Feedback on 'Media Armageddon -- as K Balachandran sees it'

Lovely piece.
Mini Tejaswi
This one is quite class. And unadultrated angst!
Even good enough dirge to sent to those sad timers (NYtimes and Financial Times and other chronicles) in camaradarie.
Although I am sceptic if any poet now will 'make a living' out of poetry,
as you wistfully claim. He will have to walk a very "different path" wearing that "new hat." But good lines to chorus.
Sarita Varma

And how quickly it is going down! It is a two-fold descent. The
profession, as we used to know it, has already come to the ground and
has been decommissioned. The profession as a job provider is preparing
for a peaceful landing.

Venugopal Unnithan
Original piece below:
Love and life in the times of Armageddon
(A journalist's monologue when he is finally certain that the flag indeed goes down)

By K Balachandran
Mauled by high economic anxiety,
Shorn off all frills and laces,
And fervently hoping to forget,
Just that one thing,
That keeps staring  at me
Like one time best friend turned
Worst and bitter foe,
I hate to admit this;
I now doubt not;
The forces are in disarray,
The captains can't hide their panic,
Some like Casabianca
Stand on their decks
Awaiting only the best 
At this worst and twisted times.
The unexpected exposure 
Of your nubile charms
Has an effect
I resist  to reckon with,
At the moment.
More of an unconscious
Act,  than deliberate.
(Even submitting to it
May ,who can deny, reveal
Chaotic possibilities
That could  bring
Anxieties of other kind
Which wouldn't make
Things any better,
Cautions my tranqulized mind)
You are embarrassed
As if, it is mandatory
(Forgive me, I am not
Finding your fault)
I am anguished more than you,
For being painfully perturbed on
Coming face to face
With the unbounded angst
Of this capricious times,
Harsh to the  celebrated craft,
Of dealing with news, we practised,
The Armageddon is upon us.
It  keeps me in check
And won't let me be open to
Even small consolations
Like your distracting charm.
Humbled am I, by this 
Terrible churn of events,
But not defeated, no
Still more fight left in me.
The spirit of first-ever news hound
With his 'blessed nose', will live in me.
I thought of life, more 
As a questioning session,
From my days of scenting news.
Where getting all the answers
Was my  proud prerogative.
Now, I know at any moment
The tables could be turned.
The questioner would find
Himself at the receiving end.
Fumbling for those right answers
Once assiduously demanded.
I was trained to see the 
Whole picture, but not really cared.
I always saw the winning side
Of my story, wasn't it  thought professional?
But the dust one is made to bite
Has its taste, bitter yet sweet.
I will let this moment pass
And laugh at the imagined 
Fears that led me in grave silence,
Through alleyways, blindfolded 
Like a prisoner of war
Crying  out for clemency.
I would wake up from this 
Like, from all other bad dreams
Nurse my wounds a bit but,
Lament no more on 
The quirk of fate.
Life imposes its set of rules
Take note: nothing is unchangable
Even the laws of physics 
Recently  they found out, would bend!
I would wear a new hat,
Walk a different path, where 
A laughter  leads my way.
I would find, a happiness
That economic anxiety and such
Wouldn't dare touch.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Hi Joe
You can call this effort poetry in time of high anxiety or the economy's stranglehold over poetry demonstrated.
Clearly an influence of you and your 'daily mail' on thinking and creativity, which indeed is exciting. At a later stage, I am sure that you will have dozens of people transformed by your 'treatment' which is a catharsis through introspection getting to a resolution. Those who are in the know say that the frantic antics in such intensely anguished moments can 
bring about that magical 'Wow moment' of ultimate self realization. Need to look for signs of that great mutation happening in anyone. If that happens, the rest is simple. We have a Guruji to follow. But my transformation takes this route, which I enjoy a lot. I hope at least some in this current crop would find it their anthem (at least the fourth part).

Economic anxiety,
work place anxiety, angst
induced by global turmoil,
love and life in difficult times of 
going down..down.
That dirty sinking feeling..
All these make a good mix for strong,
rooted in life, real-world poetry..
What a terrible beauty!
But lessons should be learned
decisions are to be sound, come what may
life should go on... though with a limp
On our feet we would learn to keep pace with the
changing times.
Poetry is a flicker of light in dark nights and on cloudy days.
Here is my offering.. a fruit from the suffering tree of life.
K Balachandran

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