Genesis of a Pond

- My heart needs an umbrella

To cover up from this rain

-- Its not rain, just my tears

- Then what is this thunder?

-- That is my heartbeat.

- I also see some lightning

-- That is my love for you

---

I kept listening to the bullfrogs

Who were dating in the wet logs

My motivation was usual boredom

But they had forgotten the tadpoles

---

- I cannot stay with you in the storm

-- Relax, that is just my sigh.

---

Wet logs, but the love was dry

A pond has now formed nearby

With water gone out of the dry love

Or tears of a bullfrog, or even rain.

Whom Are You Searching For

Whom are you searching for

Whom are you searching for in every corner

Whom are you going after all this time

Are you blind, have you lost your senses

Like the ocean searching for a wave

Desert searching for a grain of sand

Flowers searching for fragrance

A musk deer too searches for fragrance

Goes sniffing behind its friend’s rear

Thinking the scent is coming from there

Unaware that is from its own back.

Thus you are also searching for that-

What is inside you, deep inside you

The one whom you are searching for

Is there all over the path you tread

Is inside you, deep inside your bosom.

Realistic Romance meets Romantic Realism

The Sunflower has fallen in love with the sun

Thinks of herself as a reflection of her lover

She dances in the wind, he above is motionless

She asks, “Why are you not dancing with me?”

He replies, “I am looking into my reflection

In the clear river of wind, and your swaying

Is just the trembling waves in that river”.

She is more than satisfied with that answer.

She continues to dance, now the day gets hotter

All day dancing in the sun’s heat, the flower wilts.

The next dawn, the sun sees another sunflower

Its his turn to fall in love, “Oh! dear, dance for me,

I am only your reflection in the ocean of the sky”.

The flower looks up, “But you are too ‘hot’ for me,

When you look at me like this, my coyness rises

Please do look at me through some cloud’s cover

Or I may droop soon, is that what you want?”

The sun obeys, and slowly goes behind a cloud

And from there peeps at his darling sunflower

She blushes in his love and this time do not wilt.

Killing the Earth, and Earthworm

An earthworm formed the coastline of this aged village
A long creature that shapes its body for the land’s curves
That is yesterday’s innocence named village, today’s town;
Still earthworm remains, but the ships that have arrived
From the distant land where there are no worms of desire
Far along the shore put their anchor right in the middle of-
The earthworm’s long gut, an almost empty lone hut,
Where a poor ploughman’s wife and children starve
But that is habit for them, the cock to the hen that fed-
On earthworms had once joked that hunger is a hobby.
The anchor cuts the worm into two, but life only diverges
The anger of the ship’s captain is all at this new growth
Two from one, thus four from two and it goes on and on
Now it is not an earthworm, but many forming the line
But that captain in his rage has pulled the anchor up
Has turned it upside down, and with that blunt top
Started pressing hard on the earthworms’ woe-heads
If you set aside these deprived beings to be crushed
Then tomorrow’s dawn will witness no worm round,
Town will be called a graveyard by the new landowners.

Rain Round the Desire’s Bend

I wish it had rained now, let these dark clouds-
Do not let me down by failing to give a raindrop
Often they go away as inside some hope sprouts
The offspring here do not resemble their father;
Rain is always trustworthy, not like the clouds
Dark clouds may even sometimes try to deceive
But their malice is not carried over to the rain
Rain and mothers know only to moisten heart
With itself, herself or with her pure tears of joy
I wish for that rain to fall down heavy upon me.

It is raining now, as drops pierce my skin slowly
Entering my vessels, no pain, it is all yearning glee
The mixing up with rain alone can sanctify blood
Life itself arose from the unison of rain and blood
The flashes send new light to cut open the dark sky
Thunder puts an end to dumb tongue’s tradition
As I stand just below an umbrella formed by a tree
One big clatter sends all the crows on top flying
As I look up it seems that the branches expanding
No, those are the crows flying away covering the sky.

In the next flash, the tree I am standing below is hit
Fire in the rain, and I am now beside a heap of ash
Those birds that caught the warning have escaped
I also have quite astonishingly survived that blaze
Without one burn or blemish anywhere on the skin
That heap of ash has now mixed with the mud below
I stand upon that earth, without a tree or an umbrella
Still raindrops puncturing my skin without any pain
All this doesn’t even inflict any fear upon my mind
I am just rejoicing in the first rain of this dry season.

