Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

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.

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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.

A blank wall

December 3, 2017

When I think of Death, I face a blank wall.
I realize that I do not know Death at all.
Will I just stop? Will I cease to be?
Or is there, just further, what I cannot see?
Will I be born again? / As a human, or a worm?
Would I move in someone’s bloodstream…
A single-celled germ?
Would my spirit float free?
Would my sins be wiped out?
Would I live on, just not me,
Only when I got talked about?
Would I really exist, apart from this shell?
Would I ascend to Heaven, or just go to hell?
For the answers to these…
Upon whom can I call?
I can ask as much as I please…
No one knows Death, at all!

Stages, by Herman Hesse

October 24, 2017

Stages
As every flower fades and as all youth
Departs, so life at every stage,
So every virtue, so our grasp of truth,
Blooms in its day and may not last forever.
Since life may summon us at every age
Be ready, heart, for parting, new endeavor,
Be ready bravely and without remorse
To find new light that old ties cannot give.
In all beginnings dwells a magic force
For guarding us and helping us to live.
Serenely let us move to distant places
And let no sentiments of home detain us.
The Cosmic Spirit seeks not to restrain us
But lifts us stage by stage to wider spaces.
If we accept a home of our own making,
Familiar habit makes for indolence.
We must prepare for parting and leave-taking
Or else remain the slaves of permanence.
Even the hour of our death may send
Us speeding on to fresh and newer spaces,
And life may summon us to newer races.
So be it, heart: bid farewell without end.
–Hermann Hesse
(translated by Richard and Clara Winston)

For life to begin

August 31, 2017

In an empty, silent house
I wait for life to begin.
Life will arrive
With the first young child
Bubbling over with tales from her school.
I make sure she eats the rest of her lunch.
While listening to her,
I make preparations
For the evening meal.
More noise, more tumult
When the little boy comes in.
“Dwag me to the bathwoom!” he yells
Glowing with the dirt of the day
Spent in playschool.
Soon, other children come in to play.
The house wakes up, is full of life.
Homework, Hindi, settling squabbles:
Bath, dinner, and a game or two.
I cuddle up to one, or both
As we say a prayer, or read a story.
The little, reassuring rituals of bedtime
Are done. Darkness prevails.
Peace reigns again as they lie asleep,
Hair tumbled over pillows, arms askew.
Life sleeps now, but will be up tomorrow,
Getting ready for the day, again.
Awake and asleep by turns, this house
Is the home of the future.

What should I do?

August 23, 2017

Should I feel happy for what I had?
Should I feel sad for what I’ve lost?
Should I take the value of what I still have?
Or should I count the loss and its cost?

Both my daughter and I are taking inventory and finding things missing around our homes…..Neither of us knows quite what to do about it.

But I think my words apply to both tangible and intangible things.