"ghat" poems
1
Backwater nymph,
queen of serpentine black tresses
flaunting its coconut oil gleam;
envy of leggy girls from the Western ghat mountains,
and lissome maidens from the plains,
who can never eat as much fish, even if they wish.
Wearing hibiscus flowers,
on coiffure like hood of a king cobra,
your coral lips silently speak
of hot peppery kisses,
waiting for me at shaded corners.
Your sultry body in me arouses desires,
that could only be whispered in your ears.
2
On a coconut lagoon when we met,
for the first time and spoke,
non stop, as if we knew each other life long,
I heard music in your words.
Oh! in the tongue you spoke,
I heard the cadence of a nightingale
ecstatic, on its wings above the clouds,
love had prompted us to fly above the storms.
Your gleaming coal black eyes,
like silver hooks, tug at my heart strings,
that makes music, only I can hear,
you are a free flying lark,
above Kerala's lush coconut coast,
that extends from sea shore to the mountains.
3
**When we relished steaming brown rice,
mixed with clarified butter,
with spicy tuna curry, tasting so dainty,
cooked in bubbling sweet coconut milk,
my eyes like two crazy butterflies
circled your face, a blossomed Champak*.
Mashed cassava and roasted squid,
melted on our tongues,
in a perfect culinary language
any one would understand without effort.
4
Your lips had cinnamon scent,
spice land's boons,
when we kissed we touched heaven
of scents and spicy tastes.
When our eyes fell on each other,
near the ancient synagogue,
the hay days of which is over,
a long jasmine garland coiling your hair,
marked you different,
from the the ladies of your neighborhood,
surrounding you.
How well you did pretend
that you have never seen my face before!
You have mastered love's cunning,
and all the wily tricks to cheat
the enemies of our fiery love
my Freudian mind perfectly understood.
Just imagine the brouhaha we would invite,
when we elope, in the last boat,
to Alappuzha, stealthily at midnight.*
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC
Myself caught in the heatwave sunlight, brown eyes
furrowed in the sun, scarf loose on my neck/
the transcendental Denpasar morning-birds
are playing their melodies in my head still,
three years post-Indonesia.
All of my soul to India now,
sky the pink of painted elephants
on Jaipur dawning,
my afterlife was somewhere here
perhaps two generations ago, chances are.
Vijay Raghav Rao and Alla Rakha
playing the Tabla/via earphones/treading the
Funary Box City (Kashi) future Spring
hands held together keeping calm pace.
Looking about, my twenty-two year old face
catches humid wind
S
I
L
V
E
R
S
H
O
P
tattered bike leaning on the gated guest house entrance
PERENNIAL AZURE SHIVA SITS CROSS LEGGED/
COBRA NECKLACE IMITIATONS ON THE GODDESS THROAT/
MEDITATING SHIVA/
dulled from years and corrosion.
Brahmin center of the market street
flapping it's tail,
sweat beads from my forehead bleeding
to oily pavement.
At last the months have come for the river Ganges,
April penumbra/savage thunderclap
while school children uplifting the heart
AND MIND
are ROARING in their laughter
the CONTINENTAL DISCORD OF JOY
sleeping with their eyes open
while others are too tired for the Earth.
Sidney Bechet floating swan songs during
the black hour cremations/
“Bechet Creole Blues”
CATERWAUL IN THAT VOID
THE METAMORPHOSIS OF DEATH/
LUNACY OF LIFE
(I've arrived at the simultaneous crossroads
of both)
searing flesh in open air pyramids/
Manikarnika Ghat,
Asia F
L
O
W
S
through dreams
like inevitable prophecy
and as ash blends with stars
the CITY seems fulfilled
and mystifying
in it's
(((((RESPLENDENCE)))))
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC
Dancing dark eyes---
darting ***** bees
that come flying
seeking nectar from my lips,
in a quest that goes beyond the limits.
You are the scented wind
with salacious intent
from billowing ***** fields
wildly grown in Western ghat mountain ranges,
that are in full bloom.
You twist and swirl,
lift me up
and take to the golden cloud
that has a mystic spell
where my mind rejoices,
beyond the binding of time
in Shiva's dance,
while his consort Shakti resonates
with every beat of the divine drum
that echoes my heart.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 12:56 PM UTC
Dim dawn behind the tamerisks—the sky is saffron-yellow—
As the women in the village grind the corn,
And the parrots seek the riverside, each calling to his fellow
That the Day, the staring Easter Day is born.
Oh the white dust on the highway! Oh the stenches in the byway!
Oh the clammy fog that hovers
And at Home they’re making merry ’neath the white and scarlet berry—
What part have India’s exiles in their mirth?
Full day begind the tamarisks—the sky is blue and staring—
As the cattle crawl afield beneath the yoke,
And they bear One o’er the field-path, who is past all hope or caring,
To the ghat below the curling wreaths of smoke.
Call on Rama, going slowly, as ye bear a brother lowly—
Call on Rama—he may hear, perhaps, your voice!
With our hymn-books and our psalters we appeal to other altars,
And to-day we bid “good Christian men rejoice!”
