|| sound of the conch ||

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The woman lives

in words-love

The man lives

in the body-love.

The woman lives

in eyes-the night

and the man lives

in night-woman.

The woman lives

in the sound of the

conch shell-

the sounds of faith

the man lives

in the conch-like body

the colours of faith.

|| Touch ||

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love

dissolves

melts like a .

liquid

The soul

immersed in

raag prarthana

Within the closed lids

the God of love

within the folded palms

love

In love without

a signal the body

moves beyond

the body.

The body vanishes

like a line and

all that remains

is the touch of the soul.

|| Within The Self ||

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Within the man

exists a woman

and

within the woman

a man.

The man lives in

his life several women

and the woman lives

the man within her

all her life.

In her feet

the woman walks

soundless

the walk of the man

within her.

The man lives the woman

within him in other women

and the woman lives

the man within her

within herself.

|| In one Another ||

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A part of her body

some feathers are not

part of the bird's flight.

Some parts of the

mountain are left

out of the top

On them the winds

write the pain of

ascent

Co-opting them in

the liquid flow of their waters

rivers carry them along

The mountain tops dissolve

in the river

dyed in the colour of the mountain top

sometimes the river turns

mountain top sometimes

the mountain top

turns river-sandy, silver

and sometimes ochre and earth.

There bodies merged

in one another.

|| Winds ||

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The winds have

a voice to wake up

their times to raise a

tornado……against those

who remain silent.

Quietly, the winds

become a squall

Without a noise

the winds raise a storm

The winds always

create- a voice

with their divine palms

the winds wipe the

face of nature.

The winds echo

in the earth as

breath in the body.

|| Birthdays ||

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Birthdays remind

of receding days

they shorten the life

of dreams snatch

some wishes

fill the emptiness of life

which can not 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

smile wishes to soak-up

happiness off each laughing

congratulatory face even

as the lips know the

hollowness of the smile.

At the birthday celebration

held between warm palms

palms wish to forget

all hatred-despair-animosity

knowing well this transient meeting

is meant to turn into forgetfulness.

|| SHREENIVASI ||

The poet Shreenivasi has

sown in his native land

word seeds.

In his poems he

has revived Suriname

feeding it

his heart's blood.

Suriname is growing

older in the land

of Suriname

In his poem Shreenivasi

is young at eighty five

like a tiller with

his plough on his shoulder.

At the river-bank in New Amsterdam

the poet stands holding

the aakaashdeep of poem

the compassionate eye

of his picture has ink

for his new poem.

Like the trees at

the turning into jungle

New Amsterdam bank

that have known and lived

pain for ages his poem

stands tall.

Like his poems the

birds have created on branches

new plants…new creepers….new roots

and new nests.

In days past canons

that fought like mothers

on the side of the motherland

on this same beach

now lie quiet resting

their heads on their

children's shoulders.

Like the sentry at

the police- post at the

beach stands Shreenivasi's poem

a weapon drawn for the motherland.

Poetry is the monument

of New Amsterdam

the logo of Suriname

along the flag of the

police-post waves

the banner of poetry.