Wednesday, 28 August 2019

"We need space," he said to her.
Look out of the window; see how bright the sand shines,
see how the beach extends to the end of the sight.
Let us give space to each other to watch and breathe.
We need to give each other space.We need to watch the vast sea;
we need to watch in the same direction,
but not in the same way,
let's give each other space
to watch in our own way,
our different ways."
There was a pause. She agreed.
Then one day she came to the window,
the same window.
The sand was white, the surf was white.
On the distant edge,
the sky was a dazzling white ocean.
He had found his direction.
Barefoot, carrying his shoes in his hands
he walked away, unburdened.
Each heavy footprint in the sand
was the mark he left behind
of the story of his struggle
to reach the right place.

Sushama Karnik

+Souheil Ghammachi Thanks for this beautiful B/W image
Footprints are easy to follow but making them and
getting to the right place is difficult. But it is worth
the struggle. Make your own path. Be original.
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Monday, 26 August 2019

Brackish, dark, the lips that refuse
to break into a smile,
the roses in your yard
are tinted blackish red.
And yet the perfume, aggressively starts
to move across the borders between the walls.
I respect your silence, your silent watch
melting and letting an estuary form
to let the fresh-water flow.
the brine will never turn sweet,
yet with a tinge of the bland
the balance may tilt towards a thaw
.
The manuals and the codes that the sea and the sand,
the rivers and the ponds derive the sense from geographies,
the times and the climates of ancient lands.
Shakespeare will not shake hands
with the Jew of Malta in a foreign land.
Moreover, the prehistoric, regressive beings
will retreat behind walls
on the scent of civilized aeroplanes
high over their heads in the sky.
The brackish rose will smell as sweet, though
it's hard to lose the dark glow.
Sushama Karnik
20 Sept. 2015.
Reading my poem written four years back was like entering into an alley in an old town, not being able to make a headway. But I found it engrossing, nevertheless. Thanks to @fawzi hejazi for his pages of infinite possibilities for roses, where somehow I felt sure of finding the 'brackish rose' for this quaint poem.


Tuesday, 6 August 2019

Tracks abandoned in the winter fog,
disbanded hopes, the lights shrunk,
woods run parallel as we walk.
Destination and destiny all alike
when fog erases the line between.
There is comfort in walking between the lines
reading arbitrary signs as if divine
in the stray glimmer of the neon lamps.
The road must lead and reach somewhere
but there is no hurry to reach anywhere.

Thank you for the image and inspiration +Souheil Ghammachi
Loneliness does not come from having no people
around one, but from being unable to communicate
the things that seem important to oneself, or from
holding certain views which others find inadmissible.
~ Carl Jung
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Thursday, 1 August 2019

In the fire of Times

In the fire of Time is the rain
In the rain of anguish is the healing balm.
In the healing is the language.
And in the language is the magic enabling
to transcend sorrow.
I came in fear of the fire,
and instead, found the flame
that sprinkled dew-drops instead of spark.

The fire burns,
a brief flame,
engulfs and floods,
the crucible of Time flows over,
the melting complete,
Time has done its work.

The arms of the lover hold
the molten form of love,
the dross gone, the essence in the arms of the lover
A byzantine image is born.
Cherish, as long as you can,
now it belongs to the lover.