That Old Man River

He keeps on flowing

And, Time moves on

There is no slowing,

That’s the way things are

And, they’ll always be

For, Times will change eternally.

The yearnings within

For, the days gone by,

No clouds overhead

Always blue the sky,

The love for the past

Childhood and more

Alas! Things don’t last

As we move along the shore.

So, moving with the times

Is the wise thing to do,

Clinging to the past

No good for me nor You ,

Like the pages in a book

That must always be turned

Else, what’s likely to be

We’ll never have a clue.

We can learn from the past

And that, we can always do

But, to live in it is mirage

And that, is also true

So, accept we must the “new”

Ideas, thoughts, acts and times,

Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter

Seasons all and all the climes.

The good and bad, the ups and downs

No ‘levels’ here except demise,

Life’s smiles and its harrowing frowns

In our stride, half-truths and lies,

All this and more, we must happily face

Make all things modern, our friends,

In today’s frenzied race

Means do not justify the ends

But, be that as it may today

We can still lead good, ethical, lives,

Rejoice in the glitz and glamour around

In the excitement of today’s ‘high fives’, 

Participate in the achievements of Man 

The amazing feats of technology, 

While decrying the denuding side effects

 Of Man’s disconnect with ecology.

Can’t live in the bygones, forever, folks 

Rights and wrongs to all eras belong, 

Must not make fun of ‘times’, at all 

Though, miss we might the Nightingale’s song.

Does everything have a structure

Are we all the sum of parts,

An amalgam of complexities

Kind and sordid hearts.

Does Time, too, have an anatomy

Open to a study of it,

Its ups and downs, its uneven pace

Times dark and brightly lit.

Time moves on, then stands still

Or, so we often feel

Like, when we a few precious moments

Set aside, that begin to feel like a steal.

Nothing on its own does Time seem to be

Of no significance, no consequence

Until, to something linked, or

To someone, for it to make some sense.

Sadly lonesome, it must be

Tragic and Comical too,

Time, really, is a vacuum

Without Me and You.

Note: All material in this product is the intellectual property of Ashok Sawhny and cannot be used in any way without the written

permission of the author Ashok Sawhny. Having said that, the author is always open to proposals and can be contacted

via www.ashoksawhny.com

How troubled seems the world today

Rent, beyond apparent repair,

Torn, the fabric of humanity

Man, in the grip of lasting despair.

Divided, stands the Indivisible

The “One” beyond the stars and skies

Split, to suit vested interests

He, must now be full of remorse and sighs.

Mammon, the only God now

In a very different game,

Not long before we give Him

A more relevant, brand new name.

It’s such a magical, digital, world

All a matter of numbers,

‘Twud not an effrontery be, I guess

To say the “One” in the skies, slumbers.

Spacecrafts to the Moon, Mars and more

Now, when will we on the next mission be, 

The one to lift the curtain of stars, and 

Look for Heaven, create history

Then, pronounce with great profundity

That paradise has always been on earth,

From times immemorial, as poets have said 

From the time that God gave Man his birth.

NOTE :All material in this product is the intellectual property of Ashok Sawhny and cannot be used in any way without the written

permission of the author Ashok Sawhny. Having said that, The author is always open to proposals and can be contacted

via www.ashoksawhny.com

The Sun will set, never mind what

How else will it rise again?

If we don’t write what comes to mind

What use the golden Pen?

One word best describes the world

None other than Dust,

All’s fair in love and war, and

Acceptance is a must.

An invisible thread it is

That connects things, surreptitiously,

Life’s crossword puzzle

Resolves, so mysteriously.

Peddling paranoia

In the garb of genuine fears,

For a world engaged in conflict

Will only result in tears.

World War 1 and World War 2

Will there be a 3

Or, will things as they seem to be

Mean, at War, eternally.

The Candle of Hope must never die

Flicker it will with breeze,

Keep fanning it with undying faith

And, it will never freeze.

Walking in the wilderness

Midst the glory of Mother Nature,

Is this Man of mighty structures

But of very puny stature.

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permission of the author Ashok Sawhny. Having said that, the author is always open to proposals and can be contacted

via www.ashoksawhny.com

When bells don’t chime

And, words don’t rhyme,

When warmth’s not part

Of your daily clime,

When winter loves you

To your core

And, howling winds

Hit your shore,

When glowing hearths

Are dying embers,

The mind a blank

That nothing remembers,

When all you think

Is of the past,

And hope this winter’s

Not the last,

When Spring Eternal

Are empty words,

The trees all bare

Migratory the birds,

Where do you go

What do you do,

When fires lie still

And, you have no clue.

When Winter wraps its arms thus

Around you, with no apparent fuss

And, minuses are all you ever see

No signs of that which we call plus,

When trembling lips

And accompanying sighs,

The Sun goes missing

And dark the skies,

That’s when you feel

The weight of age,

The book of Life a ton

Too heavy the page,

The lines a blur

The sight a cur,

What if you can’t

Afford the fur,

Winter, does no favours shower

No mercies show to those in the bower,

The biting cold does eat into

Each petal of the- once- pretty flower.

Is it cruel or is it not?

Was it nicer when it was hot?

Blemished are we, all and sundry

Blemish to another, ascribe not.

Note :All material in this product is the intellectual property of Ashok Sawhny and cannot be used in any way without the written

permission of the author Ashok Sawhny. Having said that, the author is always open to proposals and can be contacted

via www.ashoksawhny.com

Strange is human history

Strange, indeed, is Man’s story,

Strange, the closet in the body

That stores the thing called Memory.

