Transient Life

Transient and translucent is this imagery of life,
Looming in the trajectory of time,
Vivid and stark in essence,
Yet frigid and dwindling in appearance,
It always seems against the odds,
This fight for nirvana knows no bounds,
So is this life just an illusion,
Merging into the vortex of parallel visions,
Fishing for adventure and enlightenment some of the times,
And salient and frigid at other times,
Looking into our lives and the worlds we live in,
Truth it seems can be farther from that within,
For as we get closer to the core,
We realize how farther away we are from it,
And in all that dual reality,
is the understanding that life is truly transient,
And that we are just the vehicles of choices,
Waiting to be discovered and burnt down as deemed fit,
And the so the process continues,
Till we reach the end of this cycle of existence.

Land without boundaries

A land without boundaries,
A street without a name,
A road without an end,
A sign post without a pillar,
A home without its peoples,
Is a mystery beyond all reasons,
Has time ebbed into the legions,
Sinking humanity into oblivion,
Or has he escaped extinction,
From the throes of anarchy and destruction,
Can life be found yet again,
And land once lost be reclaimed,
Streets and roads would be swarming again,
With signposts leading to their homes there again,
The face once lost would be found again,
And smiles will be regained,
Futures will be borne again,
And this time destinies will truly be free without any remains.

Here’s a cleaned-up version of your poem, maintaining its thought-provoking themes while improving clarity and flow:

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**A Land Without Boundaries**

A land without boundaries,  

A street without a name,  

A road without an end,  

A signpost with no pillar,  

A home without its people—  

Is a mystery beyond reason.  

Has time slipped into the legions,  

Sinking humanity into oblivion?  

Or has it escaped extinction,  

Surviving the throes of anarchy and destruction?  

Can life be found once more,  

And lands long lost be reclaimed?  

Streets and roads will once again swarm,  

With signposts guiding people home.  

The face once lost will be found,  

And smiles will return.  

Futures will be born again,  

And this time, destinies will be free—  

Without remnants, without chains.  

A man's world

It's often said 'Its a man's world,

And I believed this growing up in a submissive land,

Raised by a patriachial family,

For whom I was no more than a wallflower,

Only to be trampled and crushed at every juncture,

I longed to see the world outside,

And fly a kite like the boy beside,

But I was a girl like no other boy,

And I knew my life would be no other ways,

I was born to breed for the future generations,

Ironically never to breed my own gender,

So why the stigma against me,

Why the injustice driven towards me,

There must be light somewhere the mind yells,

Yet the body does not quell,
And as I face my muted fate in antipathy,

I long to see my antitheses even if it isn't reality,

To feel her fierceness and strength,

For she is an antidote to my failing life,

A rebel in the living stifle.

Someday I know I will break free,

And reach her in my fleeing,

Our paths will cross someday I know,

And I will say to her for sure,

Thanks for your strength and perseverance,

I broke my rut in all deference,

I will then paint the world in my own shades,

And create my own striking portrait 

Here’s a polished version of your poem, refining the language while preserving the deep emotional and reflective themes about gender, freedom, and personal empowerment:

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**Breaking Free**

It’s often said, "It’s a man’s world,"  

And I believed this, growing up in a submissive land,  

Raised by a patriarchal family,  

For whom I was no more than a wallflower—  

Trampled and crushed at every juncture.  

I longed to see the world outside,  

To fly a kite like the boy beside,  

But I was a girl, unlike any boy,  

And I knew my life would be no other way.  

Born to breed for future generations,  

Ironically, never to breed my own kind.  

So why the stigma against me?  

Why the injustice thrust upon me?  

There must be light, my mind yells,  

Yet my body does not quell.  

Facing my muted fate in silent fury,  

I long to see my antithesis, even if unreal,  

To feel her fierceness, her strength,  

For she is the antidote to my dying spirit,  

A rebel in the suffocating stifle.  

Someday, I know, I will break free,  

And reach her in my flight.  

Our paths will cross, I am certain,  

And I will thank her for her strength and perseverance.  

I broke my rut, in all deference,  

Then I will paint the world in my own shades,  

And create my own striking portrait.  

Apocalyptic world

Bygone eras speak of a time,

When worlds were one and sublime,

There was peace and joy in the living,

And beauty and continuity in the giving,

In a land of utopia there was no misgiving,

Yet something inside was definitely brewing,

For in the state of utmost flawlessness,

There existed a take of unmatched meanness,

Slowing creeping upon the perfect,

It threatened to destroy with a viciousness,

And as human as we are,

Oh how we succumbed to the darkness,

Extinguishing the light inside in all earnest,

Suddenly the world was taken over,

By the devil in our very own selves,

Thus began the end of the world as we know,

With no tomorrow to begin.

