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Vivekanand Jha

of

Darbhanga, Bihar, India

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Time has come oh Father Christ!

by

Vivekanand Jha

Ideals and morals are on the verge of rust
The people have changed their priority first
Now they know only the religion of lust
Time has come oh Father Christ!
You take the corrective measure must
Lest man would loose in you trust.

People only know the theory of make or mar
Instead of man now bomb travels in car
Though wound heals up but remains scar
Instead of church they prefer to go bar
Even shoes give in to the heat of the tar
We are not able to travel any far
Oh Father! You can only save our soul and star.

We are in the world of absolute
Subjected to stink and pollute
Lung is choked with deposition of soot
We arenít able to blow our flute
Amidst scaring and cautionary roaring of the hoot
Oh Father! Time has come to make this alarm mute
By vibrating the string of your divinely lute


Time has come oh Father Christ!

by

Vivekanand Jha

Ideals and morals are on the verge of rust
The people have changed their priority first
Now they know only the religion of lust
Time has come oh Father Christ!
You take the corrective measure must
Lest man would loose in you trust.

People only know the theory of make or mar
Instead of man now bomb travels in car
Though wound heals up but remains scar
Instead of church they prefer to go bar
Even shoes give in to the heat of the tar
We are not able to travel any far
Oh Father! You can only save our soul and star.

We are in the world of absolute
Subjected to stink and pollute
Lung is choked with deposition of soot
We arenít able to blow our flute
Amidst scaring and cautionary roaring of the hoot
Oh Father! Time has come to make this alarm mute
By vibrating the string of your divinely lute

Let me live even in the dark

by

Vivekanand Jha


You keep with you your creative art
Even though you donít help me to start
Yet I will try to play my part
In the face of the reality stark
My only request to you to mark:
I donít need your brilliant spark
If you let me live even in the dark.

You keep with you your Eden Park
I will request you to hark:
I would be happy with my Jurassic Park
If you let me live even in the dark.

Although your journey upon the sea embarks
You keep with you your witty remarks
Sated with the pond I will accomplish my task
If you let me live even in the dark.

You enjoy pampering in the lark
I neednít your euphony, your skylark
Iíll be contended with my cacophonic bark
If you let me live even in the dark.

Hands Heave to Harm and Hamper

by

Vivekanand Jha



Our hands heave
To harm and hamper,
Not to help and heal.

Not to assist
The damsel in distress
Instead feel refresh
In molesting mistress.

Not to weaken
The woes of widows
But apt to weaken
Their only credos.

Not to stop
The rape
But we are top
In viewing the naked tape.

We have destitution
In deleting the prostitution
But we are to the fore
In bargaining the whore.

Not to prohibit
The child labour
But not hesitate to inhibit
Their favour.

Not to curb
The poverty
But ready to disturb
The Poorís liberty.

We use stick
To persecute the weak
We use flower
To adorn the tower.

Not to ameliorate
Law and order
But not fret to generate
Chaos and disorder.

We have temptation
To incur evil reputation
But we have palpitation
In getting good inspiration.

We praise
When our hands raise
To tarnish and damage
The image of sage.

We neglect
The existing institution
But we accept
The amendment of constitution.

What a relief!
If our hands heave
To leave
Harm and hamper
But to help and heal.

War to wage

by

Vivekanand Jha



What is life becomes apparent
When old age is attained by a parent
When they enter lifeís last phase
For final and crucial war to wage.

The son who was obedient before marriage
Is now yoked under the carriage
Loaded heavily with curtain lecture
And bridled with the rope of resolute texture.

To see his son blooming like a rose
Parent bears thorns from top to toes
To secure and save for sonís future
Got his daughter wedded with a lecher.

The hands that was once replete
Are now empty and depleted
The tree that he waters and nurses
Has paid rotten fruit and withered flower in reverse.

Stigma of the Stress

by

Vivekanand Jha



It is very difficult to trace
When a person falls victim to stress.
It is invisible like wind
Good enough to make you grind.

It is defined by the pretension
People calls it Hyper-tension
Which has got its prevention
In affirmative intention.

Stress results in abnormal heart-beat
Which appears in the form of occasional fit
Physician says later it may result in cardiac rift
So donít be thrift
And leave your being rigid
Lest you suffer from Coronary heart disease.