High noon behind the tamarisks—the sun is hot above us—
As at Home the Christmas Day is breaking wan.
They will drink our healths at dinner—those who tell us how they love us,
And forget us till another year be gone!
Oh the toil that knows no breaking! Oh the Heimweh, ceaseless, aching!
Oh the black dividing Sea and alien Plain!
Youth was cheap—wherefore we sold it.
Gold was good—we hoped to hold it,
And to-day we know the fulness of our gain.
Grey dusk behind the tamarisks—the parrots fly together—
As the sun is sinking slowly over Home;
And his last ray seems to mock us shackled in a lifelong tether.
That drags us back how’er so far we roam.
Hard her service, poor her payment—she is ancient, tattered raiment—
India, she the grim Stepmother of our kind.
If a year of life be lent her, if her temple’s shrine we enter,
The door is hut—we may not look behind.
Black night behind the tamarisks—the owls begin their chorus—
As the conches from the temple scream and bray.
With the fruitless years behind us, and the hopeless years before us,
Let us honor, O my brother, Christmas Day!
Call a truce, then, to our labors—let us feast with friends and neighbors,
And be merry as the custom of our caste;
For if “faint and forced the laughter,” and if sadness follow after,
We are richer by one mocking Christmas past.
3.5k
Veasna Ta Kvak recording
playback
over Chinatown cafe again
while recounting recent events
to journal pages
muddled from frequent
exchanges bag to bag
(Been to Taipei airport, Bali, Vancouver, most
recently)
blind fate
blind fate
shower me with Indian daisies
and photographs of Railway
New Delhi!
Hanoi Old Quarter/
Vietnam monsoon/
evening on balcony/
Darjeeling water boiled
and filtered anti-malaria
golden drink for honeylungs and
spring-soul morningtide
under moonlight canopy
of Avalokiteśvara
the fruitful
Bodhisattva!
English lessons
and future
hourless
comely chimera
in sleep phenomenon
Benares phantasmagoria YELLOW
(near Mata Anandamai Ghat)
speaking to Aghori
prophecy
Kala Bhairava
FIERCE ILLUSORY APOCALYPSE FAMILIAR
WHERE IS YOUR NOOSE?
the Ganges is full of lice and flowers
candlewax melted into holy water
sickness
equal to
harmony & jubilant
eyeclose and mouthcurl.
The future mysteries in
Mexico City poorboy
$2 mystic orb jade green
reflective underneath
dirt now in North American
bottom white four floor house
basement suite coffee table.
Visions indivisible
from the Viridian roundly haze
but surefire in their accuracy
I'm absolute
and universally formed
for the next few cacophonous
decades!
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC
Her greatest fear was
going color blind,
invoking domino effect,
she embraced rainbow colors-
whenever a chance she found.
Now, she walks at the front
as if she is the official bearer of colors
in our frenzied blueberry hunt,
up in the high ranges of Western Ghat's
tropical rain forests.
Our nostrils are special,
"colors we see, make us madly sing"
chants rend the air when-
fragrance of ***** blooms wafted in the air.
"Just like the smell when python opens mouth"
said a voice, to the uninitiated,
"Quit white, paint everything coal black,
or is it the other way round?"
"This place is magical can't make a choice"
"Look! I found a serious irregular lake down there"
"I didn't realize I was walking in rounds, around a closed mall"
"White light is a cheat, pixie laid us is in the village green"
"Y'll fall down"
"Green was what i asked for
got thick,red, gooey mud"
"Why panic?"
"Hey meet Mr.Yellow smile,
kiss him a pretty, magenta
***** thought, good night"
"I've a deep blue psyche,
in nightmares I see ***** whales"
"Wounded bleeding heart,
she was nursed back to health
it beats me,
she limped back to her old green monster"
"Hear that distant drums?
brick red monster of the woods
mating with a black cat"
"A ritual of the tribes?
is it meant as a crude joke?"
Sitting under a tree shade,
I hear for the first time in my life,
a white ant's dark wintry song,
lilting, it spoke about the life
as the queen ant's *** slave.
**"Hey love this ***** magical feat,
anything is possible,
how reality takes a beat"
**** it, three times over,
on the bank of the river, then in water.."**
"Blue grass, blue grass
sing all the way up to the mountain pass,
where ***** plants grow thick like ***** thoughts,
a nightingale in funky dress
singing ***** songs and regale all"
"That lush lass, her hair tied with a red bandana
is a smart *** **** her"
Someone screams in delight,
evening spreads a magical light,
more laughter, catcalls,
the sassy chick just LOL
Pass..pass
A big headstrong hornbill, surveying the scene,
gives a mating call
the hillside reverberates with its sound.
(C) K.Balachandran
[email protected]
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 7:19 AM UTC
I'm reading poetry at the cremation ghat
amid chanting of God's name
while ferrying and burning the dead.
The noise unsettles me a bit
as sets me thinking of my own death
that by all means seems closer than farther.
Yet I get the relieving feel
reading poems would heal
all the agonies of my flesh
and take me to that spiritual level
where I would take death as
passing into another dimension.
