Thursday, November 24, 2016

Let there be, freedom from want *

Let there be, Lord
That freedom from want
Which would make not
Discrimination betwixt us
Based on our color of skin
Or find divisions , in between
Us, negating all that uphold
Feelings that are human,

Let there be Lord
No strife, no curse,
No carnage , no bath of blood,
No death due to hunger and pain
And unmitigated love,

Let there be, Lord
Freedom from want
And nothing in between

Let there be
Only that joy pristine
Of thanksgiving.

(*Note: the painting attached is titled "freedom from want" , done by N.Rockwell, 1942, based upon a speech by U S President F.D.Roosevelt)

Monday, November 7, 2016

Isn't it wondrous
To get into the woods
And feel how the light of the day
Turn every tree joyous and gay?

Friday, November 4, 2016

One November evening

One November evening
It had been a November evening
When he arrived at the town
Only to meet her, one last time
Before leaving forever... She told him she would be there
Right at the Strand near that big
Colonial facade of that century and half old building
The distinct landmark of the town,

He there waited for her
To turn up
And she kept her words

The dame of his heart
Wearing a red skirt and black top
She there came,

The air had smell of rains
Somewhere it might have poured,
When she came near
He just looked at her face
Glistened as it appeared
By drops of water...
He felt the drizzle in his heart
Somewhere very deep inside

She gave her hands for him to hold
Her hair smelt so much of lavender
And her palms were soft like cotton

He muttered his undying love to her
She told him that would perhaps not stay once he would go away... Time and distance take away everything
That what she told him,

Many summers and winters and springs
Have gone by since then... Still that building colonial stands
And November comes with
Smell of lavender,
Still he can her see
In red skirt and black top
Looking at him,
Her face glistening
Drops of rain
Like little beads of pearls
Hanging from the end of her hair.

Wednesday, November 2, 2016

Let me wander through the mist *

Let me wander through the mist
Of early winter months
When dew gather soft
At the fringe of leaves,
Like dreams of the night
Soothing and calm
Being awakened fresh by the morning's cool breeze,

Let me wander
And gather all the nascent things
And turn them into love of my soul
Only to make the world around us
More beautiful and pied

Let me pay my obeisance
To that kindred spirit
Which turns lives of us
So magnificent
Only by the grace of the eternal
The non transient form,

Let me be merged
With the silence of beauty .

(*Note: this poem is a tribute to a wondrous work of my friend, a poet and writer and publisher, Gopakumar Radhakrishnan)

Monday, October 24, 2016

She and the night sky

Know not how but whenever she arrives
I can hear her from far,
Her silver anklets I hear
Ringing like a fascinating music,
Her smell can I get,
Sometimes jasmine, sometimes lavender,
Sandalwood too,
Know not how but whenever she comes
I can feel her arrival,

That night too,
Even before she came,
Thought I heard her footsteps,
Felt a sudden flow of breeze
Flowing into me, my heart,

Looked around,
The terrace was empty till then,
Barring me,
Under the enchanting sky
An enchanted self,

Then her did I see,
My object of so many words
Forming prose and poetry,

'So you came...after days so many...'
murmured I,
Looking at her eyes,
So curiously made
Like a pair of youthful vivacity,
Her eyebrows danced a bit,
Playful as she appeared,

'Thought of me? '
She asked,

'Yes...'

'How oft?'

She was definitely inquisitive,

'As oft as this life beckons me to
Look around me to feel your presence
In your absence...'

I said,
Without any pretensions,

She came closer,
Looked at me,

I found how the Starry Starry night
Wrote song of longing in her eyes,
Cloudless, clear, much like the night sky
That watched us over, like a witness.

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!