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The journey of a poet

Image credit: Google images I understand who I am through the records of my life I land in sound, silence some hear...

Sunday, December 10, 2017

Once upon a time

English has left England
since long,
reluctantly it went
with oppressors,
tradesmen, missionaries
to unite kingdoms, challenge boundaries
of distant lands,
through cants
forced their tongue
into every foreign thoughts
for easing their stance
looted, plundered, murdered
until English, went out of leash
completely out of hands
pronto to who does it belong.

Now the evolved language appears strange
when even the natives speak or write
errors beyond imaginable range
abound; sound far from right.

Writers weep in their graves
their tongue demised for greed
emancipated English strikingly behaves
but England pays no heed;
how can they,
today the patois has betrayed;
the voice alas, on a fateful day,
went unwillingly for trade.

Sad that matching natives of today
write or speak gibberish
that once upon a time,
was also called English.

Written in good humour for those who are very compassionate towards writers of non-English origin


Wednesday, December 6, 2017

The space

With a rainbow ink
in my pen
I touch the horizon,
with a brush in it
I paint a picture
of possibilities,
crossing the limits
that lied with the mind
a glasshouse
condemned to think
within the boundaries
of repainted canvasses
overwritten pages.

With a rainbow ink
I become a visitor
of the encompassing surface
and then a writer
a painter
of the murky border
flooded with stories
of douleur,
unspeakable pain
but it’s only here
where the sky falls in love
day and night;

The ink ties me
with the given up place
a lighthouse
unwritten in its midst
forbidden, abandoned;
frequented though
by lovers
stars
who wanted
to write and paint
about the purview

being in the space.

Tuesday, December 5, 2017

Fearless

failure
my friend
yet no fear
I cannot walk anymore
through life
I move with my clutches
one day, the other night
I am unable to see
my two eyes tired
catch the light of the stars
in my news-less ears
sounds of the waters
do vibrate
what I say
makes little sense
in the world
for my words do not
rise or fall
yet there
in one corner
unafraid
I chat with my pal

being in between

beginning and end
of existence
heard, unseen
lie in the mind
moments in between
sensing memories
come and go
echo, out of nowhere
travails of the stars
days and nights
leaves of stories
changing colours
afresh
living the consciousness
of how their tales began
how they would end

sensing happens 
-perhaps-

being in between

Thursday, November 30, 2017

Birth of a new dialogue

In the woods by mistake
or simply by accident
the two appeared again
Dharma* to give Yudhisthira*, another go
for a question whose response
did none, until then, know.

- No Baka*
birth is the only truth
death a momentous lie
that leads us to birth
- But death also does the same?
- No, death is immobile I plead
it doesn't move and hence cannot lead
death is false, but it's not its fault
it is birth that takes us to births
through a momentary halt;
until the Self frees from them
to have births no more again
- So then don't you die?
- No O wise Dharma, you have birth again
that frees us for good,
in stillness we call heaven!
Birth it is O Dharma, it is birth again!
- (Dharma smiles) after ages
O Dharmaraja*, you appear to be light
you behold your world
right in the middle of the earth
- Birth of life, of virtues and evils
even that of deaths and devils
in it the Universe lies
- I know, I know
you seem to have wings
in your hands now
your feet appear to be light
blind and dead no more,
your words now have eyes!
Have as much water from this lake now
As you have quenched my thirst
Let all your dead brothers
come back to consciousness first
Then O King, take your brothers,
you saved them with grace
With them, all men and women
you saved the human race.

To change the earlier response
to Yaksha* did Yudhisthira urge
he does so, both smile and
in the leaves of stories,
does birth, as the only truth
newly emerge.


Note:

Dharma - Dharma is the one who questions Yudhisthira; Dharma, Yaksha, Baka are one and the same
Yudhisthira- In the Hindu epic Mahabharata, Yudhishthira* was the eldest son of King Pandu and Queen Kunti and the king of Indraprastha and later of Hastinapura (Kuru). He was the leader of the successful Pandava side in the Kurukshetra War. At the end of the epic, he ascended to heaven.
Baka - Baka appears as the crane; Dharma, Yaksha, Baka are one and the same
Dharmaraja - Yudhishthira was also known as Dharmaraja

Yaksha - Dharma, Yaksha, Baka are one and the same.

The story

At the end of their 12 years of exile in the forests, time had come for the pandavas to live in Agyat Vasa (living Incognito). As they were discussing their course of action the Pandava Princes came across a Brahmin who complained that a deer has taken on its antlers his Arani – a pair of wooden blocks to generate fire by friction – and therefore he was not able to light the fire for the performance of Vedic rituals. The valorous Pandava Princes set out to retrieve the Brahmin's Arani and followed the hoof-marks of the deer.
In the quest of the mysterious deer, Yudhishthira, became exhausted and thirsty. His brother Nakula thus ventured out to fetch water and found a beautiful lake. The lake was devoid of any living creature except a crane (Baka)*. When he attempted to take water from the lake, the crane spoke, "O Nakula! The water of this lake will turn into poison if you take it without satisfactorily answering my questions." Nakula, in arrogance, did not pay heed and hurriedly took water from the lake. Upon drinking the crystal clear water, Nakula instantly died of poisoning. Nakula's twin Sahadeva, coming in search of his brother, also found the same lake, saw Nakula dead, and was warned by the crane. But Sahadeva too ignored the crane and died after drinking the water. In the same manner, both valiant Arjuna, and powerful Bhima met the same fate.
Since none of the brothers returned with water, Yudhishthira engaged in search of them. Upon following the same path, Yudhishthira came across the lake and found his brothers lying dead. Before searching for the killer of his brothers, Yudhishthira decided to drink some water from the lake. But when the crane warned him, Yudhishthira realised that the crane held the answer to the turn of events. The virtuous Yudhishthira proceeded to answer the questions put forth by the crane.
Before putting the questions to Yudhishthira, the crane revealed itself as a Yaksha. The Yaksha asked 18 questions with philosophical and metaphysical ramifications. This dialogue between the Yaksha and Yudhishthira is embodied in the Madhya Parva of the Mahabharata, and is also known as the Dharma-Baka* Upakhyan (Legend of the Virtuous Crane).

Source: Wikipedia

Tuesday, November 28, 2017

photopoems


Oddball

Waves eaten by the sea
the shore is hungry
back in the room
doors are permanently shut
through the meadows
dry and thirsty banks of the river
gazing at the flowing waters
ways playing lost-and-found games
no room to bank on the beach
they are confused
for them doors stand
waters flow
but everything is failing
falling apart
a collage of broken images
blames the blue mirror above
where stars blink and shine,
the hollow space known as the sky.

Somehow the caterpillar
still struggles to be the butterfly
and the crabs still eat
their grub, from the starving sands
dig holes, their homes.


French translation

Inouï

Ondes mangées par la mer
la rive a faim
dans la pièce
les portes sont fermées en permanence
à travers les prairies
les rivages de la rivière secs et assoiffes
regardent les eaux qui coule…
les chemins jouent aux jeux perdus et trouvés
pas de zones pour ranger sur la plage
ils sont tous confus
pour eux, les portes se lèvent
les eaux coulent
désormais tout échoue
s'effondre
un collage d'images brisées
blâme le miroir bleu ci-dessus
d’où les étoiles clignotent et brillent,
l'espace creux connu comme le ciel.

D'une certaine manière, la chenille
a encore du mal à être le papillon
et les tourteaux mangent toujours
leur bouffe, des sables affamés
creusent des trous, leurs séjours.


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