Category: A03 — POEMS

Did you see it, did you?
Someone threw away a mango seed
After sucking its sweet pulp and juice..
It fell on a garbage mount.

Cows and goats, kicked the seed,
Pushed it down; there it rotted,
Wept for days; none heard.

A mango seed is not a human baby
Whose cry will be attended,
Nor a patient in a clinic
Whose grumble will be answered
Not even a pet puppy
Whose whine will be heard.
A seed in a nasty waste heap
Nobody bothers.

Wrong, wrong you are!
There is a sky above us,
Above every thing,
Above the garbage hill
Above the Gangajel
Above me, above you!
And that sky heard the seed’s cry
And from the Sky came a god
In a golden chariot,
Driven by seven green horses
Went deep into the junk hill
Hugged the dry seed!

Can you imagine
The Light of all lights,
The heaven’s light
Hugging a dry mango seed
And giving it life!

Yes, the God gave the seed
Life and made it into a plant
The plant grew, came out a big tree
The tree yielded fruits,
Men ate the fruits
And threw again the seeds
Some fell into the garbage hill!

The sky was not angry
The sun was not angry
The Earth was not angry
And the Sun came down
Hugged the seeds
Down below the junk hill
And gave them a thrill!

‘Excited, we’re’, the seeds said,
‘You made us useful.
We’ll grow as trees
And give fruits to men!
Thankful to you, ever!
Our life – giver!’

The Sun God said,
Hugging the seeds again
‘Thank men, not me,
For not eating
But trashing you.
Eating would have been
The ending for you
And for your species!’

A single flower
Placed on your feet
Blooms my entire garden,
My life, my Soul!

A drop of water
Poured at your feet
Comes back as monsoon rains
To quench the thirst of
Parched lands

My, Lord! Unable to imagine
The quantum of reward
When my life is placed
At your lotus feet!

I can place a flower,
A drop of water
But how to place my life
At your feet, my Lord?

You pluck this flower
And place on your crown
You do it, my Lord
You do it!

You lead me, holding my hand
Wherever I go.
I feel your touch
I see your foot prints
Yes, I do.

I may not sing your songs,
But I hear your songs,
In the air, in my soul,
Everywhere,
Yes, I do.

I may not read your books
Or roll your beads
But, I know you row
My deeds, my words,
Yes, I do.

This insignificant me,
Deserve this royal treatment
From you my Master, I ask
Instantly you reply,
“Yes, you do!

“You’re a chip from my rock,
A sand from my seabed
The same air we breath
You’re me and I’m you
The size has nothing to do.”

Was a floating fish in the pool of my mother’s womb,
to start with
Will end as a handful of sinking ash in any river or ocean
In between life as a wild boar or mild Krishna,
Horrific half lion and half man or pacific Sree Rama.
I have passed through, still moving on.

But, what is important is I started my life in water
And will end it in water.
More than half my body weight is water
With no water I can’t survive.

Sucking watered milk from my mother’s breasts I grew
The last food I get, hopefully, will be a few drops
Of canned water from the Ganges.

I’m awestruck at the torrent rain, roaring sea waves,
Evening winds carrying water molecules
Jumping water falls, half sleepy streamlet, ice balls rolling down the hills.

Water attracts me in any form
Water enlivens me
Water is my life
I’m water.

Every wind that Knocks your door
Is not a gale to smash your floor
Every knock on your head
Is not a tool to drill a hole,
But, the moment a dry leaf drops
You shiver!

Dry leaves will certainly drop
Even green leaves.
All leaves and all trees
Have to fall and you know that.

Every night leads to dawn ,
Every summer to winter
Even death is a door to birth
So say the men of worth.

Like river racing to sea
And returning as rains,
And running again to join sea
You’re in a circle
Not in a straight line.

Enough of this circling
Want to be a straight line
With no curve or bend
Clearly aiming the end.
That end where all the ends end,
That end is my goal,
Want to be with the Whole
The source and solace of my soul.

Tears are not mere water molecules
To be wiped off by a kerchief
Or by your palm or finger.
They are the visible symbols
Of mostly pains and at times overjoy,
Mostly, they are the silent sighs of sadness,
Formed into clouds by inner pressure
And got converted to tears.

Tears are expressions
Of the suppressed feelings,
Solidified insults and injuries
Humiliation, neglect,
Rigorous tortures
Of suffocating souls,
Evaporated and gained a form
From the formless.

Allow the compressed pressures
Which gained form from the formless
To flow out.

