Monday, December 20, 2010


This for future poets who want to carve a niche for themselves on this planet. 

Poetry is the flow of intense thoughts— otherwise it is NOT poetry.  

It need not rhyme , unless you are writing it as a nursery rhyme for little children to sing along.  

Once you start reading poetry you will NOT be able to stop.  

And finally when you do stop, you will feel something inside your heart— if it is good poetry.  

Love and nostalgia take very little effort to make that impact. 

Gone are the days of Victorian bombardment. An ordinary man on the street can write good poetry. 

Good poetry means 90% of the people both erudite and illiterate who read it will be impressed. 

The remaining 10% misanthropes of this planet , who need something other than poetry to get impressed, please excuse.

after six months of camping, in lonely avenue

wound up taut,  like a high tension spring

suffering from the blues , when lonely winds blew past

falling apart from the seams,  when bad news came from home

yet,  never allowing a sight to get out of his heart

controlling his biological urges,  being the perfect family man

changing coats constantly,  as the situation on board deemed

judge, doctor, policeman, accountant, pest control, cook

journalist , plumber, head shrink, soldier ( without license to kill )

businessman --you name it--he does it as part of his job

round the clock, not 9 to 5 -- day after day, without holiday

giving away prizes, which he , and only he had earned

yet, willingly being the scapegoat , when murphy's law ruled

trying to figure out the blurred line between fact and fiction

living on the edge, never feelin' immune to the prospect of failure

working for bosses who had mastered the art of exploiting vulnerability

steeling himself to read telexes which started -- "we fail to understand--"

being the punching bag for thankless owners , managers and charterers

being forced to take uncalculated risks, against his better judgement

trying to push his ship, to keep pace with a pea brained schedule

pushing mr.pride aside,  when dealing with customs and coastguard

itching to bloody their noses , but somehow,  holding his peace

forcing him to add more names, to the list of people who could kiss his ass

being patient to wait for one more minute, past eternity

dealing with faceless men, and spineless backdoor hustlers

who got their kicks ,by sending missiles by telex from overseas

rubbing shoulders with powers that be , who put their mouths into motion

without putting their collective brains into gear --even once

deadening his raw nerves in the cold comfort of whisky heaven

--the days his bosses played petty mind games of domination on him

distrusting angels which fly too low-- not believing in messiahs

burning bridges behind him , when the situation became 'no go'

combating the sinkin' feeling that time is running out on him

time and again, counting the odds against tomorrow

wearing lucky charms , combating ulcers and nose bleeds

yet thriving on the virus of pressure , like the quintessential shark

which need to suck salt water past its gills to stay alive

after all this--

this modern seafarin' gypsy has passed on his crown of thorns

packed his bags,  and is now a stranger in even stranger lands

destination home-sweet-home, his DTGH is only one

wending his weary way to his hotel room, he drops on the bed

the windmills of his mind come to a smooth halt , as he falls into slumber

they had been ceaselessly turned by winds of anxiety, the last six months

it is unwinding time now for this poor wanderer




DTGH--   means " days to go home "



  1. That Was Great Sir,
    I often refer to ur blog, but this is a totally new side of ur blogging.

    Please keep imparting your knowledge, some of us really depend on this blog.

    With Gratitude
    Capt. Himanshu Shekhar

  2. Dr. usha kapuria
    April 1, 2015 at 7:33 AM
    oh it is wonderful.You got revealed to me at this very point of time.Your topics are great.My stories also veer around human pathos.Hope you could assess them.You are brilliant

    Capt. Ajit Vadakayil
    April 1, 2015 at 8:04 AM
    hi uk,

    the roof of pathos ( emotions ) cannot deliver on its own in a truth exhuming blog site.

    it has to be laid on a foundation of ethos ( trust )

    supported by walls made of logos ( consistency )

    to hold the INTEREST of a vast multinational audience ( whom you bollock hour after hour ) you need pathos .

    any idiot can hold the ATTENTION -- only a chosen few can hold the interest .

    and the authors who were sponsored by big brother -- they have all fallen by the wayside in this internet age.

    have you seen the pathetic JOKERS on main stream media ?

    they are like the flea ridden cats at port royale , discussing how the treasure should be divided and which pirate should get what. the pirates do NOT even know that these mangy cats exist.

    like body/ mind and soul -- every piece of prose must have ethos/ pathos / logos.

    without pathos poetry cannot exist.

    check out the worlds greatest poets sponsored by big brother -- do you see any pathos ?

    a perceptive soul verily said - "the heart has reasons that the mind knows not of." -- statistics may fall, arguments may fall short -- pathos never fails.

    only IDIOTS like winston churchill think pathos is rhetoric

    capt ajit vadakayil

  3. Dear Captain,
    Hi Captain! mms hear again,Thanks for the link.

    It is wonderful! Even though I had read this initially,I had forgotten.

    At this stage,since I know you so well, and having read all those anecdotes of yours,this wonderful poem gives a clear picture of what a hard life a captain of a ship leads.

    Hats off to you sir!!

    I know many guys who after engineering joined merchant navy and came back running because of the of them was my classmate.

    Again it was nice knowing you,take care and bye.
    m m srinivas

  4. Captain:

    This is a wonderful poem. I had not read this post until now. One can feel the pathos in the poem since you wrote it when you retired after more than 30 years on the sea. Wonderful expression of sentiments.

    1. hi s,

      40 years at sea

      30 years in command-- most of the time with INFERIOR by brains and competence officers/ crew. Captain gets blamed for every single thing.

      just yesterday i had a nightmare - i was back in command--

      PHENOL had frozen up and pumps were unable to pump.

      i asked my Russian chief officer to start steam heating and he does NOT know how--

      --then i realised OH SHIT nobody knows , i must wear my boilersuit and got on the freezing deck

      and then my wife woke me up with a cup of tea- and she asked , i have been watching your face for the past 2 minutes-- you had a bad dream or what.

      i said --i had an incompetent chief officer in my dreams with frozen PHENOL in my tanks--

      --having sailed with me she knew what i meant -- so she CHUCKLED and went away.



      capt ajit vadakayil

  5. What a lovely poem captain. I too am passionate about poetry and as you said the flow of thoughts matter more than the rhyme or the words