Shivam Diaries

Category: A03 — POEMS

  • Waiting is his duty and pride

    “Trucking hills and crossing rivers,
    Pushed by devotional fervors
    Hurried crowd from far and near
    ‘Har, Har, Mahadev’ rolled in ears.

    Excited you were and wanted to rise,
    Stand on legs and dance in trance
    Moving your horns, tail and bell
    To the divine sound of conch shell
    But, you controlled your emotion
    And decided to stay with no motion.
    Awaiting a call from your Master,
    But now there is a disaster.

    Cold winds, like a cruel conqueror
    Lashes it’s swords of terror
    The shrine doors are shut, men have left
    Why, Nandi, why do you wait?”

    “Waiting is my duty and pride
    When my Master stays inside
    Whether it rains or whether it shines
    My job to wait before His shrine”

  • Before I touched, the chariot moved.

     

    Men of muscles and mighty elephants
    Pushed the chariot in full force.
    ‘Dwarakadeesh!’, cried the crowd,
    But, not an inch, the chariot moved.

    Seven elephants from the worlds above
    And seven from below,
    All mighty, majestic tuskers,
    Came dashing, all together
    Pushed the chariot with great force
    Their trumpets trembled the mountains
    Their foot beats crumbled the earth,
    ‘Dwarakaadeesh!’, cried the crowd.
    But, not an inch the chariot moved.

    Startled by the shocking news
    Yeshodha came, Nanda came,
    Gopis came, came the entire gokulam
    ‘Hei, Gopala, hei Govinda!’
    All cried and pushed and pushed
    But, not an inch the chariot moved.

    ‘Call Devaki mAta’!, shouted someone
    Devaki came with Vasudeva,
    Her eyes swollen like a monsoon cloud
    Her hands shivering like a winter leaf,
    She went near, to push the cart
    But before her hand, a tear drop
    Touched the chariot, it rolled and rolled
    The crowd cheered and cheered.

    ‘Wah, you did it!’, cried Yasodha.
    ‘Not me, my dreams’, said Devakii
    ‘From the night I lost my baby
    I longed and longed to rock his cradle
    Just once and even today
    Before I touched , the chariot moved’

  • Her thoughts have only one direction

     

    Like waving a toffee box before a kid
    And asking him to shut his mouth
    Heavy downpour last night,
    Now, heat returned in full might.

    ‘Why a/c for me?’,
    I asked my son, long back.
    ‘You need it dad’, he said.
    Not me, my children know what I need!

    ‘Why a new birth for me?’
    I asked my Master above.
    ‘You need it !’, He smiled
    Me to Earth, He mailed.
    Not me, my Master knew what I need .

    He didn’t push me down,
    Lodged me in my mom’s chamber
    A safe pool where I swam
    Don’t remember cool or warm.

    AC or non AC, take things easy.
    But climate has a say
    In moulding our life,
    Climate in and climate outside.

    Provide a good climate
    For the children to grow
    With your words, deeds and behavior
    Akin to their mom’s inner chamber!

    Puritan love is the AC there in.
    Positive compassion the PC
    No ‘I’ nor ‘me’, in mom’s affection
    Her thoughts have only one direction.
    With no iPad and no iPhone
    She sees your face and hears your voice
    As you were her part then
    And even now.

  • Whom to ask, who did it?

     

    Yes, my body, the Sun scorches
    To mind too, the heat reaches
    But who tore my body into two
    And took away a half?
    Certainly not the Sun
    And whom to ask who did it?

    Injuries inflicted, came without calling,
    Some healed, some healing,
    Some will never heal.
    The Sun didn’t do it.
    And whom to ask, who did it?

    If you can carry on
    With a half – sliced body,
    Wounds healed and healing;
    And pull your cart in heat or cold,
    You will reap your crops
    Despite your warps.

    I want to leave behind
    Not my cart empty
    May be some toys, for the kids’ joy
    May be some words to heal the wounds,
    May be even my laugh and smiles,
    Seen from far, far miles
    But never a drop of tear
    Or the old wounds’ smear

    My losses are mine, gone in with my wine.
    And in my children’s domain
    Smell of sandal paste and jasmine
    Alone should remain
    The sandal from their father
    And jasmine from their mother.

  • Save our families

     

    Cracks do develop in some families
    Though they are not made of bricks
    Brick – cracks can be repaired by a mason
    Wood -cracks by a carpenter.

    But, when a family tears apart
    Those who went out, have to come back
    And rebuild.
    And there comes the problem!

    Wood, cement and mortar
    Are free from ego
    But men?
    Women?

    I know how in the West
    People are eager
    To build families
    And save them too.

