Of Beards, 'man' and 'woman'

I am a beard. By the virtue of my being, I am elated to point that I am not one of the confused, degraded species called 'man'. At this point, I am liable to declare that eccentric beard scientist Dr. Hangenstien, has pointed out a possibility of man's contribution in the very origin of us beards. In his quests for creating a perfect specimen of beard species(code name Hangenstien , unimaginative I think), he postulated the pre-requisite existence of a 'man' specimen. His theories were of course met with skepticism and rejected with as little interest by beard community as the innocent fresh growth of one of our species is rejected by the busy, big firm, suit covered, executives of this 'man' species. These particular few very often even go to the lengths of proudly displaying the extents of their evil pursuits by christening themselves as MBA, which as per our latest research spells "Merciless Beard Attacker", horrific!

By now, you are sure to have perceived, and unmistakably I must add, beards' contempt for 'man'. That might pretty much be the center of today's dialogue. You see, we beards are in general very docile and content beings. "Grow, and let grow" yes, thats what we say and strive to practice. However, 'man' has throughout history, considered beard as an ornament detached from the normal everyday life. We have a status of out-of the way, edge of the town property in the facial real estate, abstract and obsolete entities. If not, why is it that most of our fellows who can boast flowing, unrestrained braids and impressive length are accompanied invariably by so called poets, artists, young aimless rebels, spiritual leaders and revolutionaries. This goes against all we beards stand. You see, us beards are nothing but practical and just want to get on with our lives. Yet as you read, twenty three thousand beards all over the world are being used every millisecond as mere conduits of vague, irrational thoughts and dreams by unworthy, lost souls of poets and artists. What a disgrace! imagine living as that beard. These so called thinkers also take fair amount of amusement in the incessant stroking of their unhappy, weary beards while driveling on during a conversation over opium and rotten chunks of bread in dark, smelly and desolate dwellings of such beings and due to the cruel syntax of this world, their ever so worthy and discontented beards.

However, in cruelty and reckless barbarism towards us beards, their is no other species as brutal as the species call 'Woman'. Despite all of man's attempts in disgracing beards and ruining their purposeful lives, at least some let their beard live a long life. But the woman species seem to be born with the sole purpose of clearing the name of beards as species from our historical records. A woman however, is highly deceptive as they walk, talk and act in a similar way as a man. But, make no mistake, give the woman a beard and she transforms into a barbaric butcher and an exquisite murderer, she cuts her beard with stone-cold blade and intention of forethought. Even in herds, woman's beards seem to gather unwanted remarks and unsought attention, how absurd! Woman however, doesn't even stop there. Many of my comrades tell terrifying tales of a woman specimen coaxing a man specimen to part with his beard. Yes, woman ostensibly possesses a manipulative power over the species man and they don't shy away from using these powers to achieve their misjudged and malignant motives against us beards.

We beards are dumbstruck and hopeless on seeing woman's hatred for us. But, we still have hopes from Man. These hopes are often quashed however like those of a visionary beard called 'Litler'. He dreamed of a world where all beards and all men will live together happily with long, amicable and fluent threads of facial hair indeed acting as the common fabric of equality and camaraderie among all men. As historical records show however, this noble beard was shaved off by its imbecile grower and replaced mockingly by a mean, angry and puny mustache known as 'Titler'. The man accused here was known as 'Hitler' and went on exploiting even other beards. Therefore, even though man's past has been filled with disloyalty & plain thoughtlessness and insinuates their cold attitude, I take this occasion to appeal for mercy and compassion to any male souls still untouched by their own impure thoughts longing for facial smoothness and also by any woman's clever tricks. In this scape, I have come up with a new motto for men and beards - "Live and let grow (your beard)".

"Many thanks".

Rains of mood

Sun in sky, songs of hopes flowing outside,
Still its all dark, when it rains inside,

Roaring clouds of sadness, in skies of bleak empty,
Pour drops of detachment, filled with misery,

With thunders of loathe, and rocks of bottom,
It ever rains hard inside, with greys of autumn,

One may take all, but words of own,
Saying one's worthless, despised by all,

Inner rains defy weather, autumn or spring,
Bows in sky falter before swords of saddening,

One holds oneself, ignore's one's inner seasons,
Contains floods of emotions, with dams of reasons,

And one day the levee breaks, judgement gets drowned,
With waters of depression, village of conscience gets swamped,

For feelings may be primal, vague and unsound,
And may be irrational, with no basis or ground,

But drawn from raw self, they are resolute,
Our naked expressions, awful and yet true,

For when one's sad, can't say otherwise,
Murk seems deep, as sun may never rise,

And it "is" dark, damp, barren and deprived,
But rains of mood, like all, cease only with time,

Weathers of melancholy "are" here, rains of sadness "are" true,
Yet, the summer of ease, season of fulfillment, will come through.

