Daniel Trevelyn Joseph

It was Vidwans who wrote to me
When I was Joint Secretary Planning Department
Referring to Kahlil Gibran’s
Being nonplussed on somebody
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Firm, shapely, level-looking
Great assets of his girl-wife
Making him proud of the assets,
Loosening tied up movable property,
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I have crossed sixty, attention is failing.
Lights are fading, recognition decreases,
I feel almost unwanted now and then.
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An angel on earth! Pah, where are they?
They are fairy-tales or christmas carols:
No evidence, not there: but only priests'
Holy men's way of cheering and cheating.
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Six, seven books half-read are open,
Still I started what courier just gave
A bilingual poetry book by T P Rajeevan.
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I cry tears of bitter pain and sorrow:
One says you write prose and claim it is verse,
The other asks, is it only autobiography?
And one more accuses me of just recording
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I am polite, listen to others,
Keep quiet, and carry out instructions;
I fall into one trap, ignored as ineffective.
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It is a pleasure to be in a car
Where the driver has no ego,
Not against the other fellow
Not giving way, or brushing you past,
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Bright, sunny, cool morning with no breeze
Above the blue, nirmal sky, not a bit cloudy,
Enclosed with buildings except on one side,
For green foliage looks peeps into the pool,
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Every time I feel useless
Or life is purposeless
Should think that it is an invite
To meditate, try Nirvana.
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It is like taking a walk
In a forest by the riverside
And keeping a lookout for it,
For anything worth picking up
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By the time we reach
The stage to ask this question
We have passed a few years on earth:
We have studied, acquired some skills,
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Like magic balls, words spring up
From nowhere, bouncing
From mysterious utter darkness inside;
Only after climbing above inner surface,
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Like the river in Kubla Khan,
Gushing forth,
From inside it arises
Beseeching to be put out
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My son-in-law who now has moved to Delhi,
Comes to Mumbai and goes back
Same day with a street dog
Buying for it an AC first class ticket
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Here lies one who bore Life’s joys and pains,
Failures and successes equally or tried to;

Who is grateful for his life, wife Tilaka, daughter Joti,
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Looked out of the window
Up in the sky, the pariah kite
Was hovering, standing a fitter
Description: then moved sideways.
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I go quiet mostly in a party,
Don’t speak, unless with women.
Persons with sense of humour,
Knowledge, fund of anecdotes
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In India, opium is the Hindi film music
And songs, and not religion, not at all:
Hindi film music is just on, day and night
At home, in public, and private functions.
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Saw the crane on the tree
At eye level towards Guru Nanak hospital
So, white even Joti and Tilla commented:
I felt that despite the mud
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