Poetic Promotions

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These days I really try hard to build up a friendship base in the on-line community myspace.com. Purpose: I've my books to sell. One day when I've gained enough credibility as a decent netizen, and when I've really impressed others by my literary credentials, I'll ask all my friends to buy my books.

Sounds like dream? An incredible plan?

Myspace, or for that matter any on-line community, is a crowded marketplace now. "Buy this cell phone", "Buy that i-pod"-the whole community is congested to the capacity. Our bandwidth is exhausted. So, where is the patience? And how to get that credibility?

I've chosen an equally weird plan. Give them poems, they'll get attracted.

Is that workable? Is that easy? Let me suspend the questions for the time being. Let me post poems that I've scribbled during the last couple of weeks going right up to the profile space of my friends.

So is Our Telly
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Once we used to creep
Loudly, begging for choice
And that's the test of freedom
So do people say.

Now choice kills ruthlessly
Not the time alone, it's channel zapping,
There's a competition in every home
For the wonder instrument called REMOTE!

So is our telly
Has brought quarrel to our homes
Let the scene pass in a minute
I've other things to do.
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Soliciting
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I'm in a lovely mood now
Let my friends know that
I'd stop bothering them
with that trash called my poems!
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Lost Birds
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The birds that bothered me in my childhood
Crapping on my books or chirping close
They are now nowhere to be seen
And they're lost from my view.

They are gone with the green to recur in my dreams
And longings take me there when everybody is asleep!

Cool breeze is still there
to swish those sibilant whispers
I don't loose hopes, no, never
And the birds will be back there and right there.
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Growing Out
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Somehow I feel like
not growing more than a child
It's risky, it's lousy
to grow up and grow out.

Growing up has only one advantage:
difficult maths of primary days
appear easy and workoutable
And one feels like revolting against
all the words of the unkind teachers.

Growing up has nothing more to give
for all it takes thrashing out.

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By
A. N. Nanda

Bhubaneswar

05-05-2007
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