Stars and me

Apart from simple elements like hydrogen and helium, higher elements were made in the early stars. This includes Carbon, Nitrogen and Phosphorus which are essential building blocks of life. These were also made in stars and we in a way are made from stardust.
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Impressed, I gaze at stars, high and mighty,
Depressed, at how meager I am, to know exactly,

Flanked with fluid red giant, and a sun so fiery,
We are but puny, in the stellar entirety,

With end but certain, living life with apprehensions,
Stars remind times eternal, speak cosmic indifference,

For not mere mass, in currency of time,
They are premiers, with wealth sublime,

Stared I have, never felt as today,
Assured at last, walking a starlit way,

We're infants of stars, me one of the prodigy,
We're made of stardust, it makes you, us and me,

Mammoths once roamed earth, minute may rule hours of gloom,
None knew their fate in universe, but just we do,

If earth were mother, father would be sun,
Stars ancestors, in the astro-relation,

In the endless sea of space, stars stand guard, far as vision goes,
And not just sons, we may be only sons, far as one knows.

Poetry of poetry

 

 Poem is a song of one, in poet's letters,
 It has tunes a-many, of several lectors,

    In the tree of life, we're all just leaves,
    Poem stands by, observes with ease,

    Poet is mortal, troubled and filled with tumulty,
    Poem becomes on books of calm, with pen of clarity,

    But the poem is a mirror, reflects our states,
    Image is biased by you, and it imitates,

    Poet writes one, with pen and sheets,
    Poem writes tons, for all who reads,

    Words it has, of this one and just one,
    Thoughts poem wakes, of your own inner one,

    Poet writes, but evokes poems from you,
    Poetry's inside, the way music moves you,

    Every life is a poem, from eyes of a poet,
    You are the poetry, you are your own poet.


    ----- Inspired by one of late poet A. G.'s imaginative but untitled works

This is me

I've lived for years, will live in years to be,
This is who I am, Now is when I wish to be,

Midst dark jungles of past, and saps of future trees,
Missing are flowers of today, and the essence of peace,

Filled of tomorrow's resolves, regrets for yesterday,
Mists of moments far and gone, fog skies of today,

I count the words, hum the grooves,
Yearn for trance, where silence moves,

One may live in moments, or never in eternity,
One may fly in fall, if one leaves prudity,

Strive I may, never become still and pure,
I remain in unrest, preyed by lust and lure,

Drowned in mud of expectance, whirls of partiality,
I aim for rivers of serene, currents of clarity,

I look for uniform, but act with volatility,
Confronted, in what I seek and my identity,

We all play parts, in the cosmic mystery,
I wish the stage of now, not future nor history.

Animal within

 

These lines are from a wolf cub, addressed to the mother wolf. This particular family had its lineage in wild but wild had been taken out of them by years and generations of captivity, unwillingly for the first few generations and unwittingly for the later ones. The wolf cub was in adoloscence, a fine young specimen, in ideal state for leaving home if he were in wild and if he knew he should. But, the wolf cub, being an animal doesn't know this. He doesn't have thoughts and plans, he has instincts and impulses. He misses something unknown but doesn't know what. Conditioned by their amicable behaviour, captors were no longer cautiuous all the time and they would leave the cage open sometimes when food was served. It wasn't for long, but was enough for the cub to frolick around in the ground and glance at the wilderness far ahead with inexplicable longing in his heart. One such day, he is resolved to go into the wild, he doesn't know if it will bring him any good. But, he just knows he'll have to go - Body and mind were used to walls, they didn't know better, Animal within wasn't.
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Mother, I don't know if I was born to be wild,
Don't know if I am one of the Jungle's child,

But I crave for more than kin and walls,
An unknown aim for my leaps and strolls,

I have steel in muscles and iron in teeth,
But food is easy and no foe to beat,

I can run like wind, with no sound,
But, I'm never given vast and ample ground,

I have food, warmth and brothers to play,
But I long for open skies to hunt and prey,

Tame is what I am, with my body and my mind,
But, the heart beats to a rhythm of the wild,

Torn by this rebellion and my affection for you,
Mother, with a burdened heart, I must leave you,

I will miss your scent and look in your eyes,
But I must know myself, and the moment arrives,

Look, the gates are open, the wind gestures outside,
Pledging to show worlds far beyond my restless mind,

Mother, I don't know if I was born to be wild or free,
But, the Jungle is where I belong, and there I will be. 

Singularity

You are One and none less,
Who is not merely the appearance,

Not the one who lives and dies,
But the One who thinks and thrives,

Yes, you won't remain with enough time gone,
But You are more than just your form,

Not the one who feels and does,
But the One who ponders your purpose,

Many might have come and gone,
You are more than anyone could have known,

you are one of many, One of the islands in the sea,
I cannot know You, I just hear and see,

You are One and none less,
The One who knows this One-ness.