Commotion In My Emotion Like Tsunami In Ocean

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Is life wasted? Is only defeat tasted? On fame, is not my name
pasted? Is in liability my life posted? No,I have only fasted,
Poetry dish, I have feasted, Dejection is by wisdom ousted,
Now I have a level-head instead.

Submitted: September 30, 2009

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Submitted: September 30, 2009

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If computer knowledge is a big zero Surely great wonders we always lose So many techniques lie in that field Each is a marvel if properly utilized

My fifty years of age with poor eyesight And also a failing health due to job hazards And my responsibility as a family head Are acting like great obstacles on my way

Simply typing can be done with perfection But, so many subtleties are mind-boggling Sometimes a fine extempore poem gets lost Even in windows get erased certain gems

My wife is an expert in downloading etc., She does it with an authority that amazes I find no time to learn from her intricacies My mind attains utter confusion due to age

She knows only little she says being a teacher But, that little appears to me a big mountain Function keys are extremely useful she says But, my tiny mind feels terribly startled

In the morning I leave home at six-fifteen A M I come back from office at seven forty five P M In the office I toil like a sturdy bull amidst noise My entire personality is squeezed to the maximum

Then poetry writing must somehow be done I find it an outlet for all my fifty wasted years When I wrote my first poetry and showed it to all My father doubted whether I plagiarized it

At that time my age was only seventeen Then up to twenty two I wrote zero poetry I was learning English language seriously I was doing rope-skipping 25000 jumps

I ran 10000 meters in thirty two seconds At that time my age was only sixteen My maternal Uncle talked high of Westerners Stating I would be surely defeated by them

To avoid competition I selected rope-skipping For purely stamina, I did daily 10000 meters ordeal I finished my studies, was pushed to unemployment I got a job as a clerk cum cashier in a famous bank

After my first poem, I neither had a fine language Nor was my experience very rich to dazzle like a star But, after joining the bank, I was put under training There on the black board I wrote a simple second poem

That received a lavish praise from that principal And was published in my bank’s prestigious journal Afterward I took pen dropping my sports ambition At fifty, I have 3000 poems to my humble credit

No time at all to send it to various poetry sites by typing No time at all to fair copy all the poems in rough notes I am bemused by my strange predicament shedding tears Now one drop of my tear mingled with ink is sent.

M V VENKATARAMAN


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