Friday, October 21, 2016

Morning road, autumnal vines and post card from provence

Morning road, autumnal vines and that postcard from Provence

The morning had that sweetness of mellowed light
And breeze cool slowly flowing across the golden fields of ripened corns,

Much like that favoured postcard from Provence
It had all the colors of the wild
And shades interfusing lighted space,

The morning had memories of losing oneself to the beauty of life
As captured by the pristine country road,
Not faraway a loco perhaps chugged
Making whistle which only accentuated the lust of wandering in mortal souls,

Like a postcard from Provence
Blissful, serene , restive,

The morning how brought one
More close to colors, lores and free spirit of a day, blithe and Pure.

Thursday, October 20, 2016

Still remember the day

Still remember that day

Still remember that day,
When we stopped at the fringe
Of the city, descending from the car
You stood looking at the sky
Getting usually painted by the setting sun's glow,
An electric pole with crows hanging on wires
Only stood as an aberration to the otherwise beauteous composition of a sky as it appeared,

You were singing soft ,
If I may recollect,
A song of late seventies
Which narrated how pairs of lovers
Thronged in the city square
Braving odds of all kinds,

I , leaning against the bonnet of the car
Thought of taking a snapshot of your wonderous silhouette,
Your hair that you left unbound
Flew like a garment of silk,

How I again fell in love with you
Your songs, your silhouette,
Your silken hair smelling like lemon leaves,

O how again I fell in love with
The painted sky, the vast meadows,
And our youthful escapades!

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

Down the road

Down the road
Down the road
Through the farm
At the end of summer
Happy and warm,
Would I go following you
Till the sky would catch
That festive bluish hue,
And till the birds would care to sing
Songs old wrapped in newer meanings,
Down the road
Through the farm
At the end of an autumn
Just before the beginning
Of a beautiful wintry setting,
Would I go following you
Till scenes would come to view
And till they would cause a rise in me
Words placed in rhyme, like a half forgotten tune ,
Like ringing shape of ancient Poetry.

Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Ode to the flutist

Ode to the flutist

When the dusk descends soft
Lending the earth her superb inimitable grace,
How oft I think of you , Lord,
Your tune , your smiling face,

The homebound birds as to their nests fly
Chirping sweetly all the way,
How I think your flute I hear
Keeping me fully swayed,

When the dusk spreads the hue
Of orange and red so beautiful
How I think oft of you Lord,
As I get sublimated in the cool,

I think of you and praise Thee,
And your flute more I long to hear,
How then I find me merged
As my soul to Thee I with ease bare,

I think you and only you,
The one and the Potent one,
Your face how then mirrors the world
And with you how I get entwined.

Monday, September 26, 2016

O Lisa!

O Lisa! How you have been
Always rendered as some one inspiring,
Grand , opulent and in dressing gown
How you have been made the belle of the town,
Stylish, in vogue , always on shine
Not a renaissance painting but a newer design,
Poised, witty , fingers folded
Just for this age , perfectly moulded,

O Lisa! How you have been made and remade,
With paints morphed, reshaped, relaid,
No other dame could with you vie,
O Lisa! How looking at you , youths still heave sighs,
How you still not fail to ignite dreams
Of painters, artists, poets, it seems,
How they all still love to work on you,
You eyes, cheek, lips and your worldly view,
How still every day people try to explore
Your mystery, Myth and Beauty more,

As I once again look at you
I know by heart all these paintings few
Can only make you all the more enchanting,
Cause  you've transcended the form of a mere painting.

How many times, love,

How many times , love,
How many times, love,
Have I found the sombre feel
Of Himalayan range,
Upon you so beautifully sketched,

How many times, love,
Found I the fragrant blooms
In your garden shining
In early rain drenched morns,

How many times, love,
I lost my senses all
In thy Beauty so Divine,
In winters, summers and the Fall,

How many times, love,
Have I tried to adore you,
In paints, poems and lyrics,
In molten wax and honey dews.

For Martin,

People who came to the beach town
Had always searched that man with hair brown,
Martin as he was known to all
Had always listeners around him, big and small,
He would sit on a canvas chair
And strum a song in his guitar,

The songs sung were always full of tales,
Of yesterdays and also of modern Fables,
Of princes and kings and sailors,
Of politicians and men with valour,

He sang them fluid like a gust a wind
He sang them gaily only to bind
People around him who came from near and far,
He would sit just on a canvas chair
And shake his mane like brown brown hair,

Many years after had Martin gone
To another land perhaps in search of a song,
They put a chair of canvas on the beach right
To make him unforgettable , for days and nights,
And they had placed a guitar there too,
In name of Martin and his songs so true.

Sunday, September 25, 2016

At the hut by the River

At the hut by the River,

At the hut by the River
Spent hours of lustful days
Till the dusk came sweeping cool
Amidst the songs of gnats,
Twas such a plentiful life
To get soaked into the pervading Bliss
Of nature's profound stillness
And it's soft soothing kiss;

At the hut by the River
Spent childhood and also youth
Watching oft how seasons came
Like moments of Love, Beauty and Truth,

Found there all that had been said
Years before my birth,
Found there what it meant to be
To get aligned with the Eternal Mirth,

That Mirth which people sought
The Myth which got ancient leaning,
That Joy which the Lord had planted
Into forms with inherent meanings,

Beauty is what the truth is
And so is what the Eternal one,
At that hut by the River's side
Got floated in waters like a  white swan,

And poems came like ripples soft
Right onto my breast,
And words came like murmuring of
A cool flowing silvery cascade.

Friday, September 16, 2016

Autumn in the forest

Autumn in the forest

Simply treading through
The greenish hue
Of autumn brought so many memories,
Of finding a glimpse of a stupa
Seen through the gaps of trees,
And hearing the gong of bells
Cutting through the mild mist,
All of them came , like a beautiful dream,
Sunlight falling through leaves,
Slight murmur of sweet breeze,
All had Autumn in them,
Distinct, known , felt afresh,

Simply walking through the thick foliage,
Oft how takes one back to days,
When fragrance of blossoms
Covered one's senses.