|| that letter ||

The letter

will arrive and enquire after sorrow

words

that will wipe off the tears from

the eyes,

the seat of love

downtown

in any part

at any restaurant

on any stage

on any bench

when entering any lodge

just as entering any inch, for

instance,

but unlike exploring a certain

familiar spot

a record

with data

and the promptness of the postal

service

the letter

whose words will bridge over time

at times through tearful eyes

at times with dry shivering lips

at times as long, deep and weary

sighs of happiness when

the eyes will quietly fix upon them

having read the words the eyes will

know the wet grief of

the lingering agony of a

muffled and distressing loneliness

that cannot be told to anybody

but to

the very soul of the letter.

(Painting : Isabel Pinheiro)

|| toys ||

Children grow

toys become small

the mother stores

the toys to touch

their leftover childhood.

As soon as the

children know the lie

of life hidden in toys

they leave home

in search of the

truth of life.

The mother looks

for their fingers

hidden in their toys

to forget the pain

of the separation

from the child

gone abroad she

kisses the toys

her children kissed.

Touching the memories

of her children left in

the toys she eases the

pain of her memories.

In her memories she

keeps her children's toys

and in toys her hungry

motherly touch thinking

the toys too miss her children.

Sometimes she puts

the old tricycle in

the forlorn garden and

remembers her children's

feet now in military boots

or trudging alien paths.

With her old eyes

the mother blessed the

dreamy new world of

her children's eyes

that is untouched by

tears of slavery even

now she e-mails to

them the magic messages

from childhood scriptures

and life - 'a slave is happy

not even in his dreams'

'love truly and thou shall be united

with thy love.'

As soon as the

children know the lie

of life hidden in toys

they leave home

in search of the

truth of life.

Leaving the toy animals

children set out to win

the war against the animal

hidden within men.

Abandoning toy planes

and cars
children leave in search
of a new life

better than their parent's

they had heard in their father's

heartbeat seen swinging

in their mother's eye.

(Painting : Milly Martionou)

|| let love happen ||

On the leaves of the heart

write the truth of love

not the illusion of amour.

Like the palms of the potter

press and knead of the earth of the heart

shape the body of love in the heart

not the illusion of amour.

Let love happen

to the soul like a divine feeling

not magic so the soul can be free

from the ties of the body

and visit moksha

uninvited.

Love is the music born

of the instrument of the body

play it like a practitioner.

Love, the amour of the chords

of the body-instrument

the primitive song of intimate moments...

(Painting : Manish Pushkale)

|| love arrives ||

Love arrives at

the door of the body

as delight.

To woo the body

the mind places the

ever burning lamp

in the niche of the heart.

On the wall of the

core of the heart

it hangs a dream calendar

with living photos of amour

riding the solar cycle

of days, months, years.

In the home

within the body

cooks the mouth watering

spread of love

to satiate hunger

to waken hunger sometimes.

In the courtyard of

the body-home

hangs the enchanting cage

with the beautiful parrot

who sings the song of the body

tells the story of the heart.

Within the body

the tambourine of the heart

plays the eternal song of the body.

(Painting : Sara Ranjbar)

|| tender hearted friend ||

You are the

scripture of my heart

my only book.

You are the pencil

of my soul

the cordial writer

of my candid feeling.

You are

my only poem

the true document of my creation.

You are

my only faith

the real companion of my soul

holy fruit of my deeds

the elixir of

my life force.

You are the breath in my body

the tender hearted friend

of my consciousness.

(Paintings : Madan Lal)  

|| native desires ||

Amidst alien heat and frost

the deck of the heart

lies abandoned like

the wet mark of

a memory-wound.

From the light house of desire

at the VEERANARI beach

ancient eyes scan

a luminous past.

Absorbed in the

memory of the beloved

face resting between palms

holding native desires

my palms become

her palms.

(Painting : Toni Shulajkovski)

|| the eternal shadow ||

To the sun

i hand your heat

to the river

i offer your cool

to the winds

i hand your spring

To the flower

i give the colour of your lips

to the tree

the height of your touch

to the earth

your earthy fragrance

To nature

i dedicate the echo of your breath

in the garden

i plant the eternal tree of your faith

from your image

i take for myself

the eternal shadow

that comes to my soul

from your soul to

quietly tell me your unlived desires

the lonely monologue of your day

the solitary lament of your nights

In the idol in the temple

i offer your faith

in God

the purity of godliness

after i meet you.

(Painting : Somnath Hore)