If possible,
Say a soft word,
Just one word, but not hurting.

If possible,
Share a kind look,
For a second, not beyond,
But kind, smiling
Yes, looks can smile, words can smile.

If possible, give a hug
For a second, not beyond
But sincerely, wholeheartedly,
Sympathetically, affectionately.

The injured soul will get invigorated
And fly high to the sky
Like a baby bird just taught
The art of flying.
Like a born blind
Just gained vision
And seeing his mother’s face,
His wife’s face, his children’s face
The world’s face.
And
His own face!

The royal procession was moving in glory
The crowd was waving and cheering.
There was one man, his head in wrap
Who didn’t look at the chariot or clap.

Arrested and sent to jail
He didn’t remove his veil
He was brought to king’s court
The throne remained vacant

‘Go to North, go to South,
Go to East, go to West
Bring the king’, ordered the prince
All went; returned, ‘No trace’.

‘Wal, wal’, entered a puppy pet
Dragged the veiled to the king’s seat
‘Bow, bow’, it barked and said
‘King was not in the chariot’

I won’t follow the crowd
Make noises loud.
I know clearly that part.
The King is not in the chariot.
He is among us,
Along with us.

Yes, he is among us, along with us
He can be inside the chariot too.
Wherever He is, He is our King
Hail the king!

( subsequent to my cateract surgery)

Only one eye is bandaged
The other eye undamaged
But, struggled to walk a few yards
Surgery to the next ward.

I hold the nurse’s hand not tight
She is far beyond twice eight
Kind she is, holds my hand tight
I shouldn’t crush under her weight!

Called my mom and she comes
To the corridor of memory
I hold her hand tight, then on
Feel fit to run a marathon

‘How did you manage such a big family?’
I ask her, she looks at me calmly.
‘With one eye vandalized by small pox
The other eye choked by firewood smoke.

‘Kids, cattle, guests, servants
Dad busy at his work
No machines to pound or grind
No provision for weekly off

Constipation for one child,
Loose motion for the other
Both dance at the toilet gates
Guests inside sing cine notes

One child, inserts a slate pencil
Into his nostril and whistles
Another inserts a lead pencil
Into his ear hole and wails
The third one vanishes with a guest’s bike
The fourth, vandalizes grand ma’s Prayer book.
A little doll rolls into muddy pool
Washed vessels and she is cool!
Coriander seeds with mustard
Mixes another ustad .

I never asked you this question, ma,
How you managed with a single eye?
With two bright eyes, for six decades
I overlooked your eye decay.
Who had impaired vision
Me or you?’

The kind nurse walks in
To see with whom I was talking
Sees no one, brings another nurse
Both bolt to congratulate the doctor
‘Surgery super- duper successful
The patient can see
Whom we can’t ‘

‘Rubbish’, retorted the doctor first,
Thought for a moment and said,
‘Publish in the papers,
Patient, no discharge
Keep him in a special ward
And post a security guard’

“Agni, the annihilator, all powerful,
Come closer and absorb me, in total.
Wreck this wretched woman
Who ditched her prime son
The hands which threw him into water
Should be burned first, the rest later,
But destroy me totally, Agni,
Leave nothing behind.
Let another Kunthi be never born.
The world should never remember
The cowardice of a dismal mother”

“Me first Kunthi, me first,
I killed all my sons
Not less than a hundred.
You deserted only one baby.

Blind for their faults,
I made my sons blind,
Supporting their treachery
I filled my treasury
With curses of mothers
Husbands, wives and others
Agni, annihilate me in total
Leave not a speck behind
The world shouldn’t have
A man of my kind”

“Me first Kunthi, for mutilating the dignity
Of the crown diamond of the Kuru dynasty
Instead of washing her tresses with perfumes
And adorning it with flowers and jewels
I allowed its mutilation by dirty hands.
Ashamed to say those hands are my son’s.
Mutilated was not her hair locks and dress alone,
Her sacred self esteem and dignity of womanhood
The stain of that crime will stay ever
On the fallen walls of Kuru’s empire.

When Panchali screamed in shame
Under the grips of the assailant
Her call pierced my cells, like Arjuna’s arrows
Punctured my bones like Bheema’s mace.
Why didn’t I tear my eye band
And rush to strengthen my daughter’s hand?”

“Elder sister and brother emperor
Encircled we are by fire,
Not ferocious but gracious
The lord who gifted Droupathi.
Will liberate us in sympathy
He is not a kitchen fire or forest fire,
He is lord Agni, the liberator,
Let us surrender to our Elevator”