|| 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

|| the garden of spring ||

Children leave

in their toys

their play, their innocent

infancy so toys look

alive like-children.

The meaningless prattle

of children contains
the meaning of life

in the noise of sounds

they create the commentary

of life as created

by the soul.

In the still movement

of children is the

eagerness longing

to touch all.

Their soles leave

on the earth the

movement of their passion

so even when they are not around

they embrace unexpectedly

Children have a season

of their very own

in which they blossom

play and come to fruition

for our Garden of Spring.

|| 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.