In the name of Love, the passion which governs
All things human and natural too
I rise everyday to find how the glorious sun
Brings beauty of morning for all to view,
I think of that Love which binds man
All over the world, from East to West
I think of that World which we possibly can
By our Love, make wonderous and truly blessed,
If poetry is the cause, Rose I think as effect
For its beauty I hold and its wonder my words reflect,
Rarely have I passed a day when I did not write
Over and again I keep on writing on
So many things which give away light
Ethereal or earthly as they, in my words get born.
(* it is a roseate sonnet, as invented by Ampat Koshy and later practised and perfected by many. Many variants of this sonnet form have been created. This one is , however, as per the original form, i.e; two quatrains followed by a couplet then again a quatrain.)
Once on our way to Khwai
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Once on our way to Khwai
We were enchanted by the spring
The road with dreams did lie
Once on our way to Khwai,
We were kissed by the sky
And felt what beauty did it bring
Once on our way to Khwai
We got the rhyme of spring.
( it is a triolet poem having the rhyme scheme ABaAabAb)
Of all those days which have etched
Indelible impressions on my mind
I know that day how did to us fetch
Heavenly wonder that did us bind,
It had been just after autumn
The sky was getting perfect
And we travelled to gather some
Hues with which nature decked,
We reached a cottage, at about ten
There we thought to stay for the day
Walking all the way through the lane
That had gone up there, merrily, so to say,
Outside that cottage there was a bench
We sat there stretching our legs quiet
Gathering how that perennial sense
Of serenity is kept by that day's light,
Later, much later, when the evening came
We again went outside to sit there
And found how the day's sky became
The sky of the night, wide, open, bare,
It had little dots,sparkling things
All over it so enchanting,
As if it told us that our sojourn
Had been a marvellous one,
And we just thought what it could be
That kept us soothed, giving satiety?
Then we looked around us and found
Again, how nature remained the same,
Calm, poetic, blessed, vast and profound.
Seas have their own beauty
They make our earth blue
They make water for satiety
And make voyagers true,
Heard you've been to seas
For seven years you spent
You gathered how the breeze
Carried flowers and their scent,
There you've sung full throat
Several as they are found
Cyprus, Corfu, Lanzarote,
They all gave you colors profound,
And when you from there returned
You put your mind and soul to canvas
On it You created Godly hues that turned
A Beautiful World Humane and Vast.
( based on a painting done by luana Stebule)
Just beside the lake of Walloon
At the porch of that pinewood cabin
When you come and sit for awhile
Looking at the beauty of the morning
Watching the flowers waking up
From their sleep and listening to those birds singing sweet
The birth of another day,
I am certain you then become a nature poet;
You , I am sanguine, then write verses in your mind-
those verses that say irrespective of place and time
Beauty of Nature remains like the sole guiding tune,
It causes a blessed emancipation
Which only gives one more of poetry,
At dusk too, after the day's works are done
When you sit at your writing desk,
You , I am sure, write down how on Walloon
The dusk gives leaves hues it has gathered on its wings,
Aha! Those hues!
How they make magical reflections,
How they make you a poet.
The boy and the mother at brick kiln*
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Every day almost on making journeys to and fro
Taking that road by the river
Find the two , the boy and the mother
At that slum beside that brick kiln,
In that shabby dingy place,
They two shine like meteors fallen on earth
In the morning, out of place ,
Shining still in their own halo,
The boy in his school dress
And the mother combing his unruly hair
Making him tidy.
At the evening , they look like two starlets no less
Or glowworms perhaps
The boy sitting at the dawa of their hut
With an oil lamp burning away
All toils of the day,
Vapour rising from its flicker of hope,
Reading a book or doing some lessons he learnt at school
And his mother sitting a few yards away
With a hand held palm leaf blowing soothing air to her child.
( * as submission to ' Are we mere spectators' anthology )
Dost*
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' kaise ho dost?'
( how are you friend?)
Is that what he would always begin with ,
My friend from another part of the world,
When we would meet ,
Crossing several fields
Like those two little boys
From two different sides
In a flick that championed the blooming of friendship despite odds;
I did not belong to his religion
He did not belong to my customs,
Yet we had been friends
For we met crossing fields several
While ploughing our lands,
We both had been farmers
Tilling the arid earth of our region
Toiling hard to grow green paddy ,
We met at sunrises
At sunsets too,
Crossing several fields,
And if we had some time to spare
We would both sit under a single tree
sheltering us from scorching heat of summer,
And sand mixed dust that blew from desert lands not faraway,
Talking about how the monsoon last year came good
And how we both reaped corns,
' kaise ho dost?'
I would also ask him
Sometimes
And he would smile.
(* Dost: friend,
Written for ' Kaafiya milaao ' )
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