Revival of the Ulysses Inside

The blow was so hard that I still bear that acute pain
The scar is there with remains of a fearful blood stain,
Or is it the wound itself that hasn’t been fully healed
A flash of that memory brings sweat to the forehead.

Unable to welcome with all heart the tomorrow bright
As the darkness of the nightmare of the previous night-
Covers with smoke when through the pane the dawn peep
I am afraid if all this is a daydream, am I still fast asleep?

I doubt a shrill voice as narrow as a thread, a cry of fear
Amidst the sweet symphony of music I am about to hear
I still do not know if I have actually heard it this time
Or is it cold shadowy past’s resonance in a scary chime.

I still remember that dreadful night, as if it was yesterday
Trembling lips and sore tongue still languish in mind’s bay
It is always impossible to forget the lesion if it went deep
All that is left to do is to learn the lesson and not to weep

With the first hit the depth of the wall ahead is made known
Now to calculate the force required to go through all alone
To decline or sit back after such a setback will be cowardice
How hard they pulled back, that hard I may push to advance

Gaining verve from adversaries and practice the art to strive
To seek the cover for shielding from any cold and to survive
To find the lost sword amid fear’s corpses in the battlefield
Keep past aside, tread present, into the future, and not to yield.

Moving Train, Nila and My Heart Too

As I open my eyes leisurely after a brief doze in the seat
The morning has ended all the mourning of my lost sleep.
Through the windowpane, I see nature fast running back
The engine blows a horn for a name dearest had got down.

Now here lies Nila, her curves narrowed by the sandbank
So shallow in real, virtual depth is her lengthy times past.
Every time I behold at this majestic brook with esteem
She soothes my soul with her sole splendor and grandeur.

As it speeds to Thirunnavaya, my mind with adulation fills
On these grimy sandbanks have countless erudite men lived
They who laid their backs on these sand dunes on nights
Looked with wonder to the heavens above, inside them-
Were born supreme theorems of math and astronomy,
Varied verses having perfect meter and mellow metaphors.

Who can avert the gentle gush of emotions in admiring her?
She can turn an absolute illiterate into a real rhymester
Some environmentalist may write on her lost virginity
On her decreasing depth and width, or at large on pollution
They bathed their buffalos here, washed their clothes here
Robbed the earth beneath the water for paltry earnings
But who can take her sanctity away, how hard they try
This life left is enough to make me more imaginative.
Her lost glory will not force me to write a foreseen elegy
I keep hope, as she hopes to end up into the seas one day.
Let it flow slowly for the hectic men in this compartment
I wish the train too to decelerate a bit for them to look out
To send out a breath of despair coming out of restless rush
Maybe learn a lesson of slowness and steadiness winning
From the measured flow of water and the luxury of the sand
No race is won if you pull the man in your front; cheats lose.

In the banks are grasses with long white heads held towering
The gentle wind never fails to bid them bye as it passes by
Grass never forgets to bow before the wind giving due respect
It is the river that has taught her children-grass how to behave.

That stretch of water is now over, now comes the meadows
This lush verdant green carpet of grown tonic to appetite
Inspire the beholder, though not as much as the watercourse
A crane that has been acting the role of a white hermit yonder
Realizes that, takes off parting his meditation with the jade
Flies rearward, maybe to Nila, to find fish, or at least a poem.

Recollections, Realisations and Reverberations

The pinnacle of delight I climbed so playfully like a child

It was indeed childish; a desire rooted so much in ambition

The height had that idea to test that dose upon me so mild

To send the message that pleasure is just another apparition.

I was so proud of it, that I tried to pass my glee to all friends

Everyone responded to bid bye and to applaud my paltry feat

I tried to mix all of that in my mirth with such a loud cadence

Failed to realise that my head was going much above the feet

When the ‘metal-bird’ flew above the clouds, with me inside

My mind flew with it, not knowing that it was a tricky height

Then I knew not that there is a low equal for every high tide

Dreaming of the final destination, I began enjoying the flight.

There when the gatekeeper asked for my pass to cross the seas

I handed it to him with pride, there was the beginning of the end

Fault was with whom, but the world stood in front of me to tease

I simply prayed before them, but the rod was not there to be bent.

Then the long silence, all alone to face the gloomy music of disdain

A night of nightmare without having time to close the eyes to view it

There was nobody to spill some water over the fire to reduce the pain

Now it is all gone, the dream, and everything, just a small candle lit