The first duty of a youth,
Is to have an ambition,
Thus spake Vivekananda.....
But the problem precisely is,
Vivekananda,
Will turn in his grave,
If he comes to know,
What goes by the name of 'Ambition',
In these 'permissive' post-modernist times...
Now, 'Ambition' is an Euphemism,
An urge,
An urge irrational,
To acquire more and more,
For the sake of acquring more and more,
In a vain attempt,
To soothe and satiate,
A bruised and a bloated ego.....
Oh ambitious youth !
How low have you been made to stoop !
You don't seem to realize that,
Superfluous things like,
A platinum ring or a luxury car,
Can never give your soul,
The rich meaning,
That a competitive life,
Has robbed you of.....
Now,
Having an 'Ambition'
Seems to be nothing but,
A subtle form of a crime,
A crime against yourself,
And against humanity.....
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
The Hypocrat
Some call you as an Idealist,
You feel reassured…
Some call you a hopeless romantic,
You are still so…
Some call you a dreamer,
You smile and dream on…
Some call you a misfit,
You don’t give a damn…
Some call you a hypocrat,
And it hurts……
You believe in,
The morality of tomorrow,
But you have to live,
In the reality of today,
Maybe that’s why they call you a ‘Hypocrat’….
So you can thank your lucky stars,
That they call you a ‘Hypocrat’,
For, but for hypocrats like you,
Man would have remained in the stone age….
You feel reassured…
Some call you a hopeless romantic,
You are still so…
Some call you a dreamer,
You smile and dream on…
Some call you a misfit,
You don’t give a damn…
Some call you a hypocrat,
And it hurts……
You believe in,
The morality of tomorrow,
But you have to live,
In the reality of today,
Maybe that’s why they call you a ‘Hypocrat’….
So you can thank your lucky stars,
That they call you a ‘Hypocrat’,
For, but for hypocrats like you,
Man would have remained in the stone age….
To All Those……….
To all those who took up guns against an unjust order,
So that guns forever could be dumped into the dustbin of history…
To all those who turned violent against a coercive system,
So that generations of humans to come can live in a violence-free society….
To all those who raised existential questions about the existing order,
And who lost their lives for doing so…
To all those who struggled to shatter the shackles of a sexist system,
And strived to set right the skewed relations between the genders…
To all those minds which transcended the parochial borders of the nation-state,
And sought refuge in the brotherhood of man international…
To all those who refused to be enamoured by ephemeralities like ‘Social status’,
Because of a conviction in the Equality of man, Natural…
To all those who thought further than their biological and social needs,
And gave their all to further the cause of truth and science….
To all those men and women who believed that they had every right as everybody else,
To sing and be as free as the birds in the sky….
To all those in the barracks of Barrackpore, 1857,
Who fired the first shot against colonial oppression….
To all those in that crimson dawn at Leningrad, 1917,
Who raised a voice against human misery and bondage…..
To all those in those verdant paddy fields of Vietnam, 1967,
Who dared to face the naked face of imperialist aggression…
To all those in 10,000 years of recorded history,
Who ensured that all of human evolution was a BIG progress…
To all those boys and girls in their teens and twenties, whose only search in life,
Was the search for a borderless world and a classless society….
To all those countless comrades,
A big salute!
So that guns forever could be dumped into the dustbin of history…
To all those who turned violent against a coercive system,
So that generations of humans to come can live in a violence-free society….
To all those who raised existential questions about the existing order,
And who lost their lives for doing so…
To all those who struggled to shatter the shackles of a sexist system,
And strived to set right the skewed relations between the genders…
To all those minds which transcended the parochial borders of the nation-state,
And sought refuge in the brotherhood of man international…
To all those who refused to be enamoured by ephemeralities like ‘Social status’,
Because of a conviction in the Equality of man, Natural…
To all those who thought further than their biological and social needs,
And gave their all to further the cause of truth and science….
To all those men and women who believed that they had every right as everybody else,
To sing and be as free as the birds in the sky….
To all those in the barracks of Barrackpore, 1857,
Who fired the first shot against colonial oppression….
To all those in that crimson dawn at Leningrad, 1917,
Who raised a voice against human misery and bondage…..
To all those in those verdant paddy fields of Vietnam, 1967,
Who dared to face the naked face of imperialist aggression…
To all those in 10,000 years of recorded history,
Who ensured that all of human evolution was a BIG progress…
To all those boys and girls in their teens and twenties, whose only search in life,
Was the search for a borderless world and a classless society….
To all those countless comrades,
A big salute!
Hail the Homosapien !
(Partly adapted from a poem in the ‘Monthly Review’)
They say he cannot be changed….
Man will always be a man,
A bundle of envy and greed,
A hedonistic creature,
A change in form,
But in essence an animal,
And sometimes worse so…..
So there is no question of ‘Human progress’,
That's what they say….
8000 years ago,
On the banks of the Rhine,
In the foothills of the Alps,
And in the Black forests of Germania,
He was into Incest,
And into Cannibalism….
Now, in those same places,
He talks about ‘Table manners’,
And about ‘Animal Rights’…
If this is not ‘Human progress’,
Then what is?
