or feed,
We slide past those who our sympathy seek
Or bury them like lifeless seed.

For without Rage our minds to seal
From the suffering which fills our world,
Knowing we are helpless its sores to heal
Into insanity, we would be hurled.

Deepak Menon

And they all around - silently lie - A Poem by Deepak Menon

And they all around - silently lie

There is a poem in the fall of a leaf,

There is a poem in the bark of a tree,

There is a poem in the flight of a bird,

There is a poem in the wind blowing free.

.

So open your mind and consign to the deep,

The opaque shroud which covers your eye,

And look around and wake from sleep,

The poems which all everywhere silently lie.

.

The poems embalmed in the potters clay,

The poems frozen in the grains of wood,

The poems hidden all along your way,

The poems lying crushed under your foot.

.

You need not to read a ponderous tome,

Like this book you hold in your hand,

To discover the poems which have their home,

On sky and sea and on land.

.

So replace on the shelf this book of sorts,

And break the shell within which you live,

And unutterable beauty will flood your thoughts,

When surrendering, nature its poetry will give!!,

.
Deepak Menon
Copyright ©1999 Deepak Menon

SONNET NO 7 By Deepak Menon

Many rungs has the ladder which I ascend
Lost in clouds is the peak where lies my goal
Will not some Angel its wings to me lend?
For I dare not tarry lest Earthward I roll
And that Heaven for whose glory I do aspire
That land of the Nectar of Immortality
May prove to be a fable of some great liar
A graveyard of souls lost in morality
Yet the call of the faraway bells, which chime
A melody that moves faint chords deep within
Fills me with an irresistible longing for a time
Lost in the past – yet somewhere still existing
And so in the searching - the meaning of life lies
Waiting to be found, before the light of day ... flies!

SACRIFICE - BY Deepak Menon

SACRIFICE

2.1 SACRIFICE is not the foundation upon which

you can build the palace of your life.

It is merely an adhesive used by builders who use it

to cement together bricks called obligations.

Relationships built with obligation bricks often crumble.

They crumble because of the weight of obligations

which often are too much for one or the other to bear!

2.2. A lasting relationship is one devoid of sacrifice;

where no obligations are imposed nor accepted;

where any action is done without expectations;

where the spirit of joyous unconstrained freedom exists;

where perfect understanding of these things prevails!

2.3. Beware of sacrificing yourself for

the sake of continuing a relationship.

You may end up with the loss of the relationship

or at the very least, a soured and bitter one!

THE TROPHY

There's always room for a couple of beers....

THIS WAS SENT TO ME AS AN EMAIL !!!!

When things in your life seem almost too much to handle, when 24 hours in a day are not enough, think about the mayonnaise jar.

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him.

When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls.

He then asked the students if the jar was full.

They agreed that it was.

So the professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar.

He shook the jar lightly.

The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls.

He then asked the students again if the jar was full.
They agreed it was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar.
Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full.
The students responded with a more hesitant "yes."

The professor then produced two cans of beer from under the table and
poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the
empty space between the sand. The students laughed.
"Now," said the professor, as the laughter subsided,
"I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life."

The golf balls are the important things
- your family, your children, your health, your friends, and your passions,
things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your
life would still be full."

"The pebbles are the other things that matter

like your job, your house, your car.
The sand is everything else - the small stuff.

"If you put the sand into the jar first," he continued, "there is no room
for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life."

"If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff,

you will never have room for the things that are important to you."

"Pay attention to the things that are critical to your Happiness.
Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups.
Take your partner out to dinner. Play another 18.
There will always be time to clean the house, and fix the disposal.

Take care of the golf balls first, the things that really matter.
Set your priorities. The rest is just sand."

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the beer represented.

The professor smiled. "I'm glad you asked," he said.
"It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem,
there's always room for a couple of beers."

THE STATE BANK OF INDIA, WHOLE BANK LEVEL FIRST PRIZE AS THE BEST STAFF TRAINING CENTRE OF THE COUNTRY ,WHICH WAS HEADED BY DEEPAK MENON (ASST GENERAL MANAGER) STC DEHRADUN

This is a Hello from Deepak

Is that not the most wonderful flower?

This is a Hello from Deepak

Deepak - 15th August 2005

Independence Day - Dehradun

The Nod - A Poem by Deepak Menon

We met again ....

An age had passed,
Nay, a thousand ages,
Since your love did wane.

Time had not dulled or stilled
The inflections of your voice,
Echoing in my brain

You stepped out of the coach
As serene as on the day you left,
Looked at me casually, without shame.

