Money matters

Sometimes I get worried about the money power that is so visible in India today. In the times of changing values money has become the king. Make the moolah no matter how and one has steamrolling power. The clout is used in many ways.

Businessmen grease palms with money and get things done which ordinary citizens find impossible, and politicians use money to buy or liquidate their opponents. No political party can survive without funds of different hues. And so on.

‘Quotation Raj’ (paying a price to beat up or kill a man or torch his house or kidnap someone) rules the day. The goon world is used even by the major banks to twist the arms of, say, a poor citizen who defaults a Rs.10,000 installment on a house loan.

The Reserve Bank of India (RBI) has recently brought in regulations to control such criminal methods used by financial institutions, but how effective they would be remains to be seen. This might sound pessimistic but the banks could even offer ‘bill collection service’ to its customers at low charges. After all, they already have the infrastructure.

It is good to have money. Like these anonymous lines say,

‘Money is honey, my little sonny,

And a rich man’s joke is always funny.’

But what prompted me to write this piece was another poem. Though it mentions England, it has universal implication:

Wealth, howsoever got, in England makes
Lords of mechanics, gentlemen of rakes;
Antiquity and birth are needless here;
‘Tis impudence and money makes a peer.

This was written three hundred years ago by Daniel Defoe (1660 – 1731).

Ends.

Also see: Tax savings & doing good

Poetry: Khalil Gibran - Song of the Wave

This morning at Olavipe, my ancestral home, I accidentally came across this poem by Khalil Gibran at Poet Seers

Song of the Wave

The strong shore is my beloved
And I am his sweetheart.
We are at last united by love, and
Then the moon draws me from him.
I go to him in haste and depart
Reluctantly, with manyLittle farewells.

I steal swiftly from behind the
Blue horizon to cast the silver of
My foam upon the gold of his sand, and
We blend in melted brilliance.

I quench his thirst and submerge his
Heart; he softens my voice and subdues
My temper.
At dawn I recite the rules of love upon
His ears, and he embraces me longingly.

At eventide I sing to him the song of
Hope, and then print smooth hisses upon
His face; I am swift and fearful, but he
Is quiet, patient, and thoughtful. His
Broad bosom soothes my restlessness.

As the tide comes we caress each other,
When it withdraws,
I drop to his feet in
Prayer.

Many times have I danced around mermaids
As they rose from the depths and rested
Upon my crest to watch the stars;
Many times have I heard lovers complain
Of their smallness, and I helped them to sigh.

Many times have I teased the great rocks
And fondled them with a smile, but never
Have I received laughter from them;
Many times have I lifted drowning souls
And carried them tenderly to my belovedShore.
He gives them strength as he
Takes mine.

Many times have I stolen gems from the
Depths and presented them to my beloved
Shore. He takes them in silence, but still
I give fro he welcomes me ever.

In the heaviness of night, when all
Creatures seek the ghost of Slumber, I
Sit up, singing at one time and sighing
At another. I am awake always.

Alas! Sleeplessness has weakened me!
But I am a lover, and the truth of love
Is strong.
I may be weary, but I shall never die.

Khalil Gibran

Acknowledgement. Poet Seers

This is a website that is edited byAbichal Watkins and Tejvan Pettinger. They are both students of Sri Chinmoy and members of the Sri Chinmoy Centre The website has a great collection of poetry from all around the globe.

Ends.

Also see:
God's own dream

Poetry, for a change.

In 2005 I tried my hand at poetry. I sent the piece to a competition with some apprehension. The judges decided that my creation was, indeed, a poem and awarded me the third prize. It was published in an anthology, Winners Volume - 2 (British Council - Unisun. 2006).

The editors made the the following comment in the Foreword to the book: "Abraham Tharakan's minimalist poem captures the poignant reality of the transition from life to death". Well, here it is:

Transit

Scorching sun above
We, on earth
Entangled.

Sweat dripping down
To burning sand
Evaporates.

Into the unknown
We vanish too,
Eternally.