As you can see, my poem on Michael Jackson got more page views
than any code I wrote or any interview I did. which reminds me to be
more humble than be humbled :)) More Details are on Advertise page above.
Category: poetry
Friday Poem: To be or not to bee
http://www.scribd.com/doc/9375908/In-Case-I-Dont-See-You-Again
If u were me And I were you
Tell me something ‘What would you do?
Live life fading ,Like a rose past its prime.
And then fall withered, When its closing time
Or would you turn, Like a marigold to the sun
Just be beautiful ,Thus please everyone.
(Photo Credit-
http://www.boston.com/ae/theater_arts/exhibitionist/2009/01/the_rose_it_nev.html
Boston Rose Museum Closing down)
Poem from my personal collection downloadable for free from Scribd
http://www.scribd.com/doc/9375908/In-Case-I-Dont-See-You-Again
Friday OT: Eclectic
Eclectic the person said, across the ocean to me.
I did not know what the word meant,
I opened my dictionary.
I do good interviews, bad cartoons and mediocre poetry,
I blog and slog, making productive my eccentricities.
I love cloud computing, and with my head is in the clouds,
I try some coding too.
I dont get paid for that all,
Open source has money few.
Beating the recession, with the roller coaster ups and down,
Enjoying Indian elections, with a shoe throwing hack,
I focus on R code and cloud computing slams
But daily demands force me back
And if you ever feel overwhelmed,
with the boring drudgery and daily flim flam,
read some poetry from here
or there
Less expensive than a glass of wine,
Just as relaxing, works faster at times,
either moves you to tears or to sleep,
Irreverent and blasé, these eclectic rhymes.
Slum Dogs Come
Young slum dogs chipping away,
writing code,plugging away.
Take the place under shiny sun someday,
Slum puppies wont go away.
You let them in,
They are hungry for more, they stay,
Nobody ever gave them a break on the way,
Grew up fast,slum childhood wasn’t a child’s play.
Still here they are firing away,
Full steam ahead, and
Damn no Torpedo’s to dissuade.
Before you could pause, object
Cut them short saying Boy hey.
Slum dog walks away,
In his teeth , the shiny bone of the day.
Blood on his fur ,its there
Long enough to stay.
The dog beens much worse,
Much tougher days.
His brain the only weapon ,
he chooses to play.
Brain red hot, it keeps firing away.
That dog wont roll down, play dead, no way.
Been through much pain already this way,
Now numb, The Slum Dogs come here to stay.
Who really killed The Joker ?
Was it the studio and director that pushed him over the edge.
Playing a man with a painted face. Day in .Day out. Take after Take.
All in the name of excellence. But its the money that wanted.
Was it his loneliness. From the estrangement of the mother of his son.Because actress wives need high maintainability not creativity.
When the body was found, the police report was delayed, till she was informed by the maid first.
Was it the drugs he took. To fall asleep from the insomnia
When the nightmares come from playing someone else
day in day out.
How did the Knight tale ended with the Darker Knight.
Was it God. Who called back his beloved child
Because HE loved him so much he called him back to heaven.
Was it the Devil. As in the song “American Pie”
Was it the medical explanation of accidental overdosing from a variety of chemicals.
Who sold him those chemicals? Did he need them.
And in those last moments, as he choked on his vomit to breathe.
Who did Heath Ledger see.
Loving him. Leaving him. Pushing him. Killing him.
(PS -Republished from August 24,2008 .Heath Ledger is in contention for the Oscar posthumous)
The Race -by D.H Groberg
The Race
by D. H. Groberg
Whenever I start to hang my head in front of failure’s face,
my downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
A children’s race, young boys, young men; how I remember well,
excitement sure, but also fear, it wasn’t hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope, each thought to win that race
or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.
Their parents watched from off the side, each cheering for their son,
and each boy hoped to show his folks that he would be the one.
The whistle blew and off they flew, like chariots of fire,
to win, to be the hero there, was each young boy’s desire.
One boy in particular, whose dad was in the crowd,
was running in the lead and thought “My dad will be so proud.”
But as he speeded down the field and crossed a shallow dip,
the little boy who thought he’d win, lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arms flew everyplace,
and midst the laughter of the crowd he fell flat on his face.
As he fell, his hope fell too; he couldn’t win it now.
Humiliated, he just wished to disappear somehow.
But as he fell his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
which to the boy so clearly said, “Get up and win that race!”
He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit that’s all,
and ran with all his mind and might to make up for his fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
his mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.
He wished that he had quit before with only one disgrace.
“I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.”
But through the laughing crowd he searched and found his father’s face
with a steady look that said again, “Get up and win that race!”
So he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last.
“If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to run real fast!”
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight, then ten…
but trying hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.
Defeat! He lay there silently. A tear dropped from his eye.
“There’s no sense running anymore! Three strikes I’m out! Why try?
I’ve lost, so what’s the use?” he thought. “I’ll live with my disgrace.”
But then he thought about his dad, who soon he’d have to face.
“Get up,” an echo sounded low, “you haven’t lost at all,
for all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
Get up!” the echo urged him on, “Get up and take your place!
You were not meant for failure here! Get up and win that race!”
So, up he rose to run once more, refusing to forfeit,
and he resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn’t quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he’d ever been,
still he gave it all he had and ran like he could win.
Three times he’d fallen stumbling, three times he rose again.
Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.
They cheered another boy who crossed the line and won first place,
head high and proud and happy — no falling, no disgrace.
But, when the fallen youngster crossed the line, in last place,
the crowd gave him a greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last with head bowed low, unproud,
you would have thought he’d won the race, to listen to the crowd.
And to his dad he sadly said, “I didn’t do so well.”
“To me, you won,” his father said. “You rose each time you fell.”
And now when things seem dark and bleak and difficult to face,
the memory of that little boy helps me in my own race.
For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
And when depression and despair shout loudly in my face,
another voice within me says, “Get up and win that race!”
-This is a nice poem I found on the net. Hope you liked it.
Ajay
Terrorist Brother
(after the Saturday attacks on 14 September that killed some 20 people in my city Delhi)
after the Nov 27 attacks that killed 101 people in Bombay, Mumbai
O Terrorists, So near and yet So far.
Distracting us with explosions that jar.
Are you a man, or Are you a su-ar.
Sending emails before the bombs go,
Do you think this is some movie show.
Your bombs kill Muslims and Hindus today,
Unlike you, they dont stray.
Whats our fault, that we went to the park that day,
to rest for a while, our children to play.
Our government sucks, we couldnt agree more,
But have you tried some other method before.
We would have joined you, Saying
This government is a clown.
Tell me, brother terrorist,
Why so serious , Why the frown.
Dont bomb this website,
Its bombed thrice enough,
Thanks to servers,
Which cant keep up.
Try and think, you
were once a boy.
Loved ones you had,
I am sorry if they went away.
Its not our fault,
Try to hate the government
with out hating each other.
Else we are just pawns on eaither side
My terrorist brother.
As Gandhi said, he was an old man
Long Ago.
An eye for an eye will leave
A world of blind for sure.
Terrorist brother ,time to wake up
Smell the Coffee.
It may smell like victory today,
but no lunches are free.
As the Book said,and it is true
Those who live by the sword.
Will die by it too.
Death will reach you,
Reach your door.
No matter how high you be,
No matter how brave you were before.
In those last dying moments,
Terrorist brother, you may dream of the Angel to come.
there are no hoories in hell,
and no glories in a death dumb.
DECISION STATS 