|| dream canvas ||

I have your words

and you have my silence

you are my restless dream

I, the world of your desire

On the canvas of dreams

I paint brightly, give names unforgettable

luscious colours like you

names unforgettable, like you.

In my memory live your words

the true companions of loneliness

in the golden palm of sun rays

I place the eternal kiss of the loving glance.

I imbue alien winds

with love-scented dream-breath

and turn a strange word

intimate

As children create sandcastles

living dream play in the reality of life

in the expanse of your being

I sow the seeds of my desire

My desire

awaiting the footfall of creation

my heart beating to the sound of love

the sound, of our love

|| colours of spring ||

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love occurs inside the body-cave

like a magic

and dazzles you

while amazing you

Love enters inside the body-cave

like a light

wraps a net of profoundness

embraces

creates the solo experience of couple

with the lines that are colourless

like an artist

inside the mural of the body

With touch

of tender delicate paintbrush

on the wall of the body

the love-pictures appear

in the inner body, not

on the outer body

The soul touches

every pore having the feeling

of the indelible, indifferent, cognate

just its presence unites the two body murals

from above and inside

it makes a ‘house’ by itself

a ‘house’ of love

a ‘house’ of faith

a ‘house’ of submission

Like the child who makes his first home

inside the mother’s womb

writes his first text with his heartbeats

on the women’s chest

The fruit of love’s result

grows in the body-tree of the woman

and like the spring

blossoms on the body-chest of the woman

|| cees maurick ||

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Feet firmly planted on ground

as though they grew

out of the earth

like some forest species

reflected in his eye

the blue of the sky turns bluer

from the ocean the tender-hearted friend

fills his heart

boundless in his affection

Tired with the world

he seeks haven in the forest

more civilized than the world

This animal loving hunter

hunts to save the forest

and its denizens

As the talk turns serious

his forefinger describes

an unending whorl on his temple

as if tightening the invisible

screws of his brain

To indicate money

he rubs the tip of his forefinger against his thumb

And says - Money

Money… and Mind

that is Cees Maurick

Money calls for Mind

but Mind calls for something

that only Cees Maurick knows

From the walls of his

river-front home

heads of deer turn

their innocent eyes

wondering at the goings-on

birds perching

turning tables into living branches

Following a day spent

unraveling the intricacies of commerce

the evening finds him

among his animals

stroking their bodies, their fur

nudging their foreheads

their lifeless

bodies hold the joy of touch

For children, the hand

of an angel

for friends the hand

of a friend

for dear ones

the touch of living love

the worst enemy

of the violent

Countering worry with amusement

he dissolves his laughter

sharing his energy

in friendship with friends and family

he is the wine

that lubricates the machinery

of his business

His home, a strange aviary

of forest and water bird

models and masks

he loves his forest animals

like friends

and like his home

loves the forest

I often wonder

though commerce be his blood

is the forest his home

are animals his friends

is life his real love

|| cecile ||

Cecile

is a name for

a tree-trunk that writes

with its roots spread in the earth

Her crafting fingers carve

a thousand things

out of the tree-trunk

Cecile, the goddess of Afro woodcraft

wears the symbol of nature around her neck

Ramrod as a tree-trunk

soft as tissue

wood fire burns

in her will to live

Standing in the middle

of the forest drinking

rainwater living the wealth

of the beauty of the sea she

knows the water resistant longevity

of sturdy Greenheart or Mahogany

Standing tall in the amid a river

a stone tower holding the culture-bridge

Cecile knows the dreams and aspirations

buried in the heart of the wood

In the body of the tree

Cecile lives and carves the

joy and delight of art

the poetry of Kalidas

magical sensuality and

the heady spring of nature

the dead Greenheart lives out

spring for a day

Sensing with her eyes

the shadow of evil in

the human body she brushes it

away with her breath as though

it was some borer eating into

the trunk of the human body

She plants Afro culture within

human hearts so future generations

may craft dreams and meanings

of words on the body of the wood

Like a plain paper

her eyes reach under every palm

so anyone may write her dream

on them and Cecile turn it

into a sample of 'karabasi'

|| three poems ||

(One)

When

      his mind springs

      to read poems

      it moves towards

      the sandy banks

      on the paths

      made with palms of waves

He feels

      as if he is keeping

the soles of sense

      on the surface of verse

      as if he is experiencing

      the softness of poetry

      on the pages of earth

when

      his mind springs

      to live the poem

      it moves out

      towards the green paths

      the winds titillate his hair

      the winds touch his forehead

His mind

      is irrigated with

      the touch of love

(Two)

At the sea shore,

      his eyes

turn into a boat shape

that resembles

the offering given with both hands

      he drinks

      the warmth of love

      through the waves of the sea

      the palms of the winds

      immerse into his palms

      and sometimes

he feels the love of nature

      and sometimes

he feels the love of palms of beloved

he wraps the winds

their moistness

even when he is alone

and thus

doesn’t remain alone

and within himself

he wraps – nature

      earth

      water

      Sun’s heat

      space

his soul is satisfied

as if he has assimilated

all the five elements

inside his body

to create

the body of love

that will remain with him

forever

like his breath

that he can feel

like his heartbeats

that he can listen

like the music of his soul

to change the life into tunes

(Three)

History,

is his first love

because

history

has given birth to him

in which he stands

like an evidence

to make his time, a history

Poetry

is his devout companion

it takes him away from sadness

it clears his doubts

and whenever he needs it

he always finds it on his side

|| birthdays ||

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Birthdays remind of receding days

they shorten the life of dreams

snatch some wishes

fill an emptiness of life which cannot be filled

moving feet complete the perambulation of life

each year

Eyes wish to cover

beloved faces with the

joy of cordiality that

is scrubbed away by

the grazing of interests

through the year.

On a birthday

smiles wish to soak-up

the happiness off each laughing, congratulatory face

even

as the lips know the

hollowness of the smile

At the birthday celebration

held between warm palms

there is a wish to forget

all hatred-despair-animosity

knowing well this transient meeting

is rightly meant to turn into forgetfulness

|| a sign ||

In my Ganga

I live

You are my Yamuna

like in my Krishna

you are my Radha

In your words

I touch

in your thirst for words

I quench the thirst of my soul

I surrender my eternal longing

Carried upon the vessel of your words

I reach

the source of the Yamuna, your heart

the colour of the cotton tree flower

silks buds hidden

awaiting the flowering

gift of the mustard flower

preceding spring

Sometimes rain falls

on the island bosom

of the river

as waves write

the longing of the river’s heart

as I do

On the sandy bank

of the ocean

whirlpools tell of

dream pools of the sea

as you do

On the deserted shore

of the earth

sometimes dew

sometimes a raindrop

writes

a matchless ballad

of unfulfilled desire

for me and you