He may be a newly evolved species,
Just about 60,000 years old,
Subsisting on a thin crust of silica,
On a small planet,
Revolving around a second grade star,
In the suburbs of the galaxy…..
But he can know the past from the stones,
Can transform the present by his labour,
And can work towards a glorious future ,
By his conscious and collective action….
Man is innately noble,
Is infinitely perfectible….
And is capable of scaling,
Ever new heights of Reason and Science….
Hail the homosapien !
They say he cannot be changed….
Man will always be a man,
A bundle of envy and greed,
A hedonistic creature,
A change in form,
But in essence an animal,
And sometimes worse so…..
So there is no question of ‘Human progress’,
That's what they say….
8000 years ago,
On the banks of the Rhine,
In the foothills of the Alps,
And in the Black forests of Germania,
He was into Incest,
And into Cannibalism….
Now, in those same places,
He talks about ‘Table manners’,
And about ‘Animal Rights’…
If this is not ‘Human progress’,
Then what is?
He may be a newly evolved species,
Just about 60,000 years old,
Subsisting on a thin crust of silica,
On a small planet,
Revolving around a second grade star,
In the suburbs of the galaxy…..
But he can know the past from the stones,
Can transform the present by his labour,
And can work towards a glorious future ,
By his conscious and collective action….
Man is innately noble,
Is infinitely perfectible….
And is capable of scaling,
Ever new heights of Reason and Science….
Hail the homosapien !
The Right to Dream
Sometime ago in history,
There was someone called Rosseau,
A man by name Marx,
And a saint called Gandhi,
Who dreamt about a brave new world……
A world where the free development of each,
Will be contingent on,
The free development of all…..
A world where the sweeper and the scientist,
Can lay their rightful claim,
To a common dignity……
But now,
The Dream is different,
It is,
To drive a Cadillac,
To own a house at Beverly Hills,
And have a million dollar bank account…..
The Washington Consensus,
Seems to be the human consensus…..
And the ‘American Dream’,
Seems to subsume,
All other mortal dreams….
This ‘American Dream’,
Is manufactured,
At centralized locations across the globe,
And transmitted through electronic conduits,
To be fed,
To the unsuspecting millions,
For mass consumption……
The Dream is mundane,
The Dream is readymade,
The Dream is standardized,
The Dream gets imported,
And the Dream gets imposed….
At the turn of the Third Millennium AD,
Man seems to have been
Robbed of,
His most precious Right,
The Right to Dream…….
About a glorious future,
For himself,
And for his brethren…..
There was someone called Rosseau,
A man by name Marx,
And a saint called Gandhi,
Who dreamt about a brave new world……
A world where the free development of each,
Will be contingent on,
The free development of all…..
A world where the sweeper and the scientist,
Can lay their rightful claim,
To a common dignity……
But now,
The Dream is different,
It is,
To drive a Cadillac,
To own a house at Beverly Hills,
And have a million dollar bank account…..
The Washington Consensus,
Seems to be the human consensus…..
And the ‘American Dream’,
Seems to subsume,
All other mortal dreams….
This ‘American Dream’,
Is manufactured,
At centralized locations across the globe,
And transmitted through electronic conduits,
To be fed,
To the unsuspecting millions,
For mass consumption……
The Dream is mundane,
The Dream is readymade,
The Dream is standardized,
The Dream gets imported,
And the Dream gets imposed….
At the turn of the Third Millennium AD,
Man seems to have been
Robbed of,
His most precious Right,
The Right to Dream…….
About a glorious future,
For himself,
And for his brethren…..
The Essence of an Existence
A baby is born…
One more addition,
To the multitude of mankind….
The stage of the cradle,
He is but a bundle of emotions,
Devoid of the slyness of man,
Innocence is thy name,
God embodied,
In a tiny human form,
A source of bliss and joy,
To all kith and kin….
A beautiful form grows,
And along with it,
A bit of cunning and greed…..
He is now a child,
A seeker of love and attention,
From all and sundry,
He is an important person,
For, is it not Wordsworth who said,
‘The child is the father of man’?
They call him an adolescent,
Turbulence is thy nature,
The intellect takes the backseat,
And emotions rule….
Caught between maturity and immaturity,
Firmly in the throes,
Of an overwhelming identity crisis,
An overweening self,
Which seeks the singular attention,
Of the opposite sex,
Come hell or high water,
But unable to fathom,
The difference between,
‘True’ Love and Infatuation……
His Youth is now in full bloom,
His beauty rivals the full moon…..
His powerful eyes,
Contain a glint of idealism,
And a bit of anger,
Against the imperfections of Society,
And against the,
Enormous falsities,
Of the human race….
He is an ‘Adult’,
A man in his own right,
A purposeful life,
And a singular identity,
Finally seem to be,
Within his grasp…..
An erstwhile radical,
But now a so-called ‘Realist’,
Did the Optimism of the Will,
Yield at last,
To the Pessimism of the Intellect?
