Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

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

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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.

The fabric of Time

December 28, 2018

Another year comes to an end.
My daily calendar has just a few pages left
That, like leaves on an autumn tree,
Will fall, and be consigned
To the past, and to memory.
It is we who mark the flowing fabric of Time
With patterns that we call days, months, years.
One such pattern is being completed
On the loom of Eternity.
Under these patterns, these motifs
Runs the lasting warp and weft
Of Time itself…moving smoothly, inexorably
One cannot predict how the patterns
Soon to come, will be shaped.
What colours will they carry?
The red of bloodshed? The white of peace?
The yellow of illness? The blue of sadness?
We do not know…
We flow on, too,
Along with the fabric of Time.

To a dead butterfly

November 1, 2018

IMG_9632

Oh, little one…why did you die?
Were you attacked by a bird
That wanted you for food?
Or did your energy just give out,
As your wings folded up for good?
With so many others about,
Your death throes not heard?
No answers.You lie there…why, oh why?
The stilling of life, the departure of breath…
The profound mystery of life…and death.

Friendship

June 2, 2018

To someone called “Sugar”.

A friend.
Someone with whom I can talk.
Talk…about anything;
From the most mundane of everyday details
To the most existential questions.
I can talk; I can listen.
I can respect the deep wellspring of wisdom
And experience beyond anything I have known
That produces the words I listen to.
The conversation flows along
Like a gentle stream;
Taking in, here a little rivulet,
There a little trickle
Of associated thoughts.
The most profound ideas
Are simply expressed.
I do not know how the time passes.
When the conversation is over,
I feel a deep sense of contentment
And well-being.
Our conversations may go on
Or cease; but our friendship will endure.
Thank you, my friend, for the thoughts, the words,
The affection, the time, and the grace.
Neither age nor gender governs our bond.
I know your friendship to be a precious thing
In my life.

Poetry from my daughter’s pen

May 3, 2018

Dopamine skies
1st May 2018

…eight-nine-ten-change
The wind offers cool whispers
As we rotate the other ankle
Copper pod petals cling defiantly
To the dark tar sheet
Rinsed clean sometime last night
Dawn stirs awake in wisps
Night dances on her snooze button
A drop on my shoulder at Madhavan Park
Reminds me to speed up
The unconcerned metro
Zooms past swaying branches
Breezy gusts offer approval
For my effort down 40th cross.
Lunges stretch to the horizon
Mountain-like in layered bands of grey
Soft sheets give way to seductive swirls above
The corner of the terrace is on fire
Gulmohar flames are un-extinguishable
My abs soften down to shavasana
The sky begins to kiss us all
Dopamine drops
Fragile at first, then less delicate
We are compelled to linger
Then submit to the splendid shower
A rainbow day awaits me.

Butterfly on the Moon

April 26, 2018

Nonsense verse inspired by Kesava Murthy, who wondered how much a butterfly would weigh on the moon

Thought the butterfly as she flitted over the moon,
“I can’t stay here, I’ll have to leave soon.
It is a matter that’s sad to state
But on this place, alas, I have hardly any weight.
How can I lay eggs or perpetuate my race
If I can’t even land but float off into space?
Alas!” she added, ” I may be over the Moon
But it’s the worth of the Earth that is my greatest boon.”

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White-bordered Copper, Binsar, Uttaranchal, 150418

Muthanallur Lake, 110218

February 11, 2018

Is it not an irony
That the fertilizer used in the field
(Where rose bushes are dotted with blooms)
Reeks of garlic?
And that the field of roses
Is right next to a pig farm
Where the snorting of the porcines
Drowns out any poetic thoughts
I may have about the flowers?
Or is this the way the world is,
The mundane existing with the rare,
The bad with the good, the lovely with the ugly?
I walk on, reflecting on the concepts
Of aesthetics, and what makes me think
Some things are appealing, and others, not.

Purity

February 8, 2018

What is “pure”?
When is Ganga pure?
When She emerges from Avani,
Or when She is made stronger
As other rivers join Her
To make the broad, deep ad mighty flow?
Is she pure when, at Gangotri, and all down Her course,
Pilgrims dump trash into her…
Plastic packets of camphor, incense sticks, and oil…
Or when She mixes with the Yamuna?
Is she pure when, sharing Herself,
She flows at many points and mingles with Sagara?
Should we just clone living beings
To ensure “purity”?
Because breeding, by its very nature,
Is mixing and evolving.
The very concept of purity
Confuses me, and I am unable to intuit it.

On the passing of Mythri, 100118

January 10, 2018

Every moment that I live,breathe, look, sigh…
May be someone’s last moment on earth.
So tough to understand this, but it is true.
More and more often, when I hear of young people dying
I wonder why there is no logic in life or death.
Why should I, having lived a full life, and with no regrets,
Not be taken, and a young life,
Full of talent, hard work and promise,
Not be spared to the world?
Why should old sere trees, their uses long gone,
Creak on, moaning of the past to the world,
While young saplings,which we hope will grow
And mature into giants,
Be cut down in a lightning swathe of random fate?
I do not understand life…or death.