    For us, the great concept
    Is given in golden plate
    Let us save it
    For our own good
    For our children’s good.

    Children don’t fall
    From the sky
    Nor they rise up
    From the ground

    They are our flowers,
    Our fruits
    Our life,
    Our hope.

    And for them
    Save our families!

     

  • Fruits should be in a/c rooms

    Going crazy in the glowing heat,
    Why hard for me to beat?
    Five decades of stay went waste?
    ”Yes’, says the nicker from my waist.
    Feel ashamed while I muse
    Get me soon some cold juice.

    Numberless the days I wandered
    With no hat, no umbrella,
    What happened all of a sudden
    Why heat became a hefty burden?

    ‘The sun is the same, the land is the same,
    But not you, dad’, tells my daughter.
    ‘No more you are a green mango
    You, a ripe fruit now!”

    ‘But fruits are juicy, and am I thirsty!’
    ‘True, dad!, tells Megh.
    ‘We enjoy your juice,
    Your poems, stories, songs and jokes
    Your very presence is a passion
    For us, beyond oceans’

    My heat is gone, I’m reborn young
    Ready to fly and eat the sun
    Like the little VAyuputhar.
    Vicha, where my tube of Athar?

    What he knows about Athar, the scent?
    The old city special, I’m out
    Twenty miles who cares?
    ‘ll be back ere sun retires.

    From my back, my brother coughs,
    From the kitchen a kitten mews
    For maid Yadamma, it is a news
    My going out in this hot sun
    But for me, it’s a fun.

    No fun this, hot waves who pour,
    The moment I open a half door?
    Fruits should be in a/c room
    Like my friend, a NRI bridegroom
    Who came to marry an Indian honey,
    And she went for night shopping with his money!

  • Friends or masters?

    With a nicker high above the knees,
    A half shirt with no buttons,
    Seeing me walking joyfully
    On the Habsiguda high roads,
    ‘Come inside!’, calls my sister
    And scolds!

    ‘The best dress for the Hyderabad summer’
    I tell her, ‘is to be with no dress’

    ‘Are you a baby, peeping from the womb?’
    She asks angrily,
    ‘Or a yogi creeping from the mount?’

    ‘Animals and birds are blessed’
    No worry how to get dressed’
    I argue
    ‘And no sister to get stressed’

    ‘Clothes are unwanted wives in summer’
    I murmur , she gets wild.
    ‘You need a wife in winter?’
    She could have asked, but she didn’t
    A Gentle lady!

    She sits by me and whispers
    ‘You are not a baby,
    You are not a yogi,
    Not a villain in a satire,
    Have good attire’

    I go home and return
    With a full sleeved shirt,
    Full pants and coat
    A stick in hand,
    Walk majestically
    Through the Habsiguda
    High road.

    ‘You’re sweating!’, alarms my sister,
    ‘That is inside’, I utter.
    ‘what happens inside you, is my concern,
    Who cares what you don?’

    Funny girls are sisters
    Are they friends or masters?

  • What a rise, yours!

     

    ‘Come out, come out!’, calls Mother Earth
    Hugging the seed and kissing his head
    ‘How long will you be in slumber?
    Mom long to see your rise, remember.

    ‘The Sky is ready for the Royal precession
    See there, the gates are wide opened,
    See there, seven green horses
    Leaping in joy, moving their heads.
    Behind them is a golden chariot,
    Carrying the Majesty, your lord and my lord,
    The lord of sky, wind and water,
    the golden coins he spreads
    Reach far and wide
    And, you, on my lap, hide?

    Get up on your own, crack your coat
    come out, break the soil, move up
    Awaits your arrival, Autumn and summer
    Rains and thunder, winds and winter.

    The seed opens up its eyes
    And then on, no reverse
    The Earth just gives a gentle push,
    The tree grows and grows.

    Come from far and near
    Men, animals, birds and insects
    The tree showers food in plenty
    Returns no hands empty,
    Shade and shelter free for all
    Rich and kind, the tree stands tall!

    The giver and taker, kind and cruel
    All have to go, that alone is real,
    Alternate beating by summer and winter
    The tree gets weak and starts to wither
    ‘Take me back, mom’, it pleads
    ‘Before I’m finished by weather and weeds’

    ‘No, my child’, says the mom;
    ‘Time not yet for you to quit.

    Lads need you for their tops
    To twist and turn you on the floor
    With a string in their hands,
    Imitating the inevitable Fate.

    Farmers need you for their plough
    Wood cutters for their axe
    And Agnidev, the Fire God needs you
    As his chariot to take souls
    To their final goal.