He is a middle-aged man,
The fresh hints of grey,
And the first lines on his face,
Indicate that,
The mundane turmoils of a middle-class life,
Have finally taken their toll….
A doddering old skeleton,
Woe bemoans,
The grave beckons….
Fighting for dignity,
On the fringes of existence,
Walking on the thin line,
Between the living and the dead,
Sorrowing, Sighing, Gasping, Dying,
Sealed in the stone cold tomb......
Yet another soul,
Has breathed its last,
Yet another journey,
Has reached its end…..
One more addition,
To the multitude of mankind….
The stage of the cradle,
He is but a bundle of emotions,
Devoid of the slyness of man,
Innocence is thy name,
God embodied,
In a tiny human form,
A source of bliss and joy,
To all kith and kin….
A beautiful form grows,
And along with it,
A bit of cunning and greed…..
He is now a child,
A seeker of love and attention,
From all and sundry,
He is an important person,
For, is it not Wordsworth who said,
‘The child is the father of man’?
They call him an adolescent,
Turbulence is thy nature,
The intellect takes the backseat,
And emotions rule….
Caught between maturity and immaturity,
Firmly in the throes,
Of an overwhelming identity crisis,
An overweening self,
Which seeks the singular attention,
Of the opposite sex,
Come hell or high water,
But unable to fathom,
The difference between,
‘True’ Love and Infatuation……
His Youth is now in full bloom,
His beauty rivals the full moon…..
His powerful eyes,
Contain a glint of idealism,
And a bit of anger,
Against the imperfections of Society,
And against the,
Enormous falsities,
Of the human race….
He is an ‘Adult’,
A man in his own right,
A purposeful life,
And a singular identity,
Finally seem to be,
Within his grasp…..
An erstwhile radical,
But now a so-called ‘Realist’,
Did the Optimism of the Will,
Yield at last,
To the Pessimism of the Intellect?
He is a middle-aged man,
The fresh hints of grey,
And the first lines on his face,
Indicate that,
The mundane turmoils of a middle-class life,
Have finally taken their toll….
A doddering old skeleton,
Woe bemoans,
The grave beckons….
Fighting for dignity,
On the fringes of existence,
Walking on the thin line,
Between the living and the dead,
Sorrowing, Sighing, Gasping, Dying,
Sealed in the stone cold tomb......
Yet another soul,
Has breathed its last,
Yet another journey,
Has reached its end…..
The chains of creativity
He is a creator…
And he is in chains...
But he was born free...
What caused this?
The answer is confusing....
Is it the inevitability of history?
Or is it the vicissitudes of circumstances?
Is he capable of breaking free?
Yes, why not?
But of what use is a lonely freedom,
That'll make him a mere automaton,
Yet another cog,
Whose only purpose is,
To perpetuate the existing scheme of things....
He is insecure....
But how can the security of a slave,
Substitute for,
The insecurities of creativity ?
How can the comforting shackles of slavery,
Be better than,
The rough shackles of freedom ?
He is in pains,
But how can the numbness of passivity,
Better the pains of activism?
Doesn't he have a right to raise questions?
Doesn't he have a right to strive for answers?
Should he meekly accept ,
Whatever meaning that life offers ?
Should'nt he strive for a deeper meaning,
A more noble meaning,
Than all those hedonistic meanings,
That assail his senses ?
Is it not a crime,
To retreat,
Into the cosy cocoon of Cynicism ?
Is not ‘Disillusionment’,
A moral Disaster ?
He is a pessimist by intelligence,
But.......
An optimist by will….
He is in chains,
And a lonely freedom is within his reach…..
But who wants a lonely freedom ?
A lonely freedom,
Cannot satisfy a soul,
That has grown one with all;
He is a Citizen of the aspiring world...
His own soul's freedom,
He asks for all.....
And he is in chains...
But he was born free...
What caused this?
The answer is confusing....
Is it the inevitability of history?
Or is it the vicissitudes of circumstances?
Is he capable of breaking free?
Yes, why not?
But of what use is a lonely freedom,
That'll make him a mere automaton,
Yet another cog,
Whose only purpose is,
To perpetuate the existing scheme of things....
He is insecure....
But how can the security of a slave,
Substitute for,
The insecurities of creativity ?
How can the comforting shackles of slavery,
Be better than,
The rough shackles of freedom ?
He is in pains,
But how can the numbness of passivity,
Better the pains of activism?
Doesn't he have a right to raise questions?
Doesn't he have a right to strive for answers?
Should he meekly accept ,
Whatever meaning that life offers ?
Should'nt he strive for a deeper meaning,
A more noble meaning,
Than all those hedonistic meanings,
That assail his senses ?
Is it not a crime,
To retreat,
Into the cosy cocoon of Cynicism ?
Is not ‘Disillusionment’,
A moral Disaster ?
He is a pessimist by intelligence,
But.......
An optimist by will….
He is in chains,
And a lonely freedom is within his reach…..
But who wants a lonely freedom ?
A lonely freedom,
Cannot satisfy a soul,
That has grown one with all;
He is a Citizen of the aspiring world...
His own soul's freedom,
He asks for all.....
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