Hi, I'm Mahesh Ramakrishnan 👋

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Reversal

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #72

I see it, the necessity of this course,
This dim pass for Thy rainbow bridge,
’Cause in breach and crevice lurks
A shadow the dream to smudge.

Parked are wings that soar on ether,
Limbs bound that could leap o’er life,
Mind waned by a cloud from nether,
And heart leashed to perpetual strife.

An incessant fire bakes the clay,
And the ceaseless hammer’s fall
Breaking resistance of forever Nay,
To coax from matter the assenting call.

Begin for us the reversal’s turn,
Dispatch Thy emissary of victorious dawn!

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The Cure

Poem-Part 1

In the dying throes of the Age of Iron
Was a desperate gamble by Falsehood begun,
Armed with a malicious science of the Djinn
Weaponised a mute force for a pandemic to begin.
No reason or ambition could contain its hunger,
Only scales of ruin that depravity could measure.
It rode swift on electric wheels of Science,
Sowed seeds of fear with authority’s alliance.
Everywhere the panic and woe by this unknown foe,
Wither its form, when it began non did know. 
The Djinn of Science, trickster genius of physical,
Said, “I am science, measurer of the phenomenal,
By my devices and theorems do all things run,
Nothing remains to escape my gaze under the sun.
Old viruses I have studied, by vaccination made bargain,
Stayed the virus’ run and by limited ruin it did contain. 
I have gazed at its body and ways in magnifying scope,
I shall conceive a potion that shall renew all hope. 
Trust to me and the incantation of my formulae
I shall free all of fear like a bad dream of yesterday.”
Meanwhile the traders of sorrow, traffickers of fears
Hid their glee and cried on rooftops with false tears,
“Oh the woe, pitiless blade on mom and babe,
Must fair forms abrupt end with black drape?
What expense of coin, what solution could you procure,
O kind Djinn from thy cauldrons of potion for a cure?
Oh the toil of manufacture I shall endure for a fee,
The well being of all is foremost as you can see.”
The traffickers in carrion then thought, “Sweet, sweet,
A little fear, a little confusion and these fall at my feet.
The vulture is my brother, the cruel hyena jaw my kin,
My festivals are pestilence, pandemic and contagion.
The brokers of science I employ to cough their numbers,
Charts of horror plot and ensure all in nightmare remembers.
Oh the pleasure of daily panic and then light of a clue
To stave the fear a whit and by newer charts fear renew!
A perennial panic and a sustained pressure of woe
Are methods abysmal for my dark reign to grow.”

PS: To be continued..