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
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
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
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
when new flowers bloom all around
when new flowers bloom all around
news seeds sprout
and new hopes abound
the rainy season is not yet over,
who knows in the morning mist
some teras may become invisible
who knows
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
a moment of truth
a moment of truth
is accessible
when grammatical constraints of prose
give way,
the poetry flows
through the banks
of endless expectations
that meanings will be understood
without arresting the flow
dont remind me that i am A seeker
dont remind me that i am A seeker
of truth that is lying
beyond the peak
of a mountain that is difficult to climb
but remains still always present
outside the window of my small house
at the foothills
when the prayers dont need to be answered
when the prayers do not need to be answered
the yearnings are rewarded
by a fuel of submission
at His altar
without a doubt,
or a question
my poems for a soluble audience of one
i will recite my poems for you
listen, o soluble audience of one
like a sugar cube in a tea cup
with spoon in it
to be there
don't stir,
my words will stretch, acuqire a new edge,
bend and transform
some will string and form new meanings
some will dissolve
you are a soluble audience
i am a volatile poet