Hiatus

Take a break
From spinning the wheel
And on hiatus
Keep things,

For who knows
From that break
May arrive newer thoughts,
Replenishing.

The more I look at you

The more I look at you,
Life, the more I feel
There is no end to your wonders,
How you bind everything into your own rhythm,
How in your wings days turn nights
And nights turn days,
How from seeds grow the trees
And from trees grow seeds,
How light travels far and wide
And how from far away stars glitter
Their light reaching us after million years,
How we had trodden through struggles and deprivations
Till we caught the straw before getting drowned
Into oblivion, and risen up to see with love
And hope how the omnipotent had made our existence
A saga of its own, so magnificiently construed,
That we rarely make out if we had ourselves
Been a part of it,
The more I look at you,
Life, the more with certitude
Comes complete surrender,
Purged becomes the words
And so our being into this wonderful world,
When you make me to see beauty
In all life forms, from the minutest, the little feeble
One to the grandest and the mightiest,
I think I have been made by you
To ponder over nothing but your supreme benediction,
And I eulogise, knowing words can never fully hold
Your truest form,
The more I look at you
Life, the more with philos you drape me,
I go farthest of the far,
I come nearest to the near,
And this makes me all the more volatile,
For this works in me like an epiphany
And wonderment leaves me beseiged.

A mural

The man looked grave
And erudite was his moustache,
Thick,
Almost Stalin,

Above his head
A casement sat,
And near his hand
There were clenched fists,
They all shouted slogans,
Perhaps,

And smoke from chimneys
Stopped briefly near a flag with a star in the middle,
Before catching up with the rest of the wall,

Someone Salvadore Allende
Had been celebrated,
Presumably,

And a few paces away,
Where smell of raviolis
Filled the air,
A painted figure
Motionless sitting on a stool
Narrated the lore of Eleanora,

Facing the figure
There were faces numerous,
They had the intent of breaking out something,
In chorus,

Only
It was
A mural.

Remembering

Can't remember mother mine;
Only whilst playing
All of a sudden unnecessarily
A tune rings in my ears,
Then thoughts of mother mine
With my games intertwine;
She probably used to sing
Rocking the cradle-
She had gone away
But left the song subtle;

Can't remember mother mine;
Only when in morns of ashwin
Carried by the dew drenched breeze
Comes the fragrance of sheuli,
Then don't know why mother mine
Comes to my mind;
Probably she used to bring
Blossoms such in basket-
So the smell of puja
Comes to me as smell of mother ;

Can't remember mother mine;
Only while sitting at one corner of bedroom
Try to look out through the window
Towards the sky azure,
Then get the feel of mother mine
Staring at me simply
Like the way she
used to look at me
Many many years ago
Holding me in her arms-
She had left that stare
All over the sky.

(Transliteration of a poem by Tagore)