Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

The veiled fabric of the past…

June 22, 2020

My past is hidden
In the veil of years;
Time, in passing,
Adds more veils, obscuring
The process of looking back
A little more.
Yet, through the mists
Some glimpses shine through
As I touch my childhood again.
I visit family and friends who may be no more,
Or travel in other lands,
In days gone past.
The fabric of my memory,
Though veiled by the passing of time
Yet shines through, once in a while
With the sheen of satin, the glitter of gold…
The many moments which make me
The person I am today.

Varsha…I wrote this three years ago…

May 15, 2020

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I thirst…
Not for love, money or
Even happiness.
I thirst for water
To quench the parched earth

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To bring green to the brown
To bring fresh hope to those
Who raise crops and food for us.

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I need water
To fill the pots
Of each slum-dweller
Who puts her (it’s never a he)
Vessel in a long line
And waits to drink, wash and live.

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I have had enough of grishma ritu.

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I want varsha…not just the odd shower
Or thunderstorm, but a steady,
Cloudy, drumming season
That will replenish the depleted
Plateau,that we live on
And call home.

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Women’s Day, 2020

March 8, 2020

To celebrate a woman’s day
One doesn’t need a breast.
Nor uterus nor ovaries/Or any of the rest.
What’s needed is a woman’s mind
Intelligence that’s calm
A woman’s heart, with empathy
And kindness gentle and warm.
The ability to hold a home
And family together.
Let’s raise a toast and celebrate
Women of a feather!

The tatters of our culture of respect

January 30, 2020

तमीज़ के कमीज़ पहना करते थे हम,
बस अब फटे चिथड़े ही बाकी हैं उन तमीज़ के.
गया ज़माना सेहत और सहनशीलता का,
अब हम में हैं बस गुस्से मरीज़ के

We wore the garments of respect for others;
All that is now left are the tatters.
Gone are the days of healthy minds and tolerance:
We now have only the blind anger of sick men.

Chandra, and hope

December 11, 2019

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It seems but a few days ago, O Moon,
That I saw you wasting away to nothing.
Yet here you are, sailing serenely in the clouds,
Smiling at the earth, and at those who see you.
When I am troubled, I should think of you:
After waning, you will wax again to fullness,
Bringing the shining light of eternal hope
To us mortals on Earth.

On our own…

November 17, 2019

We are supported, buoyed up
By friends, family…
But for many, many things,
We are on our own,
Though we may not be alone.
No one can bear the pain of my body
Except me;
No one can help me walk, limping, once again,
Determined to get back my ability to walk everywhere.
No one can take away the sorrow in my heart
That the random events of life fill it with;
I can express some of it to others,
But in the dead of night,
In the small hours when the body and mind
Are at their lowest ebb,
It is I who must bear it.
My sorrow at an insult I have suffered;
My sadness at some hurt I have caused:
Recollections of things I could have done better:
Many are the burdens, often secret
That I must carry myself.
Learning to set them down,
And laugh in spite of them,
Is growing up as a human being:
This, too, I must do on my own.
You may hold my hand, you may even hold my heart..
.But in the secret, innermost chambers of my being,
I am in solitude, and on my own…
And this is true of everyone.

Glory Lily, Bhootanahalli,130719

July 15, 2019

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I got the bud, the bloom, and the fading flower.
I got the childhood, the prime of youth, and the departing hour.

The bubble seller, 160619

June 16, 2019

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He sells ephemeral pleasures
Gently float the bubbles.

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Perhaps, in their rainbow colours
He, too, forgets his troubles.

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Approaching adolescence

February 26, 2019

She lies on the bed, unaware of me,
Reading intently.
In the lines of her lengthening limbs
I see a young woman emerging
From the girl.
And yet, in the curve of the cheek
And the gentle dimples in her elbows,
I find childhood lingering
For a while longer.
Linger longer, O childhood!
For once you are gone
This little one will forever be
An adult, never to return
To this level of innocence again

The difference

February 9, 2019

Some people string together words.
They write well, and their prose
Makes one think, and muse
Upon their meaning, and one’s own opinions.
But others…they pull words together
Like notes of music, and create poetry.
There may be no rhyme or prettiness…
But the words bring a fullness to one’s heart,
And, sometimes, moisture to one’s eyes.
What is prose, what is poetry?
The eyes and the mind may not know the difference.
But the heart knows
Poetry from prose.