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.

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.

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.

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.

At thy door

When the evening comes
I arrive at thy door
Where from vines
Simmering love pours ...

The window

Every day , specially at dusk
She would come there, unasked,
Only to look at the wide spectacle
Of green slopes of hills as upon them fell
The rays of setting sun , making them wonderous
Every day, there she would come, to spend few hours,
Looking at those trees and listening to murmur
Perhaps of the flowing restless river,

She would with her senses devour
The beauty of hills and overwhelming Nature
And then when the sun would go hiding behind those hills
She would stand there still
And hear the songs of crickets too,
She would catch the evening's hue,

And after that when the night fell
And the moon would cast its silvery spell
She would let the beams come and caress her
Her face, her dreamy eyes, her limbs , her hair,

The window served as her companion true
As she would come there to have a view
Of the world around her, and also the world within
The window gave her always the perfect setting.