raghavendran

Retd Indian railway official, aged 80 plus, settled in Bangalore, India, interests - reading & writing poems. Love feed back.

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  • raghavendran 1d

    Plight of Refugees

    Thanks Writersnetwork for reposting this poem.


    The plight of refugees is horrendous. Throughout history, they have suffered extreme cruelty, pain and privation. Several thousands - children in arms, adults and the aged senile - have lost their lives in their struggle to find a home for themselves in alien lands where they were not welcome.

    Many were packed like sardines in airless cubicles on cargo ships, boats, containers and goods carriers by profiteering, heartless people and in several cases the ships and boats were scuttled near the coast of a coutry leaving them to a gruesome end while they themselves escaped. There seems to be no end to such tragedies even today.

    Plight of Refugees

    People who have lost their all
    Look for a place their own to call,
    They know not where it is
    Nor know the name of any cities.

    In hundreds and thousands they flee,
    Nowhere are they welcome, they see,
    Barriers stop them on their way,
    It happens almost every day.

    Nations and countries keep them out,
    They’ve their own reasons, no doubt,
    But some of them have their role
    In this human tragedy as a whole.

    Men, women and toddlers are packed in ships
    Where they struggle with broken legs and hips,
    The vessels the heartless in mid-ocean scuttle
    Which, with the victims, to the bottom hurtle.

    Has life any value at all?
    Every day increases the death toll,
    A vermin may have a better life,
    But for the hapless, it is pain and strife.


    Raghav
    02.12..2021
    ©raghavendran

  • raghavendran 2w

    An Aerial Pact

    Thanks Writersnetwork for repost of this poem


    A poem on space flights, born of a flight of fancy.


    After six days of work hard,
    Decided the Creator, the Lord,
    That it’s time to have a break
    Which on a Sunday he planned to take.

    When He was thus enjoying His rest
    News came about chaos and unrest,
    Disturbed was the cosmic order,
    Although the planets were cruising within the border.

    In flew messengers with news hot
    Of flying objects whose origins they knew not,
    They were whirling fast in space
    As though in a formula race.

    The alien flying objects in space
    Had no licence from His Grace,
    Yet they were there causing scare,
    None knew they came from where.

    The emissaries told of the scare
    That they wouldn't henceforth dare
    To fly through the aerial sphere
    Fearing for their lives dear.

    Something that flew blinding fast
    And close to leave them aghast
    Was an object they had never seen
    And so scared too they had never been.

    The Lord with his divine power saw
    (And was Himself for a moment in awe)
    That the objects were from the earth
    Where His creations had their birth.

    He called his creations to his abode
    And in a stern godly voice embargoed
    Any move by the earthlings to fly
    Their contraptions in the sky so high.

    Alarmed, his creations made a plea
    That they would to His command agree,
    But would with Heaven love to co-exist
    And from crossing their paths would desist.

    An assurance the earthlings gave
    To the emissaries who escaped a close shave
    That future missiles and spacecrafts that flew
    Would have an orbital path quite new.

    A plea they made to the Lord
    Desiring both parties to have an accord
    With clear areas of the operational sphere
    Where both could fly without fear.

    Lord ever compassionate and benign
    Called upon the earthlings to sign
    A compact for aerial flights
    Defining clearly each other's rights.

    In a grand whirling Space Station
    Eminent men, His creation,
    Drew a pact with the reps of the Lord-
    A solemn Aerial Traffic Accord
    Which ushered in an era of cooperation
    Between the two in aerial flight operation.



    Raghav R
    18.11.2021
    ©raghavendran

  • raghavendran 3w

    A Wake up Call

    Thanks EC for selecting this poem for repost.

    The following poem is a result of what I have read in the "Times of India, Bangalore edition", of 8th Nov 2021. The article
    "Now there's junk in space too"
    is published from the source "NASA, National Geographic, Space.com, The Birmingham Times, SciTechDaily.com."

    Extracted portion

    "Turns out, human beings haven't just polluted the earth, but outer space too. Humans have been hurling objects into space for decades and - shocker - there are consequences. As space travel becomes more common (and commercial), this poses risks and has led to attempts at cleanups.".....
    ............

