Beckoning

Come out to the world, you won’t regret.
It is not dark here and I will make you a different girl.
In there you have to face rebuffs and scorns;
And it reflects now in your nature.
To love and leave is not your hobby.
Like the tensed strings of a violin
You spend your days and nights
You have no recreations
A touch so light will quiver it and,
Discords erupt in hard feelings.
With that you break the hearts of
Those, who love you and cherish you,
Make me the happiest one in life
Sure, you can do that with strain.

I was in rapture
When you said ‘no rupture between you and me’.
So lovely this morn, when I saw you sail past
Clad in that blue Sari with red lines.
Again I heard your pleasantry;
I know the concern in your breath,
Full of love you’re the one I love.

Can’t you break the clam
Which holds you away from me?
I can’t enter it; sealed and marooned
My soul flutters around it,
Awaiting and awaiting to glide
Away to the blue sky and ride
Among the silvery clouds,
And together we make our haven;
Though others may even scorn us.
Hurry up before the dream vanishes,
Before this moth scorches its wings.

Said you helped me to come out of my loneliness
Yet, when you left me, you pushed me into an abyss.
Said you’ll call me later, but you never did,
And I waited till dawn, and then you never knew.

I don't know...

Who opened the soft petals of this Lotus
One by one in the pool of the morning?
I don't know! Let it not be known.

Who dissolved the charming scent of the Sandal
In the morning breeze grazing in your presence?
I don't know! Let it not be known...

Who aroused the musical couplet of this nectar
On the lips of the wild pipe of this bamboo
Dancing with its peacock's tail ?
I don't know ! Let it not be known...

Now my mind also chants this chorus:
"I know I don't know anything"
Let the fountain of this knowledge
Never dries up...

Who pushed open the door of my soul
And entered there with a glowing
Lamp of love and purity?
I know! But let it never be known...

HARMONY

The wind adores the fragrance,
And the bamboo pipes loves music,
The earth and the sky,
The shores and the waves,
The river and the sea,
The nature and the Creator,
Are they not in harmony?

Is there anything created
That does not like each other?
Do we have any proof against this?

The sextet notes, the rhythm and beats,
Any song or music without them?
Any emotions, any play? Any literature in the world?

Any hearts, which do not imbibe
The slumber and dreams in it,among lovers?
Is there a romantic moment without it?
Is there any vision, not awakened by
Amour, infatuation, and obsession or
Hopes, all sublimed in unison?
Is there a splendored imagination
Without music, love and romantic awakening
And fulfillment of life?

Lost In a Trance...

The snow melted in the vale as the blanket of

Silky clouds changed its attire, and the ravishing

Spring paved a silky carpet on the earth,

With the golden fleece of sunshine.


A wild brook flowing among the grassy knoll

Was singing its luscious song, with its anklet of love;

The silvery foam gleaming in its ankle, under the sun.

A tiny flower danced in the blowing wind, its moist lips

Pecking the cheeks of the wind, with honey.

Inside the mind in its pavane, had a canopy of

Rainbows with tender affectionate thoughts.

Are you drenched in the milky rain of the

Gleaming moonlight in its glory..

Seems you never realized the sprinkle of

Sandal from the heaven, in your daze.

PROGNOSIS...

Do not love me at all expecting that I am a flower.
Do not touch me as though I am a dew drop;
I will fade away with the warmth at your finger tips.
Do not tread on me, believing that your insteps will
Find it comfortable to walk on me.
Do not try to climb down into the depth
Of my fathomless heart,
Assuming I am only knee deep.
Do not try to delight me with a kiss
On my disillusioned lips, believing
It is enormously charming and sweet.

I am just a woman, with all the vileness
Of this world, and none of these.
I am no angel…

TIME STANDS AS SENTINELS…

Grandpa used to wear a loin cloth like a ‘G’ string

Around his waist, hiding only his ‘very’ private parts.

It was Pa’s turn to start wearing a ‘dhoti’, over such

A ‘G’ string, since he wanted to cover his thighs also,

For modesty and etiquette, being a social animal.

I changed into wearing a ‘double’ dhoti smoother,

And flimsier, by the standard of snobs among us;

Leaving the upper limbs naked, and appealing.

My son took to wearing pants to change it.

Then my grandson cut its length and made

A shorter version and called it ‘Bermuda”.
[A British Overseas Territory, where they *
Approve it as an official dress and worn by
The Army as appropriate uniform in tropics.]

May be his son will wear only

an underwear or ‘brief’;

And his grandson may even refuse

to wear anything

As attire, and go stark naked,

all the way; all the time.

History repeats and resurrects itself,

and time stands still.

Only life and costumes change its courses…


"*klick

A LONG JOURNEY..

A journey wretched and exasperating
Through untreaded trails in the jungle;
Streets where no one cares for another
One in the species; flaking away the worn out
Costumes of tradition before the copulation of
Changes affected in the routines.
When the reality spread out in the conscious
Sphere of the mind, clouds of ideas evolved
Into cyclones, erupting in the sinews.

Reasons become cloudbursts of thunder and lightning;
A rain, of delight pours down on the barren,
Monotonous days crushed and eroded by the
Cruel repetitions of daily wantonness.
Future appears as the sword of Damocles,
Ever ready to strike, like a guillotine to
Behead the age old customs.

EVANASCENCE

I no longer keep a grudge.
I no longer argue against your faith.
My delight is in your jubilation.
My glee is in your gratification.

When the blood is still warmer,
The spirit still unconquered,
This age is the best in a life time,
For all the thoughts and imagination
And creation, and pleasant ambitions.

The broken strings of a violin,
Will not give out an enthralling note.
Neither, the seared wings of an eagle
Will lift it, to a soaring height.

When happiness kneels before
Frustrations, the mind is in turmoil.
The heart pants, the emotions surge,
The soul cries, the tears well up,
The stars do not smile, the sky is a blank.
Bleak is the spirit, and no rainbows.


Our life is patterned as evanescent.
It glows now, and emanates its scent
For one day, perish and wither the third day
Like roses; and in time
Through generations, no one
Remembers, we existed…