My natural state is leadership not for me to be a follower my natural state is leadership When existence is in flames inside and out not for me to panic to trample over others for me to stay calm in mind with cool waters douse the fire lead my fellow mates put in the same place by a temporal accident the same time, the same space the same air - lead them away away from danger to live and fight another day. My natural state is leadership even when I am of a clouded mind a dull, tired body pushed back by fear and trepidation fear I drink in my daily coffee fear paid to me by my mortgage fear attached to me by my possessions fear my gains have given me fear of consequences of actions fear of not knowing the right label the right politics fear of not knowing if left is right or right is right fear that not knowing is the fear fear that there is not enough time to evaluate to ponder to know till I know there is not enough time fear of inaction of pussillanimity. My natural state is leadership I cannot but act with blind eyes and sharp vision I must act for being a leader has consequences and so does not being everything has consequences it is a maze of cause and effect a complex maze of butterfly effects but I must act in the hope that a butterfly has my name vanity perhaps but I must act Act as a leader needs to face the view the open vista the hissing caldera the open battlefield to lead troops into a clear horizon to promise. Not for the leader to be another number to be forgotten easily in that everlasting brief moment of history For the leader to face the first bullet or seem to do so and if not dead to be known as the one the one not to fight what cannot be fought to accept in wisdom or in foolishness accidents of random arrangement of genes of space time and fellow beings the natural state of leadership
Following on from my previous post – Life is a rhombus; Maybe your shapes are more complex with interesting patterns! This abstraction by the way of introduction to the following photograph of mine and as a nostalgic ode to my days of photography competition!
I spent many wonderful years being part of the Enchanted Lens Camera Club during my PhD days in Albuquerque, New Mexico (Any Breaking Bad fans here?). There was a monthly competition where you could submit upto 3 photographs judged by an expert (often a distinguished visiting photographer). Each photograph was judged out of 15 – the learning was immense as photographs rolled across the big screen one by one over a riveting two or so hours with insightful comments on each one of them!! Three photographs with the best scores in the general and some thematic categories won prizes i.e. pride, honour and a ribbon.
Here is one of my photographs which won one of the prizes with the submission title being B-Assigned-Jagged triangles (i.e a submission in category B (amateur), Assigned (a themed competition) with the photgraph titled `Jagged Triangles’).
Comments? Any guesses how the photograph happened? Hint: this is not a computer generated graphic nor is it digital!!
Life is a Rhombus
Your eyes are a rhombus your nose is a rhombus your circular eyeballs wheels on the pathways of the rhombus your lips have sharp edges; you chin is a wedge your face a rhombus
On persistent demand from a friend, I revive this old classic. The story goes that during my student days when I used to have this poem up on my university web page at University of New Mexico, the person bacame so spooked that he almost reconsidered his move to UNM at the prospect of there being such deadly poets there!!
Once a poem is revieled to the world, it becomes the reader’s property and a canvas with some structure for the reader or listener to peg their own emotions and thoughts upon – like pegs that mountaineers nail onto a mountainside to secure ropes and feet upon to make a journey – to a summit or somewhere high. A good poet hopefully allows a free exploration across many paths guided by each individual’s thought. Thus, I would like to say much about what I was trying to convey from this rhombus shaped poem – save that is was inspired by reading about what makes a face pleasant. Over to you – please share your thoughts in the comments section below, if the poem inspires you to some!
A short tribute to this lovely poetry blog an email from whom lands almost daily in my mailbox with a poem and commentary. I remember my cousin introducing me to this many years ago – occasionally I would read the mail but even if not, the fact that a piece of loved creativity walks into my mailbox often gives a warm feeling inside. Thanks go to Ivan M. Granger who has been running this initiative.
Here is the beauitiful Haiku he shared:
This cold winter night
English version by Sam Hamill
This cold winter night,
that old wooden-head Buddha
would make a nice fire
So, would you burn your beliefs for survival?
As a thanks:
Lovely Haiku, Ivan
Weather is chilly here too
Warm thoughts though I share
Have you written a Haiku? Care to share it in the comments section? Have you managed to follow the structure (5-7-5) and talk about nature in every one of them (as traditionally done apparently)?
Loneliness is a strange companion. She comes to visit me when I am alone or among a hundred. She's my best friend when I think of my brothers out there in some other Universe or the whole span of my physical existence as the blink of someone's eye and of their existence as the blink of someone else's eye and of their existence further --- Loneliness, my friend, my companion, I blink my eye.
Another resurrected poem (originally published in the quarterly New Quest, a journal of participative inquiry, edited by the legendary Dilip Chitre).
Are we by ourselves in the whole wide universe? As lonely (7 billion lonely ones), we have thought a lot about this. Maybe we are not, as we discover more and more water on the moon and even that asteriods can replenish their own water!!
Today happens to be national poetry day, I suddenly realized
and out of the tattered green book
below are a couple I have revived:
Poetry is spewn
from the exhaust pipe
of a revving car
at an unending red light
on a vast open road,
fed into mad frenzy by an imginary accelerator
by real brakes, strong chains.
Poetry is a revolt
asking for the freedom of flight
poetry is a revolt against the red light;
the question is —–
does poetry turn the light green
does the revolt turn into a revolution?
Since I couldn’t stop at one, here’s another:
Day after God
What’s the good
they remember me as a great poet,
as a great leader
and maybe day after
as a God —-
What’s the good
if day after
they still search for Gods.
And they gave her a day
to raise her on a pulpit
and smile ….
to drink red wine
in their cosy homes
wash some guilt down
and smile ….
And she toils away as ever
a second person in a corner
and smiles ….
Women’s day it was yesterday I am told and now it is over. Congratulations were extended, selfies were taken, collages were made and posted on Instagram, cakes were cut and parties were thrown, it was a day for the florists and wine shops to make moolah until the next big day for the trade on the 11th of March, the mother’s day (in the United Kingdom).
Now that all the excitement around the international women’s day has died down and the men and women of this world have gone back to business as usual and the interim special status granted to women has been taken away, let me extend my heartiest congratulations to all my homies for successfully claiming one full day to ourselves after centuries of struggle for equal rights for men and women. Please don’t misconstrue me, I am not ridiculing the significance of the day, I completely…
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