    "Collisions make this worse. In 2009, a defunct Russian spacecraft Cosmos 2251 collided with the US satellite Iridium 33. This alone added 2,300 pieces of debris".

    "Why is it dangerous?
    These debris are travelling in space, the same way space flights are. They travel at the speed of 17,500 mph, which is fast enough to damage a satellite or spacecraft. This means that it makes space travel even more dangerous, adding to the possibility of a collision"

    There is much more information in the daily which I have not extracted here.

    A Wake up Call

    Environmentalists without let up cry hoarse,
    But polluters show no remorse,
    Vicious has become the atmosphere
    With high pollution levels reaching even stratosphere.

    Cities choke with malignant smog
    Which is smoke combined with fog,
    We cannot discount vehicular emission
    Or the stubble burning which is an addition.

    No exception are lakes, rivers or seas
    Which have become polluted in high degrees,
    Effluents harmful and oil spillage
    Cause unthinkable aquatic carnage.

    The debris that float in the aerial sphere
    Which is far above the earth's atmosphere
    Has reached proportions enormous
    The gravity of which to everyone has become obvious.

    Scientists have warned of aerial accidents
    Which may soon become numerous incidents
    Turning the atmosphere a floating graveyard
    If we, environmental safety, do disregard.

    Windows tremble and human ears cringe
    When sonic boom on aural appendage impinge,
    The boom makes the avian tribes shudder
    And stops the flow of milk from cow's udder.

    Once pristine and unpolluted they were,
    Where everything was pure including the air,
    The Alps and Mount Everest are now garbage junk,
    With aluminium foils and bottles thrown by the drunk.

    Rumours are rife about floating cities
    Peopled with numerous communities,
    Such cities orbiting in the sky like planets
    Where the inmates will enjoy Cokes and doughnuts.

    Natural disasters no one can stop
    When volcanoes erupt or the rain pours non-
    stop,
    Causing untold miseries to humans
    Everywhere affecting millions.

    It is time to see the writing on the wall
    And take every step to forestall
    The dangers that may fall on mankind,
    We cannot afford, to our environment, be unkind.


    Raghav R
    10.11.202
    ©raghavendran

  • raghavendran 4w

    A Child and the Tree

    The following poem is a conversation between a child and a tree in the garden when it was autumn and the tree was destitute of leaves and flowers.

    A Child and the Tree

    Child

    "I feel like crying" the child said,
    Looking at the tree, tilting her head,
    "You have no flowers nor leaves,
    To see you bare, my heart grieves.

    Are you going to die?
    Don't tell me a lie,
    You were always very green
    With flowers and fruits umpteen.

    Are you by any chance sick?,
    I want you to answer me quick,
    A tree doctor I will call for you,
    He will make you grow leaves anew."

    Tree

    "Oh, dear child, don't be upset,
    I will not die yet,
    When autumn comes, I stand bare,
    And what you see is not rare.

    A few months later I will bloom,
    Driving away the deep gloom,
    Flowers fresh will appear again
    When strength and vigor I regain.

    In autumn I stand bare
    Not looking pleasing or fair,
    But come spring, I become alive,
    And till next autumn will survive.

    This happens year after year,
    So dear, have no fear,
    Meet me when spring arrive
    To see me blooming and alive."

    Child

    Oh! dear, dear tree,
    From fear I am now free,
    I will meet you in spring
    And at your rebirth will dance and sing.


    Raghav R
    07.11.2021
    ©raghavendran

  • raghavendran 4w

    Man's Insignificance

    Thanks EC for selecting this poem for repost.


    In the cosmic scheme of the Lord, Man is insignificant despite his claims to achievements.

    Man’s constructing the tallest building or building numerous skyscrapers in the sea, setting foot on moon or scaling the highest peak in the world or circumnavigating the earth solo may be achievements, creating a record in human history, but when compared with the magnificent creations of the Lord, his achievements pale into insignificance. Lord’s power is unequalled and no human being can ever replicate His creation by human endeavour.

    Man's Insignificance

    Struggling with all his might
    The mountaineer scaled the height-
    The highest peak on earth,
    His greatest ambition since birth.