Your stranger's face overlapped
Your image, which since you left,
Had in my heart lain.

Waking me from my sleep of ages
As your face, nodding politely,
My sorrow did forever drain.

The thousand ages, there ended
With that indifferent nod.
I boarded my train.

Yet, remained a subdued longing
For the age, now forever past,
A bittersweet pain.

We never met again .....

THE LOTUS OF THE DESERT A poem by Deepak Menon

As I walked along the road, I spied
A little boy sitting, by its side.
His head was held in one tiny hand
With the other he scribbled in the sand.

I stopped and asked him why he looked sad,
He looked up and said he was feeling bad
That his parents had for him no time
Not even to read him a nursery rhyme.

He had for his company only toys
Which he shared with the other boys,
But no books had he with him to talk
When his parents went for a walk.

How he wished they could see his heart
Which had yearned for books from the start
BOOKS like he had often seen
In neighboring houses where he had been.

My heart went out to the little boy
Who had been deprived of tasting the joy
Of the wonderful world found only in books
Delicacies prepared by the finest cooks.

I took his hand and walked with him
To the stately mansion he lived in
And found it full of empty shelves
Empty heads caring for them selves

With not a thought for the hidden need
Of the little soul drying like a weed
Thirsting for knowledge not knowing where
To find it, because no one did care.

Deepak and Abha on 26th July 2005

This is a Hello from Deepak

The Doon Valley- Alive with the beauty of Nature

Dreams come alive at the Sulphur Springs Road

Where a solitary Gliding Dove stands

In The Doon Valley

Reflections - That was not what it looked like when I painted it

This is a Hello from Deepak

This is a Photograph of the Forest Research Institute of India at Dehradun

This is a Hello from Deepak

Hyderabad Night Lights from Banjara Hills

If ever - A Poem by Deepak Menon

IF EVER, OVER MY GRAVE, YOU GRIEVE

A moment ago your eyes personified life's joys, great and small
Your face smiled at the world.
Your face still smiles, but like the smile painted on a doll
As absently, you brush aside a curl,

Of your carelessly ribboned locks of wavy lustrous hair
Falling in a cascade around your face.
And I see that the fire of love in your eyes, is no longer there
Vanished without a trace.

I know that, for some time you will continue to profess love
While you gently retreat,
From my life, knowing that, I have already suffered enough
While worshipping your feet.

I wonder if you will ever think about me in later years,
When another, you gently leave;
I wonder if your lovely eyes will well with reluctant tears,I
f ever, over my grave, you grieve.

A Little goat went for a climb - A poem for little goats

A Little goat went for a climb
To the top of a little hill
He climbed and he climbed
And he climbed until
He reached the top of the hill

The little goat then looked around
From the top of the little hill
He looked and he looked
And looked till he had his fill
From the top of the little hill

The little goat at last looked down
From the top of the little hill
And he gave a little cry
When he saw how high
Was the top of the little hill.

The little goat tried to get down
From the top of the little hill
But the way was steep
And he fell in a heap
Near the top of the little hill

When the little goat opened his eye
Near the top of the little hill
A little teardrop fell
And fell and fell
To the bottom of the little hill.

But when it fell with a little splash
Mother goat at the bottom of the little hill
Saw the tear fall
And at once knew all
And climbed up the little hill

And when she neared the top
She saw on the little hill
Her baby little goat
With a sob in his throat
Near the top of the little hill

Mother goat picked up little goat
Near the top of the little hill
And carried him down
To her house in the town
Far away from the little hill

So the lesson we have learned
From the goat and the little hill
Is never to stray
Through night or day
And always listen to mother’s will.

Deepak Menon

EMPIRE HILL - a poem

EMPIRE HILL

(a poem by Deepak Menon)

The battle lost , the remnants fled

Of the once proud host, gallantly led
By flamboyant officers in flashing red
Nursing wounds that profusely bled

Not long 'ere had bounded up the hill
Hearts pounding, flush'd with the thrill
Of certain victory, no thought that ill

Could befall them, of indomitable will

Almost at the summit, they heard a shout
"NOW LADS," and then, there flashed out
A wall of flame, from the silent redoubt

And then began the rout

Of the greatest army the world had known
By ragged farmers in skin and bone
Who rebelled against the British throne
To found a nation of their own

A haphazard derelict mob, of motley men
With flintlocks so old, some knew not when
they had been made, or even when
had last been used, or would function then.

They crouched behind their earthen mound
which they, overnight, had raised from the ground,
And with haggard eyes looked around
Their ears filled with the thunderous sound

Of the Redshirts charging, in full cry

And each thought, he'd surely die
And his body rotting there would lie

Food for the vultures circling high.

