When I think About Myself

 

How many ‘selves’ live within

I cannot tell-

Thinking of its great might

When I needed to wear black

I sported white

And that was enough to make

My life a hell-

 

And in my hell house

I home décor my face-

I let from the hearth rise the warmest smile

Hiding the icy freckles of blues

In style

And this little mask is enough to give

My life a little ‘grace’-

 

So this ‘graceful’ life

Is now a silent space,

Noiseless word and a quiet breeze

Trying hard to exist and flow,

It strives to unfreeze

Dark, ruthless time

To just keep pace-

 

Posted for my prompt ~ When I Think About myself @ Poets United Midweek Motif

Advertisements

Human

 

It’s being a star

wrapped under daylight,

or being a taro leaf

letting go all water droplets

of worldliness gracefully,

or maybe it’s a voice

against the tyrant who,

“…when cried the little children died in the street*”

*Epitaph on a Tyrant by W.H. Auden

 

 

 

Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Human @ Poets United

Lust

 

I lust

for the cluster of luscious words

hanging

from this vine of life-

a little

beyond my reach-

I shall wear myself out

to leap at them-

let me fall short a million times-

I will not forsake this vine

and live close to it

till the day

they fall on their own

into my soul-

 

 

Posted for my prompt Lust @ Poets United Midweek Motif

Life Lessons

 

“All existence across space and time is considered as the same Oneness (Monism)”— Advaita Vedanta

 

 

You are the chosen one

to have come across the truth

what lies before you

is nothing but God-

He/She/It whatever be there

is God:

this sunrise today or the sundown

is That Being-

this warm breakfast, the plate, the eater

is That Being-

word-both holy and cuss is nothing

but That Being-

you want to touch Him/ Her/ It?

Go to an orchard-

feel Him under your feet as soil, grass, granules-

hold the freshly plucked red pomegranate

cut it open-

(He/ She/ It is the knife too)

feel how That Being has hidden Self

in each soft red pulp

only to be in your mouth

or in the mouths of other beings

out of love

to appease great hunger-

Know

He/ She/ It

Is the poem, the poet and the reader too…….

 

Posted for Poetics: Life Lessons @ dVerse hosted by Mish

Poetic Justice

 

We are the people of Stupidity Street*

for us remains: a blind sky

a blanket of rheumy air

a few dead sparrows

a scarecrow in a desert

and sighs

of poets

*I used the title ‘Stupidity Street’ of Ralph Hodgson’s poem here.

(an old poem I chose to post today)

Posted for Poetry Pantry @ Poets United