    His heart swelled in pride
    Which he didn’t try to hide,
    He patted himself for the feat,
    Steadying his snow-booted feet.

    Blinding white all around he saw,
    He was filled with awe,
    Mile upon mile were snow-clad peaks
    Which he had viewed for weeks.

    His eyes scanned the sky
    That like a huge dome did lie,
    That bore the planets and the sun
    And the moon when the day was done;

    He saw the sky, beyond his reach and high,
    Oceans vast reflecting the azure sky,
    The very mountain he's standing upon
    With its many a precipitous canyon,

    The lava-spewing volcanoes, living and dead,
    The polar land and the aurora borealis overhead,
    All these creations are beyond human power,
    However much he claimed to be clever.

    A look at himself he finally cast
    And then at the celestial sphere vast,
    A tiny speck to view he did seem
    In the Lord’s grand cosmic scheme.

    His achievement seemed too small
    Before the Creator’s masterpieces all,
    He meekly bowed to the Lord’s power
    Which no Man can equal ever.

    Raghav R
    06.11.2021
    ©raghavendran

  • raghavendran 4w

    Life on Earth

    What is narrated in this verse happened years ago, but it still remains green in my heart.

    Life on Earth

    There is pain in this world,
    Sorrows and agonies too;
    Wherever I cast my eye,
    Grim faces That guileless smile
    Of inexpressible joy
    That glittered on the face
    Of the puny child
    Lingers with me yet,
    The passage of years
    Notwithstanding. people I find;
    People lost in worries,
    People scared of their future;
    My heart sinks in despair,
    Oh! what a world it is
    Where neither happiness
    Nor peace is to be found.

    Then I look up at the sky-
    Oceanic blue and star-spangled,
    A trillion of them twinkling,
    Oh! A sight for the sore eye.

    The sky is yet grey
    With dawn waiting on wings,
    I walk with steady steps
    Along the tree-lined streets;
    Cool breezes blow
    And rush past me
    Caressing my face;
    Every nerve responds
    To the romantic touch
    Of the fresh morning breeze,
    Kindling a desire
    To live and enjoy
    The bounty of nature.

    My ears soon prick up
    To the melodious strains
    Of the unseen birds
    Greeting the new dawn,
    My heart swells in joy
    When the lilting notes
    Fill my heart and soul.

    As I move on
    Breathing the morning air,
    Filled with the fragrance
    Of fresh blown flowers,
    I feel an urge
    To live and savour
    The gift of nature.

    The sun has risen
    And the earth warms up,
    The golden yellow rays
    Light up the trees
    And the multi-hued flowers.

    I walk back
    Along the selfsame route
    To my humble abode
    After a refreshing walk.

    Half way to my home
    I see a beggar woman,
    Old and tired-looking,
    With a child in her arms,
    Looking anxiously
    At those who pass by
    Hoping for whatever
    They could spare.

    My hands search my pocket
    For a few stray coins
    Or for a paper currency,
    Alas! I had none
    Except for two bars
    Of nut-filled chocolates
    Meant for my grandchild,
    But which to the child
    I offer with a smile,
    The child's face at once
    Lights up like a lamp
    Of extreme brilliance,
    And the smile spreads
    From ear to ear.

    The mother bows her head
    In a gesture of gratitude
    And says in a trembling voice,
    "May god bless you
    For your kindness".

    I had not made her rich
    Beyond measure,
    Nor my token help
    Will solve her problems
    In days to come,
    It was all I could do
    At that moment,
    And I felt glad
    To see a smile
    On the faces
    Of both the mother
    And the tiny child.

    That beatifuc smile
    Of inexpressible joy
    That glittered on the face
    Of the innocent child
    Lingers with me yet,
    The passage of years
    Notwithstanding.

    Life is an amalgam
    Of joys and sorrows
    Filled in measures
    Different for each being;
    So let us take both
    In our stride
    And move on
    With a smiling face
    And help the needy
    With whatever we can
    Till our life's curtain
    Falls once for all.


    Raghav R
    03.11.2021
    ©raghavendran

  • raghavendran 5w

    The Curse of Poverty

    Thanks EC for selecting this poem under Editor's Choice.


