LIKE A WHISPER OF LOVE

Like a whisper of love
let the light come
and define your contours;
let me see you ripple in the dark.
Like a tree looking at its own image,
let your myriad leaves
shimmer
in the magical moment...
just for a beautiful instant
before you break into the truth
of what you are, a light, a lamp, a beacon for the lost

Image credit: Anna.  a

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AN AUTUMNAL NIGHT

May 29, 2016

AN AUTUMNAL NIGHT
In the manner of  a nightingale,
come and alight
with a tenderness.
This, a  night , an autumnal moon
and the aura of magical light,
when these configurate,
bring with you a gentle caress
and love, quick to perceive before the word is said,
because drops of nectar are brought in the vial
by the moon of this primordial night.
Here is a ballad brought by the moon and the celestial night;
listen tenderly, don a gossamer web.
Converse , let you imagination race ahead of the mind.
Converse without the need for a word.
Feel the lavishness
of the feelings without the need of the sense.
Grapple with the cosmic theorem
without the use for the foundation in thought.
The bee  picks the pollen
and touches not the petals of the lotus' heart;
and the lotus in love
gladly greets the moon who alights in the water
for the lotus to feel its presence in the ripple;
and the fragile flower of the night
feels the moon with its aura of light
when she knows she cannot scale the heights
to meet the moon in the sky.
Who else but the lotus and the moon
has the knowledge of this vicarious joy?
The eagerness, the earnestness
of the moon
who sweeps the distance to meet the lotus in the pond,
is what is needed when you listen to the song.
Listen with a still and a silent heart
when  celestial notes such as these
 fall on earth on an autumnal night

ARABESQUE SCROLLS

Jul 25, 2016

ARABESQUE SCROLLS

Between two cliffs the river did flow
and we watched her
sitting on the bed of coral reefs
the high notes of monsoon rage,
the quiet summer of her morning tide
sliding upon the scales of time
we watched from the bed of coral reefs.
the river navigating a path
eroding the rocks cutting a way
across the ancient climes and the daily chimes
of temple bells, too familiar for our jaded hearts
to see one note as different from the other.

Every evening I sit here by the window,
until the deep murmur sinks in my heart.
Every evening I bring a tome of a life time
not to be judged and cast aside
but to find how the cliffs overthrow  and how the waters receive,
and how the pages of the diary flutter
in the wind pipe music like a ballerina's white skirt.
Love, it's the love of life that the river is, that the river sings,
a song of the arabesque, the song of fury,
a song of a gentle regressive flow,
of the vortex, slopes and steep falls
and waterfalls' terror
 blending with the colours of rainbows and rains.

 

Knihovna Chrášťany originally shared the image

- Všichni ti, kteří putují se neztratí ...
- All those who wander aren’t lost…
http://bit.ly/29BRnZZ
#books  

A Fench Poet

The time waves
Carries the spirit
Sweet moments
Where nothing is said
Pure happiness
Whoever reads
Pure sweetness
One that lives
Then the bottomless void
Which resonates life
More Ceiling
Just rain
Tomorrow I will go
With this ban
The right to return me
because it was all said
Nothing, not even nothingness
I will not forget
The black time
Your smiling face!

A Cat's Vigil

May 22, 2016

A CAT"S VIGIL
My mistress draped in blue,
do not go to sleep.
Tonight in the candle light,
you and me,
will keep company.
I shall lie awake
thru' the night at your feet.
I extend my paw and lay it on thy foot
as you rest your weary head
brooding upon your knee.
Though I am a tiny kitten,
and often forgotten
as you lose yourself in dreams
I know every pulse
running thru' your veins.
Hold me tight to your heart.
I too need your warmth
when the night goes dark
and the candles lose their lights.

 the image courtesy :Ho Sukardi

The Wall Which Taught me To Dream

The Wall Which Taught Me To Dream

My love of the written word started on the walls
The tall walls lined the railway tracks
screaming messages in capital letters
in alphabets that graduated slowly to meanings,
Most of those were regularly seen
while traveling with mom to her school.
The painted walls in their gaudy colors
and the words painted in an exotic commercial sheen
printed the images that slid in memory, building nests,
for birds with no feathers yet,
and cocoons for butterflies to fly next,
I transformed them into a private world of dreams.

It was many more years thence, I came to know,
that the wall which taught me to dream
was a wall that hid an old cremation ground.


"Rock wall, mist wall, brick wall, glass wall .........
We do not always see what is hiding behind it.
We Imagine what we want to experience, and if you fail, you dream about it."

Written sometime in 2015.

THE TREE LYING MAIMED

 TREE LYING MAIMED
Tree, you sing in the darkness and light,
in the frosty days your wings delight.
Tree, your leaves scatter in the wind
the burdens carried in the mind.
We soar high, you and me till we lose sight
of all that ties us down
to the ground that we held so dear.
We shed our leaves, we are dry and bare,
so much less to carry
when the flight is up in the sky.

Once again O tree, speak again and let the wind
carry your whisper
far and wide.
And your scents of the mountains
will diffuse the clouds,
"Who is this stranger floating in the wind", they will say.
"And the sky is not a path for a tree to tread."

While still on the ground I see your stump and the scars that were hidden
now exposed.
So often I sat by you and asked
if I could feel you, touch and heal
the ancient wounds, dried up and hard,
wherein the blood scarcely breathed.

Wandering alone, clueless in these ancient woods,
I have seen beasts attack
for no reason that a human knew;
and I too have been torn apart
like you with no arms to save my skin or breath.
Monuments of the base instinct to kill
they lurk around in the dark.

My tree, even though stark wood you are,
you still breathe a better life.
I will sit here all through the night and pray
that those wild hunters may not come
this way again, with choppers and hack-saw under their arms
to cut out of you your live flesh
and parade in the markets as works of art

Anxiety :Response to Anna Vale Marti's post

ANXIETY.....Written in response to +Anna del Valle Martí 's question : "
I wonder, dear +Sushama Karnik how this could be related to ""the alienation to which speaking beings are subjected due to their being in language"....

Somewhere down the road,
we never knew was a shade
where tired with the pursuit of
the alien star,
the far-away star,
the magnificent Other
who seemed to know
the inarticulateness of desire,
came down to earth
to walk with us,
to stop with us in the shade.

Was that the hour of departure?
I read the concern in your heart.
At what distance do we place the anxiety,
the expectation that someone speak
and not let the fear impede
the movement of the subtle flow,
the infinitely slow,
the self-image captured without a net,
that indomitable movement to jouissance--
to that which is farthest from the reach.

And standing transfixed in eternity,
a silence we could not break,
and the giant praying mantis: Time:
stood behind to prey upon the two