Here’s a cleaner version of your poem, maintaining its reflective and contemplative tone while enhancing clarity and rhythm:

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**The End of Utopia**

Bygone eras speak of a time  

When worlds were one, and all was sublime.  

There was peace and joy in living,  

And beauty and continuity in giving.  

In this land of utopia, there was no misgiving,  

Yet something inside was quietly brewing.  

For in a state of perfect flawlessness,  

Lurked a tale of unmatched meanness—  

Creeping slowly upon the ideal,  

Threatening to destroy with a ruthless zeal.  

And as human as we are,  

Oh, how we succumbed to the darkness,  

Extinguishing the light within,  

With hearts heavy and earnest.  

Suddenly, the world was taken over  

By the devil within ourselves.  

Thus began the end of the world we knew,  

With no tomorrow to see us through.  

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This version refines the flow of the poem while preserving the idea of a fall from an idealistic state into a darker reality. Let me know what you think!

Immigrant

A forlone face in the sea of skins,

Skimming through the debris of sins,

Amidst the pallor of the dingy,

Singing sorrow to the ruddy,

Failing in the shift of destiny,

And struggling to find face in the living,

A lost cause without a home,

Alone in a land of doom,

Fighting for survival,

And masking the pain of betrayal,

Escaping the land of the dead,

Into the unknown charters of the lore,

Only to be befuddled at every step,

Tricked and shunned for what's rest,

Encountering every hurdle in the way,
Yet making in far step by step,

Tears and heart break may not stop you,

And looking back is not for you,

Surging ahead with every sinew of life,

With hopes for a future safe and right,

For them, their children and their ancestries,

And nothing can stop them from reaching their haven  

Here’s a refined version of your poem, tightening the language and enhancing the flow while preserving its themes of struggle, resilience, and hope:

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**A Forlorn Face**

A forlorn face in a sea of skins,  

Skimming through the debris of sins,  

Amidst the pallor of the dingy,  

Singing sorrow to the ruddy.  

Failing in the shift of destiny,  

Struggling to find a place in the living—  

A lost cause without a home,  

Alone in a land of doom.  

Fighting for survival,  

Masking the pain of betrayal,  

Escaping the land of the dead,  

Into the unknown realms of lore,  

Only to be befuddled at every step,  

Tricked and shunned for seeking rest,  

Encountering hurdles along the way,  

Yet moving forward, step by step.  

Tears and heartbreak may not stop you,  

And looking back is not for you.  

Surging ahead with every sinew of life,  

With hopes for a future safe and right—  

For them, their children, and their ancestors,  

Nothing will stop them from reaching their haven.  

---

This version enhances the rhythm and tightens the imagery while keeping the essence of the speaker's journey toward hope and resilience. Let me know how it resonates!

Happy Smiles

Happy smiles spread over her heart shaped face,
Twinkling eyes meet her freckled cheeks,
Dimpled chin trace a merry look,
And here she goes swinging jauntily,
With a halo of sunshine above her head,
And a trace of carefree candor about her,
Surely this must be an angel say people around her.
She smiles and turns towards them as if to say,
Only to realize that she is all by herself,
Buried in her surreal dreams in her make believe world,
She is indeed a dream inside a dream,
Basking from reality so grotesque,
Yet hopeful in her quest,
That life would just be her way if she dared
and held that belief in all earnest.

Here’s a cleaned-up version of your poem, with a focus on smoothening the flow while preserving its emotional depth and imagery:

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**A Dream Inside a Dream**

Happy smiles spread across her heart-shaped face,  

Twinkling eyes meet her freckled cheeks,  

A dimpled chin traces a merry look,  

And off she goes, swinging jauntily,  

A halo of sunshine above her head,  

A trace of carefree candor about her,  

Surely, this must be an angel, say the people around her.  

She smiles and turns towards them, as if to say—  

Only to realize she is all alone,  

Buried in her surreal dreams, in her make-believe world.  

She is, indeed, a dream inside a dream,  

Basking in a reality so grotesque,  

Yet hopeful in her quest,  

Believing life would bend to her will—  

If only she dared,  

And held that belief in all earnest.  