    What a rise yours, my child!
    From a seed, grew as a huge tree,
    Whole life served the needy
    And before your fall
    You will be Agnidev’s chariot
    Carrying souls to their final goals!

  • My antharvaahini inner flow

    img_7902
    This short poetry appeared in my mind during my recent train journey , while reading a post on Arjuna’s chariot catching fire soon after Lord Krishna got down from it, at the end of the Kurukshetra war.
    English meaning added in the end.
    എന്റെ തേര് തീപ്പിടിക്കാതെ, മണ്ണിൽത്തആഴാതെ കാക്കുവോൻ
    എന്റെ മർമം നോക്കിവരും അസ്ത്രങ്ങൾ ഏറ്റുവാങ്ങുവോൻ
    എവിടേക്കു തിരിഞ്ഞാലും അവിടെ ഉണ്ട് കേശവൻ
    മഴകാറിന് നിറം, മഞ്ഞപ്പട്ടുടുത്തുള്ള മാധവൻ.
    മയിൽ‌പ്പീലി ഇളംകാറ്റിൽ ഇളകുന്നുണ്ട് സർവദാ
    മണിയോടക്കുഴൽ പാട്ടുമൊഴുകുന്നുണ്ടു കൂടവേ

    അവനെൻ അന്തരാത്മാവിൽ
    ഒഴുകും ചോലയല്ലയോ?
    അവനെന്റെ അടിത്തട്ടിന്
    അസ്ഥിവാരവുമല്ലയോ?

    ഒന്നിനും ആശയില്ലെന്റെ പൊന്നെ
    പൊൻമേനി കണ്ടു ജ്ഞാൻ
    ഒഴുകി ചേരണം നിന്റെ
    അമൃതാനന്ദ ഗംഗയിൽ

    Entae ther thee pidikkathae,
    mannil thaazhathae kaakuvon
    EntE marmam nooki varum
    Asthrangal eattu vaanguvon
    Evidaekku thirinjaalum
    Avidai undu Kesavan
    Mazhakkarin niram, manja-
    pattuduthulla MAdhavan

    Mayilpeeli ilam kaattil
    Ilankunnudu sarvadaa
    Maniyodakuzhal paatum-
    mozhukunnundu koodavae.

    Avanen antharaatmaavi-
    lozhukum cholayallao?
    Avanentae adithatti
    nnasthivaaravu mallayo?

    Onninnum Asayill ente ponnae
    Nin poomeni kandujAn
    Ozhuki cheranam nintae
    Amrithaananda Gangayil
    No  poetry is transferable into another language without losing its essence, charm. I’m therefore, giving a gist of what I wrote for the information of my friends unfamiliar with Malayalam.:
    “He guards my chariot ensuring that it doesn’t catch fire or sinks into the ground.
    He faces the arrows aimed at my vital parts;

    Wherever my eyes turn to, Kesavan is there,
    Madhavan, in the colour of clouds, wearing the yellow silk clothes, is there.

    The peacock feather (on his head) is always moving in breeze.
    The sweet melody from his flute accompanies it.

    Isn’t He the streamlet flowing in my ‘Antharaathma!’
    Isn’t He my very foundation?

    I have no desire for anything else, my dear,
    other than amalgamating with the your flow of the Ganges of Eternal bliss, watching your charm.

  • My food bowl is full

    I longed for a handful of food , once
    Cursed those who didn’t share an ounce.
    Now I have food in bins and barrels
    But why share with others?

    Oh, my God! There comes in thousands
    Ants, white, black and red
    In wagon and carts,
    In ships and boats!

    They are looting my food mounts
    I shout, I fight
    But they don’t care
    They eat away my valuable books
    Currency notes, cheque books,
    Files and furnitures
    Nothing left at home and
    Hungry they are still.

    They come rushing to eat me
    Ants in thousands
    White, black and red.

    ‘Are you mad?’
    Asks their king
    ‘Keep up our principles
    We don’t eat balloons
    Wait till his air escapes’

    They wait at my gate, all in straight lines
    Oh, God ! Are they waiting for my air to escape?
    ‘Collect air and store’ , I order
    ‘In bins and barrels’

    ‘Where are the bins,
    Where the barrels?
    All eaten away by ants’
    Answer my servants.

    I’m hungry now,
    Move door to door
    With a bowl in hand
    Beg and collect food.

    Come back and sit at the gate
    One ant comes, I give him food,
    Ten ant come, I give them food
    All ants come, not to eat me
    But to eat the food I share.

    ‘Retreat’, orders the king
    All the ants go back
    I look  at my food bowl
    It is  full!.