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make him rebel against the beautiful garden

you may keep us away

from the shadows of

your lovely sprout

lest we bless in person

and who knows

make him rebel against

the beautiful garden that

you laid out for him thinking that

it is all that makes

flowers soft and subtle and sure

of a healthy future

wish it was true

why will storms test the mountains

and why will rocks defy the streams

and why will tiny creepers on the

tall trees reach the sun and the moon

to just prove their will

think again

think again

before the blessing start showing results

and your sprout is

not following your dictates any more

 

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detatched spirit is not always divorced of serene feelings of fulfillment

detatched spirit is not always

divorced of serene feelings of fulfillment

but then imagine a horse

if it fell in love with a pasture, green though it is

will it ever gallop enough

to acquire the stamina

needed to reach far

such that you rever him

praise him, love him

fondle him and bless him

 

are not the distances

necessary to create the bonds between

what is and ought to be

 

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moments of truth

 

moments of truth

are accessible in poetry

perhaps more often

since rhythm of life

do not  tie themselves  in knots

of reason or certainty of prose

 

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when you were blessed with tiny drops of rains

 

 

when you were blessed with

tiny drops of rains

in your garden

there were smiles all around

without a wrinkle on the horizon

of hopes

many people came to pray

in the garden on the mountain top

so that your garden always remains

green

and drops evaporate

and reside in my eyes

with tears I will moisten the beds

in which you sow the seeds

selectively,

or just scatter the left over grains

from your plate

there

while cooking for your Lord

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And she seems to demur

You there with flowers in your lap

Pray to Ma Kaali

For her blessings

And she seems to demur

Whether to accept these offerings

 now, never or some times

but the flowers are fresh still

you are older

and the Ma has become mellowed

has she

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I tried to explain




I tried to explain


I tried to suggest


I tried to ask


If we can transcend these barriers


Across the mountains of beliefs


That stop the monsoon breeze so often


Carrying the seeds of rain of hope


But I could not,


How could I


There are so many bridges


One needs to cross across


The river of  mundanities


That permeates all uncertainties


I love these fuzzy horizons


Which never make it clear


If the roads ahead will lead some where
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Who are on the edge of desperation

When I see those children

Who are on the edge of desperation

And trying hard to find some hope

In the pebbles they collect

Or grass they wind into bundles

I can understand why hope is all that matters

When nothing else seems to

Emerge from all the clutter

Our world creates and

Then They ask how

Can one live more with little

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Many nights have passed since I dreamt

Aug 6

 

Many nights have passed since I dreamt

Of the emptiness that can let

Air devoid of sounds come through

The window

And stir the curtains reminding me that

No matter how hard one tries

Certain sounds will always be there

Just be there,

Like the  drops of rain on the tin roof,

They may not be loud

But then the sound of breaths

in a silent night can create

A storm

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responsibility towards oneself

can not be discharged

by attaching to a few pages of

diaries

on which one wrote the resolutions,

the book mark

of stopovers

as if trees along the road side

are`meant to give shade

but not let traveller sit for too long

lest the journey is never accomplished