---

This revision smooths the transitions and emphasizes the contrast between the girl’s idealistic world and the harshness of reality, while enhancing the emotional poignancy. Let me know your thoughts!

Lightning and thunder

Flashes of lightning bolt rise through the forlorn skies,
Signaling incessant rains and mud slides,
Houses are destroyed in its wake,
And people are swept away in all their pains,
In a scene of utter chaos and destruction,
There seems no hopes for a future,
Yet the streak of blue behind the grey,
Seems like a nemesis of change,
Portending a vision for the future,
Simple and true in nature,
As lands slowly emerge from the legions of past plagues,
And smiles wash over the agony and pain,
Seeing a posture full of joy and vigor,
Sensing that life has just begun,
After this metastais of lightning and thunder.

Here’s a cleaner version of your poem, focusing on tightening the language and enhancing the flow while maintaining the vivid imagery and themes of destruction and renewal:

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**After the Storm**

Flashes of lightning tear through the forlorn skies,  

Heralding incessant rains and mudslides.  

Houses are destroyed in their wake,  

And people swept away in their pain.  

In a scene of utter chaos and destruction,  

Hope for the future seems lost.  

Yet a streak of blue behind the grey  

Whispers of change, a subtle foe,  

Portending a vision for what’s to come—  

Simple, true, and full of nature's grace.  

As lands emerge from the legacy of past plagues,  

Smiles slowly wash over the agony and pain.  

A posture full of joy and vigor,  

Life begins anew,  

After the metastasis of lightning and thunder.  

---

This version keeps the original imagery of chaos and renewal but streamlines the language for clarity and impact. The final lines now offer a more concise reflection on rebirth after destruction. Let me know your thoughts!

Life a juxtapose

Life is but a jauxtapose of dreams and reality,
Constantly swirling and swerving in duality,
Sometimes mingling in the midst of shadows ,
And other times in the shades of light,
Lurking in these murky waters,
Strange is this abstract reality and yet poignant,
For raising the subconscious at the most inopportune moment,
Yet delivering consciousness at just the precise moment,
And as delusional as this may seem,
Nothing makes mores sense than life in itself.

Here’s a refined version of your poem, enhancing clarity and flow while keeping the core reflections on the interplay between dreams, reality, and consciousness:

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**Dreams and Reality**

Life is but a juxtaposition of dreams and reality,  

Constantly swirling in the dance of duality.  

Sometimes mingling in the depths of shadows,  

And other times basking in the light’s embrace.  

Lurking in these murky waters,  

Strange is this abstract reality—yet poignant,  

For it stirs the subconscious at the most inopportune times,  

Yet delivers consciousness precisely when needed.  

And as delusional as this may seem,  

Nothing makes more sense than life itself.  

---

This revision tightens the language, smooths the transitions, and clarifies the contrast between the unconscious and conscious moments of life. Let me know how it resonates!

American Global Desi

So the globe trotters arrived at their favorite holiday destination once again. Alas, this was an easier journey to plan much to our collective relief. For exactly two years ago, a hassled mother a.k.a moi made this  arduous journey alone with her baby and little toddler. Holding on to another young mother for support, she just about managed to survive. Since then, a little wiser and older, she was mostly in control.

Now kids aged 2.10 yrs and 5.6 yrs are an interesting race. Not quite old enough to sufficiently empathize with situations beyond their comprehension, they can be a testing experience for a mother. So while they understood the concept of the long distance travel, little did they expect the actual globe spinning effects of the airplane. While sufficiently entertained by the kids channels, the time zone changes just caught them completely unawares, quite literally gutting them out. This was of course a blessing for me except that I had to be quite acrobatic to manage my food with two heads bobbing in and out of my lap.

The other thing to pay heed was the air travel in general. With the numerous accidents of late, I was perennially high strung for any alarming signals. Constantly monitoring air turbulence and the airplane altitude on the monitor, I felt more at peace. Now, its not that I could magically rescue the plane right. But hey, chanting Ramana a zillion times has to help in some way.

So here we are in one piece in singara Chennai. Its almost like nothing has changed here, the heat waves not withstanding. The kids have hit off again with their friends from the neighborhood. Basking in grandparents love, and enjoying the free spirited play, the kids are in sublime joy. They couldn't be further away from the American reality, and yet they have blended seamlessly into the Indian fabric. Call it the genes or anything, my little ones can truly be considered the American Global Desis.