Strange, how things get passed on

Even DNA , long after we’ve gone,

Strange, how beliefs get entrenched

How we fawn when we act as Pawn.

Atavistic fears that have no reason

Beliefs, that get labelled as treason,

All because habit turns stronger than steel

 You can’t bend it, whatever your passion.

The Fears of darkness all unfounded

While, Hope within is all unbounded,

Not unreal the dichotomy that exists in us 

The more civilized, the more, by the past, surrounded.

All this, I guess, till we turn truly Robotic 

Then Atavism will, indeed, be antique 

Happier, were we, as shepherds, perhaps 

The Sun here, the Moon there, truly Nomadic.

Note :All material in this product is the intellectual property of Ashok Sawhny and cannot be used in any way without the written

permission of the author Ashok Sawhny. Having said that, the author is always open to proposals and can be contacted

via www.ashoksawhny.com

If wishes were horses

Till the end of Time,

I’d still be trawling

Through my book of rhyme,

There’d be Black Sheep and Baa Baa

And, of course, Jack ‘n Jill,

Bleating to the top

Of the, craggy, old hill.

There’d be Jack in the corner

And, Mary’s little lamb,

Stars twinkling in the skies

Eating strawberries and Jam.

If incessant were the rain

I’d ask it to go away,

Give me a break, O Shower

Come another day.

Rain, Rain, go away

Go to Paris or go to Spain,

Let the mouse go up the clock

Hickory Dickory, Dock Dock.

Itsy Bitsy Spider

Went up the water spout,

But Hush a bye Baby

Went up the tree top.

Old Macdonald had a farm

E-i-E-i-O

And, I now hear the gentle voices

Calling, Poor Old  Joe.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall

Liz Truss, they say, had a great fall,

‘Tween Boris and Rishi lies the crown

Whom do you think will stand tall

But let me warn you, folks

There is no Crown, whatsoever ,

On the head of the one at number ten

Up or Down.

It’s firmly ensconced

On His Majesty’s head,

Long Live the King

Long after he’s dead.

Hope you had fun friends, young n’ old

And it brought back those times

When time didn't matter

As long as you sang those nursery rhymes.

Note :All material in this product is the intellectual property of Ashok Sawhny and cannot be used in any way without the written

permission of the author Ashok Sawhny. Having said that, the author is always open to proposals and can be contacted

via www.ashoksawhny.com

A microcosm of the world

No more, is each one of us,

Boarding at different times and places

The same old Life’s bus.

A little paint, a stroke of the brush

Life’s canvas says it all,

Colours and hues are all there

The mountain top, the precipitous fall.

The moments of joy, unsullied

The grim face of misery and blues,

Black, white and colour everywhere

Choppy, the seas of life’s cruise.

A merry-go-round of sorts

A roller coaster ride,

Life knows where to find you

From it, you cannot hide.

Face it then , O fellow folks

There is no other way

Smile, as only you can

Come whatever may!

Note : All material in this product is the intellectual property of Ashok Sawhny and cannot be used in any way without the written

permission of the author Ashok Sawhny. Having said that, the author is always open to proposals and can be contacted

via www.ashoksawhny.com

You may be pretty

But, not perfumed

So what?

A glowing Rose

But, with thorns

So what?

Not handsome as a brother

Nor pretty as a sister

So what?

Not rich as another

Nor, as lucky

So what?

Not white as another

Coloured, perhaps

So what?

Own an island

All hamlets yours

So what?

Puzzled, Lost

At the Crossroads

So what?

Don’t meet expectations

Fall short of the mark

So what?

If you spill some beans

Soil the cloth

So what?

But,

Secrets revealed

May hurt, sometimes

That’s not, So what !

Feelings all fragile

Shatter like glass

Not, So what!

Couldn’t care less

To hell with the world

Not, So what !

If Ego’s the boss

That gets you the bows

Not, So what !

To say Sorry, ain’t easy

‘Cause the ego’s all breezy

Is not, So what

We’re all equal you know

And, that is the way

To both Come and, quietly, Go.

Note: All material in this product is the intellectual property of Ashok Sawhny and cannot be used in any way without the written

permission of the author Ashok Sawhny. Having said that, the author is always open to proposals and can be contacted

via www.ashoksawhny.com

Give me silence and I'll give thee night,

Give me darkness and I'll give thee light,

Thus spake the Man of words few,

For he understood, he knew.

Give me thorns and I'll give thee roses,

Give me faces and I'll give thee poses,

For man is naught but an amalgam strange,

Of good and bad, all within range..

He who sins is, perhaps, sinner not,

A helpless he, that being his lot,

Fate conspires to let him know,

Who is Supreme and who runs the show.

Faith we need and it’s an oasis,

Unreachable with reason as the basis,

However tall we may stand,

The world we leave with an empty hand.

Like grains of sand that make the shore,

We return to sea when needed no more,

Each journey does its end contain,

It's 'manzil' and its own domain.

The wise man ended thus,

Some who listened rubbed their eyes,

Some said it was a pack of lies,

But the ' Noes' were less, or so he heard,

For what the old man said there were more 'Ayes'.

Note :All material in this product is the intellectual property of Ashok Sawhny and cannot be used in any way without the written

permission of the author Ashok Sawhny. Having said that, the author is always open to proposals and can be contacted

via www.ashoksawhny.com