For ammunition, they almost had none
No strength had they to try to run
Just one thought, into their minds was drum'd
Hold fire, and the battle is won

So there they crouched with simple faith

Until t'was almost too late
For nearly upon them, crazed with hate
Loomed the enemy, invincible and great

Then suddenly they heard, the awaited shout

"FIRE," and the trusty flints belched out
A sheet of death in a mighty gout
Which toss'd the British right about.


Like corks floating in a stormy sea
Shattering instantly, what used to be
The pride of the Empire's army

But the farmers still crouched wearily.

Not even knowing, they had toll'd
That day on Bunker Hill
The bell, whose chimes rolled

Around the world until......

THE LOSS OF EMPIRE

SKYMERGE - A Glimpse....

CHAPTER I - (OF THE BOOK) - SKYMERGE

by Deepak Menon

Ruhan the Lute Player slowly came to consciousness. For some time, he thought that he was dead or that his soul had departed from his body - so devoid of feeling was he. The silence deafened him after the terrible cacophony of the previous seven days. Darkness covered the land so he could not see. Slowly he became aware of a long drawn out groaning, sinking into his consciousness from some infinitely remote distance. It took him a long time to realise that the sound was emanating from his own half-open mouth.

And then he became aware of pain. Pain, permeating slowly into every cell of his body - overpowering him with its intensity. Pain such as he had never dreamt could exist. He screamed uncontrollably into the darkness. Screamed again and again till he could scream no more. And lapsed into merciful unconsciousness.

Far to the East from where Ruhan lay, a huge reddish sun rose slowly over the horizon. So lethargic it was, that it took several hours to become fully visible. And it flooded the land with a blood red coverlet, as though the heavens had painted the soil red. Leafless trees stood out sparsely across the vast endless plain, brought into stark relief by the sun - - dark skeletons haloed in gold. The light of the sun was not warm. It did not make any appreciable difference to the chill, which covered the land. Yet it did contain some little warmth, which caused threads of wispy vapour to rise from pockets of water across the plains - so that very soon a light mist covered the land and marched westwards with the unveiling horizon.

Ruhan slowly came to, for the second time. The harsh red light of the rising sun revealed his body grotesquely sprawled at the top of a rocky outcrop incongruously marring the otherwise featureless plain. He groaned again and lay still. After an interminable time his mind succeeded in reasserting itself despite the intense pain in his body - and he could recall his name. Suddenly like a flash of lightning searing across his brain, he recoiled as the happenings of the previous days penetrated his consciousness and his memory hammered his mind with buffeting storms of images.

Images of a sword, thrusting into his body. Images of hands, reaching out for his, and then vanishing into the swirling waters. Of screams echoing in the darkness suddenly cut off as though with a knife. Of the raging torrents tearing his body away from the stark rock he clung to with his lacerated hands and ripped out fingernails. Images of horror, beyond human endurance.

He lapsed into unconsciousness again.

When he came to again - the Red Fury of the sun was beating down on his body from directly overhead. His skin was burning with its warmth. Groaning, he stirred and making a Herculean effort slowly sat up. His eyes opened and he looked around him. From his vantage point on the rocks, he could see all around him. There was not a soul to be seen, just a vast muddy plain. He lay back again and rested for a few moments.

When he opened his eyes the sun had shifted several degrees to the West. An agoraphobic terror filled him for an instant. He rose to his hands and knees and then to his feet. Very carefully he started climbing down from the rocks. Each movement brought waves of intense pain. Barely conscious, he at last stepped off the rocky outcrop onto the soft slush of the plain. He was faint with hunger and the ache in his stomach surpassed all the other pain he had sustained from the battering waves of the deluge. Guided by some unknown instinct he lurched away in the direction of the setting sun.

His staggering weaving walk continued for an interminable time. At last he reached the end of his tether and his body folded slowly onto the welcoming coolness of the mud.

High above in the red sky there was a flash of silver. A pair of lovely eyes scanned the plains for any sign of life as the craft flashed across the skies. The faint sound of its engines penetrated Ruhan's consciousness, as he lay like an inert log on the muddy plain. He lurched to his feet - and performed a madman's dance. Waving and croaking he leaped about frantically. He slipped and fell - came up again covered with mud. The craft continued its steady progress across the sky. Sobbing with frustration and despair he started hurling blobs of mud into the sky. Finally, exhausting the last of his little strength, he sank slowly into oblivion.

And the one in the craft detected a flicker of movement on the computer screen.