    Poverty is humanity's greatest curse,
    Poverty-stricken, with an empty purse,
    The poor do not know
    For the next meal, where to go.

    With neither home nor hearth
    From the very time of their birth,
    With the open sky as their roof,
    They soon become weatherproof.

    Rain or shine makes no difference,
    And from the elements there is no deliverance,
    They sleep huddled on the footpath
    With no escape from nature's wrath.

    With children in the crook of their arms
    And suckling them in the open without qualms,
    They become immune to public stare,
    For, to them, it is a common affair.

    It is an irony, but a fact indeed
    That they have many mouths to feed,
    Which makes their lives very hard,
    And for their misery, they blame the lord.

    A decent bath to them is very rare,
    Except when it pours from the air,
    They walk on the streets with bare feet,
    Whether they are hot or covered in sleet.

    Some may be lucky to have a hut
    With a flimsy door to shut,
    To keep themselves safe from prowling strays
    Or to stop the gushing water on rainy days.

    Poverty drives the poor insane,
    It is a curse and a bane,
    The distressed poor look for an easy way out
    By hanging themselves with a rope stout.


    Raghav R
    31.10..2021

  • raghavendran 5w

    A Very Futile Search

    Whether the gray-haired man is an incorrigible optimist or one who is off his rocker, I leave it to the readers to judge.

    A Futile Search

    The gray-haired man was looking everywhere
    For a being that had become scarce or rare,
    To find one such became his life's mission
    And he strove hard to achieve his ambition.

    For years he continued his search
    Like a scientist doing a research,
    But he couldn’t get what he was at,
    People started calling him a nut.

    He had grown gray with the hunt,
    He continued his efforts with a grunt,
    Huffing and puffing and fagged out,
    But he seemed to have a heart stout.

    One day someone asked him
    When the day had turned dim,
    What he was looking for,
    Searching everywhere, near and far.

    The old man answered in a voice full of woe,
    “Dear, I have nothing at present to show
    For I haven’t found the thing
    That will to me happiness bring.

    I’m for an Honest Politician spying,
    Days, months and years are flying,
    I have been dying to find one,
    But so far I have found none".

    The man fell into a silence deep
    And seemed almost asleep,
    But soon he came to life
    With an answer to the old man’s strife.

    "Honesty and politics are poles apart ever
    Like water and oil they mix never,
    So abandon your futile quest
    And try to enjoy the overdue rest"

    He continued with a face deadpan,
    “You’ll surely find such a man
    When you’ll in the sun find ice
    Or when people speak no lies”.

    On hearing this, the old man's face fell,
    He seemed to be under a spell,
    Neither a sigh nor a sound escaped him,
    He was left to pursue his whim.


    Raghav
    28.10.2021
    ©raghavendran

  • raghavendran 5w

    Full Circle

    Full Circle


    I am a small brook
    From a small hole
    Atop a tall mount
    Ever clad in snow and mist;

    I wend my way down
    Dale and vale,
    Cliffs and gorges
    To find my own rhythm
    In the vast plains below;

    Wider and wider I become
    As I snake along the plain,
    Huts and hamlets I cross,
    Cities and towns too,
    To join the ocean mighty
    And lose my own identity
    As a river broad and wide;

    When the sun heats up
    The unceasing waves
    And sends up clouds grey
    That floats above the mount
    And descends in a curtain of rain,
    I start flowing again
    From the self-same mount
    Where I was earlier born
    And the cycle once again starts.



    Raghav R
    27.10.2021
    ©raghavendran

  • raghavendran 5w

    From the Raw to the Refined

    Thank you very much EC for selecting this poem.


    Like the flowers that are culled
    From the faded and the colourless
    To adorn a garland beautiful;

    Like the veins of shiny gold
    Culled from the cluster of rocks
    To be refined for gold pure;

    Like the grains which, removed of the husk,
    Find their fitting place
    On the laden tables of every home;

    Like the diamonds, rough and raw,
    Eased from the bowels of earth
    And shaped to take their place
    Around a beauty’s neck;

    So must one cull beautiful words
    From the maze of whirling thoughts
    And set them in appealing order
    To weave a poem of exquisite charm.



    Raghav R
    25.07.2015
    ©raghavendran