If you fail to reduce stress level
It will raise your Creatinine level
What to tell of cholesterol level
You will not be able to travel
The journeyís mystery to unravel.

Stress changes the lifeís order
Important one is sleeping disorder
You are standing on lifeís border
Before being reduced to powder.

Stress results in a heavy strain
It attacks in the form of recurrent migraine pain
Which destroys your energy in vain
So better you stop this going into drain
As you have got many things to attain
Before you sing a final refrain
And merge into the rites of rain.

Stress reduces physical abilities
It causes to suffer from diabetes
You will have to face inabilities
In fulfilling your liabilities

Stress affects adversely to the digestion
So it would be my kind suggestion
To pay attention to this degradation
Before your life comes into extinction.

Stress drastically diminish the cardinal desire
Which is psycheís prime attire
Which everyone would like to fire
Before itís time to retire.

Stress causes to lose concentration
It inhibits, in the work, deep penetration
In the output, degeneration
In the society, lose representation
And you will not achieve adequate remuneration.

In the end, the doctor wants to inspire
Itís stress: if you want to respire
You should sufficiently perspire,
A little of stress needs to make you aspire
To achieve your desire
To appease your divine Sire,
As Stress is both creator and destroyer

My poems dedicated to father and evening walk

by

Vivekanand Jha


Three years ago I faced stress
Which further cause me to depress
To encounter this recess
My evening walk is in progress.

One day while walking on the turf
I suddenly got an idea of writing in verse
Which could be expressed in terse
Of my day to day curse.

Now thanks to this curse
Which plays a vital role my fortune to reverse,
I donít know whether I could have written in verse
If I were not walking on the turf.

My first poem is set in rhyme
It is on the subject of ĎThe primeí
I think it is well in time
Before I would end my hymn.

Though poetry is in my blood
Flowing from fatherís flood
Lisping in numbers is such a stream
I used to consider it utopian dream.

My father writes in mother tongue
Which provides profuse oxygen to his lung
That gives him reason to survive
And keeps him kicking and alive.

I used to hear my father with full passion
Which caused me to think with impassion
Whether I would be able to write in this fashion
Was my childhood infatuation.

But now I divine my dream comes true
Written in black and blue
I donít know what others think;
Itís my life-blood in ink.

Whatever I think I write
Sitting in the corner tight
I donít know what will be my plight
While my wings are on flight.

The Girls of Today

by

Vivekanand Jha



The girls of today
Surpass the old day
They establish a record
Not spare a single day.

They left them far behind,
This they have in mind:
As their ancestress were
Nothing but hardware
Confined to kitchen-ware
But we have reached everywhere
By being software.

They were outdated
So we have deleted
By being high rated
In the sex racket.

They were illiterate,
Obeyed the husbands literate
But we want to reiterate
We will dictate.

They were full covered
But we have discovered
How to make fast recover
By exposing the left over.

They were on feet
So we gave them defeat
With utmost retreat
As we are discrete.

We mock at their sacrifice
Now they have to pay the price
As we use all the device
No matter whether vile or vice.

Killing of Innocence

by

Vivekanand Jha



Incidentally I got chance
With friends to have a romance
What to do or donít, we were in dilemma
At last, we decided to go to cinema.

The movie was, I sooth
What pleases every youth
It was full of sensual appeal
Which does fulfill teenagerís will?

It was when we just came out
Spectacles were changed out and out
A band of money hungry hen
Were looking for cock among men.
It were as if a sexy lover
Prefers dessert when dinner is over.

Of them, some were through professional
What we had seen never or occasional
They were to the core strumpets
Which was discernible from their etiquettes?

They were forcing y, z, and x
To accompany them to have sex
Once we refused to go
They started to abuse us in full flow.

I heard they were telling, oh brother!
Come if you have tasted the milk of your mother!
We knew their vulgar design
So to their challenges we decided not to resign.

Their abusive stance had nothing in it to wonder
What left me moving when I encounter
An adolescent girl from point blank range
Was hesitantly wooing me for physical exchange.

Stopping by her for a moment
I was not in a mood to comment in a sense
To sight the murder of the innocence
In our country what we call so descent.

Itís an incident of twelve years ago
Yet I am not able to forego
I forget her face and her utterance
But what haunts me even today is her innocence