Tuesday, August 23, 2016

For that bud, encumbered in sleep

For that bud, encumbered in sleep,

In petals wrapped
Encumbered lies the dream
Of the bud , sleeping
Whilst wet westerly breeze
Upon its feathery shape
Caressed soft,

The rain knows how to make the bud turn an object of beauty,
The drizzle knows how to sketch
Lyrics upon lips.

Sunday, August 21, 2016

Out of bounds

Out of bounds

That pebbled path leading out of the cottage gate
With sight of hills and a placid lake
Often takes me away to a faraway place,
A morning is perhaps there breaking out,
Away from the bustle of the city,
Where sings the nightingale
Songs of dews that fell
Smooth and almost imperceptible,

I look at the vastness of glory
Of nature weaving a sacred sublime feel of a story,
Of someone after getting lured by the beauty
Sits quiet so visibly enchanted,

I look at the slopes of green
And the rays of the Sun spread through mist,
A poetic journey to the Unseen
Divine presence ,
I try to feel each and every part
Of the day so becoming
A part of imagination ,
Reigning unvanquished, supreme,

And at that very moment,
Like someone being magically charmed,
I go into a flow of a river, a stream,
Of words , coming out spontaneous.

Thursday, August 18, 2016

Wish you give us more*

Wish you give us more
Of your words which paint pictures
Of guests arriving crossing the border
And we welcoming them with handmade wheatcakes ,
And taking care of all their pains,
Of chinar leaves falling slowly
Upon the earth moist and sleepy,
Of rivers flowing making sweet murmur
Amidst woods where we can always go ,
Of missing the touch of hands, of our lost friends, forgotten relatives,
Of sunset yellow gradually getting spread
On the sky , a prayer like , orange and red,

Wish you give us more
Of your golden words, lyrically wrought,
So much so that we upon hearing them
Forget how the day goes by
To embrace the evening
And how the evening also slips away
Into the music of intoxicating nights.

(*As a tribute to Gulzar, on his eighty second birthday)

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

Evening Sky*

Evening sky *

Often around this time of the year,
Evening sky comes down upon me bare,
With fiery saffron colors so draped
Making me from my works escape
To that vast land of green, a plain
Where I get rid of all my feigns,
The birds which take their flight home
Drenched by the evening light so being borne,
Remind me of my going back too,
To match the orange and bluish hues,

I then think of my return
To the land serene as it turns
My heart, my mind my soul blessed
Around this time of the year as the sky gets dressed
In tranquil silence noiselessly eloquent,
How then  I think of dusty roads that bend
To that beauteous natural existence,
To those trees, huts , human settlement
To that river, lake , woods meaningfully dense,

I then think of days passed
In singing songs of Love just
Praising ways of men to God
And ways of God to men that last,
For months , years, decades , centuries,
How to that greenery my mind then hurries,
Only to make out ways divine
Encumbered in peace a  thousand  inexpressible lines.

(*Note: loosely based upon a painting as attached, done by Sally O Neill, courtesy: Keith Linwood Stover, Iulia Gherghei)

For that girl *

That girl who stood with her back
Turned to the light,
Showed her ignorance to the world,
Her back with all those curves,
Had passages of my desires,

That girl who stood with her back
Turned to me,
Showed me how feathers wrote
Candid verse upon her soul,
Which perhaps I missed in shaded alleys
That we had walked through all our lives.

(*note : upon a painting loosely based, as attached, done by Rex Beo)

Sita

Sita,
How you were tested and tried
Not once , but several times,
How you after being abducted
Persevered all that happened,
Living alone homeless , without your husband and kids,
How you had withstood that life, held captive,

And after many years,
When the battle had been fought
And won, when much of blood had been spilled,
When the earth was clouded by shooting arrows and spears,
When cities were set into blazing fire,

Sita,
How you thought perhaps all was due
To your honour,
That the wars were raged and men proved
Their thundering skills, their admirable valour,

But when the dust got settled,
When you were taken home by your husband,
How you were put to a test again,
How you were to walk through the flame,
How were you asked to prove before all
That while being away held captive ,
You had not gone through any fall,

How did it feel Sita? At that time?
To stand before all and declare
That you had remained what you were,

How did it feel when thy Soul burned?
How did it feel when thy honour was thus upturned?

Tuesday, August 9, 2016

Every love is so long distance

Every love is so long  distance

Every love I met
Had been turned
Long distance ones,

Interstellar kind,

If I am at one hemisphere,
She is invariably at the other,

If I am gathering flakes of moon
She is right at the wheatfield, golden,

Every love I met
Had turned into
Late night phone calls,

If I am all in day light,
She is under the quilt
Yawning before sleeping off,

Every love I had met
Had made me traveler.

For lilies on bloom

Come away , where the lilies bloom fair
Singing songs of mist in the afternoon's sweetest air,
Come away, where the meadows beckon and greet,
Come away, where dew drops on leaves and petals meet
Like silent drops of Divine blessings,
Come away, to that beauteous scene
Where lilies bloom tender and wild
Come away, to feel that drowsy numbness mild,
Come away, O you human child.

Monday, August 8, 2016

On that Abbey and that river*

Five years after when he visited the place
With his sister, to find how nature had dressed
His mind and heart and soul,
He found profundity of the river
How before him did unfold,
He noted in that wonderous quietitude
How the Abbey for ages stood,
And how amidst green , those meadows and Hills,
He discovered Divinity in purest form dripping, distilled,
Then he found also the flowing human course
Flowing much like that River, from its source,
He then boldly there declared
How by being the lover of meadows, woods, mountains,
He had found the Blessed state , the fair,

Those thoughts made him more of a poet
Perhaps , who out of the mechanised world,
In the serenity of nature , by his mind, dwelt,

O how the Abbey and the River beside it,
Gave him joys which he cherished,
That pristine, incorruptible one,
How there he flew after five years like a Swan,
Only to savour more of Nature's Beauty,
Only to make out Divine Piety.

(*Note: written upon the famous poem of Wordsworth titled 'Tintern Abbey'. The painting attached is on Tintern Abbey.)

Saturday, August 6, 2016

Come, love,

Come,  love,
Come, love, when the night is so alluring
And the sky when had got the hues
So Starry and so blackish blue,
Come, love, to the lap of nature
And break into singing

Making me sleep on thy bed of dreams,
Come, love, put thy hands on my breast,
Putting at rest all the worries and woes,
When the night is so charming
And the sickled moon is diving so low,
Just within our reach,

Come , love,
Plunge me into thy softness more,
As the sky the night's Beauty
By twinkling things adore.