Here’s a revised version of your piece, focusing on improving the flow, tightening the language, and enhancing clarity:

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The globetrotters have arrived at their favorite holiday destination once again. Thankfully, this time the journey was much easier to plan, much to our collective relief. Exactly two years ago, a frazzled mother (a.k.a. me) embarked on this arduous journey alone with a baby and a toddler. With the support of another young mother, I just about managed to survive. Since then, a little wiser and older, I now feel mostly in control.

Now, kids aged 2.10 and 5.6 are an interesting mix. Not quite old enough to fully empathize with situations beyond their comprehension, they can certainly be a challenge for a mother. While they understood the idea of long-distance travel, they were completely unprepared for the globe-spinning effects of the airplane. Though entertained by the kids' channels, the time zone changes hit them hard, quite literally gutting them. This, of course, was a blessing for me—except that I had to perform acrobatics to manage my food while two little heads bobbed in and out of my lap.

Another thing to keep in mind was the air travel itself. With the recent spate of accidents, I was constantly on edge, waiting for any alarming signals. Monitoring air turbulence and the airplane's altitude on the screen gave me some peace of mind. It’s not like I could magically save the plane, but hey, chanting "Ramana" a thousand times surely had to help in some way, right?

And here we are, in one piece, in Singara Chennai. It almost feels like nothing has changed, despite the heat waves. The kids have immediately reconnected with their neighborhood friends. Bathed in the love of grandparents and enjoying carefree play, they are in sheer bliss. They couldn’t be further removed from their American reality, yet they’ve seamlessly blended into the fabric of India. Call it the genes or something else, but my little ones have truly become the American Global Desis.

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This version streamlines the narrative, improving flow and readability while retaining the personal tone and the humor. Let me know how this feels!

Change

Pushing the enveloppe of change,

by changing the status quo,

is by no means 'quote and requote' the obvious,

meaning what meets the eye,

is not by any length of this imagination;

a still image in the making,

its indeed fluid images obliterating,

the mass contradictions within us,

Each of these images making us whole,

Yet leaving us bereft at the core,

as we strive to find that greater calling.

painful and destructive that it may seem,

but promising endless joy in the journey,

Yearning for the eternal peace in that quest,

to reach the balance of sublime contradictory priorities,

and achieve that something in life,

making us whole from the inside out.

Here’s a refined version of your poem, improving clarity, flow, and impact while retaining its philosophical essence:

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**Pushing the Envelope of Change**

Pushing the envelope of change,  

By challenging the status quo,  

Is not merely a matter of "quote and requote"—  

What meets the eye is never quite so simple.  

A still image in the making,  

Yet it is fluid, its edges constantly shifting,  

Obliterating the mass contradictions within us.  

Each image forms part of the whole,  

Yet leaves us empty at the core,  

As we strive to find a greater calling.  

Painful and destructive though it may seem,  

It promises endless joy along the way.  

Yearning for eternal peace in this quest,  

To balance the sublime contradictions of life,  

And achieve that something more,  

That makes us whole—from the inside out.  

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This version tightens the language and smooths out the flow, emphasizing the journey toward balance and personal growth. Let me know what you think!

Canon in D Major

So, now I am hooked on to this soaring Piano ballad. It’s uplifting, passionate and pure in the truest sense of musicality. Something about this melody makes me want to jump up in the air and smile a giddy smile. And when the music builds the tempo slowly, I am left soaring when the notes hit the high octave. This is my new anthem. My panacea to pure unadulterated joy!

I’m completely hooked on this soaring piano ballad. It’s uplifting, passionate, and pure in every sense of the word. There’s something about this melody that makes me want to leap into the air, grinning from ear to ear. And as the music gradually builds, I feel myself soaring when the notes reach that high octave. This is my new anthem—my panacea for pure, unadulterated joy!

50 shades of writing

So, finally the writing bug has caught up with me again and I must begrudgingly thank Ms. E.L.James for this.  Now I couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams that the novel that I studiously chose to avoid a year ago, would become my nemesis for change. So lets see, everyone that knows everyone who has read the book has sworn by the lascivious content, and to not to mention the depravation of the so called yin-yang equations. Yet as I read and re-read the book multitude of times, I grew addicted to alternate lifestyle sold to perfection by the protagonist. The nuances, subtle hints and the vivid descriptions just add to the kaleidoscope of memories that constitutes the essence of the story.

Now this by no means is a reflection of my personal journey. But it does open the doors to ‘More’ in life. And I hope to the stars, sky and back that I find my writers edge once more, and maybe take it more seriously this time on.