I'm not much of a religious person
but have always felt devoted to my kindred
seeking transcendence through them.
The best thing I'm hoping right now
is when I burn
someone would amid chanting of God's name
read poetry at the burning ghat.
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 4:49 AM UTC
Fierce is god impenitrable
glad glad glad there is a
Fire up the street called Heaven
There is
A woman wearing only one shoe who is taking
an exhaustive drag of her smoke in the
early morning where birds are
still heard in
!!!!!!cities
A hymnal a
heralded nest of savory berries A quartzstone is trapped in time a myth is made more ridiculous when proven real
Continents wither where the flies glue their
regal canvases on downtrodden earth (missing Pangea)
Or smiles everlasting smiles meanwhile
(Blonde tongues wearing fashioned wigs)
in constant state of beguilement
The Neanderthalic stones will be unforgiving to the REVEREND who has collapsed through his song the song of lead pipedream fantasies of sexless dogma YEAH monkhood yeah Ghat burning holes in twilit schools of thought or no thought at all
I can
hear the collective Faerie outcry that silence has presented itself HEAvier to their wicked careless bodies ok I am innocent of love I love your innocent love I am careless(of their wicked careless bodies)
ResemblingA swans actual duty to die
a swan lies a swan lay
like an even more beautiful swan
on even more beautiful swanny grass
To die by swanlightSUN and MOON white like the swan where we soon listen closely to the swansong a celestialLOVELY
rhythm of gilded forest (((((orchestrals
The swan leaves us in happiness of bright groggy light
O (of which in chaos of day I am again innocent)
The Reverend's desperate gaspings into a micro -phone for a macro - cosmic prayer idol o idol where is your capability for worship idol o where is my chinstrap o idol where is ****** youth or the romanticized eternal SUMMERS I sing
O bible O cloudland O where is your telephone operator is they deceased by their own fragrant holines? The church
Watches the Reverend neverend his television routine of clamoring death odes
Watches his senility come like an implorical shadow outline watches a demon lick its dreamless lips beyond the periphery of godless dreams
Watches
Reverend lose his sight in anInstant
HeWAILSheWAILSandWAILS can you hear it Thomas De Quincey can you hear the sandbeaches ringing more clearly than the ChurchBells or the ****** Pagoda for torture /
his soul is to sleep in the (mossy)mountain the fire of the (forever)street called HEAVEN the mountain column supporting the sky(swan)gate of heavenHeaven!welcome
to:
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 9:41 PM UTC
I miss a 16 year old girl
I miss a girl with skin fairer than that ***** snow white
I miss a girl who lips are red like my blood
I miss a girl who's eyes could make me question everything and anything
I miss a girl who scoffed at my compliments
I miss a girl who called me a player
I miss a girl who could write beautifully
I miss a girl who saw more
I miss a girl that blocked all of my compliments
I miss a girl who was shy
I miss a girl who's tears could burn holes in my soul
I miss a girl who loved me
I miss a girl who trusted me
I miss a girl with blond hair
I miss a girl that wore nice earings
I miss a girl that hated herself
I miss a girl with scars on her wrist, bruises around her neck and burn marks on her legs
I miss a girl that could look into a mirror and not like what she saw
I miss a girl who thought she was ugly
I miss a girl ghat thought she was a curse to the world
I miss a girl that wanted to **** herself for most of her life
I miss a girl that drank
I miss a girl that did drugs
I miss a girl who loved the pain
I miss a girl who hated the numbnesa
I miss a girl that put others before herself not because she was kind but because she thought they were better than her
I miss a girl that I abandoned
I miss a girl who trusted me enough to tell me **THAT SHE WAS ******* KILLING HERSELF**
I miss a girl thagtnever showed anyone her tears but she showed me
I miss a girl that never showed anyone her scars but she showed me
I miss a girl that was so delusional that she showed me her trye self
I miss a girl that I hated for one day....I almost killed myself the day after
I miss a girl who had such an impact on me that I still feel her pain floating around in my head....
I miss a beautiful girl
I miss a girl that killed herself and it haunts me everyday
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 4:24 AM UTC
I saw a Bengal tiger
in Eureka, California
Sadly, they had not “found it.”
In a place kept afloat by something ephemeral as ***** smoke
A cage, not more than twenty feet long
by twelve feet wide
Held power in check
But a few steps away
He or she
they did not say
played with a round pillow in front of us
crushed it with a mighty paw
like one of our skulls might be
If we came upon her
a frightened ape
in the steaming green jungles
of the part of the world
Where Kolkata rests
on Kali’s Ghat
The city of creative Destruction
Where millions eat
sleep and **** in polluted air
and brush their teeth with their fingers
at the gushing water
of a communal fountain
Where milky sweet chai
in a small clay cup
costs two cents
provided with a smile
and allows the man to turn a profit
In a way, I understand why we did it.
It is great to see such a grand thing so close
Orange fur and black stripes
beauty clothing strength
And the fear of it.
Without metal bars
vertical iron rods of power
I would be nothing but a warm
squishy snack
My head as useless as a coconut
Skull only a shell for the meat inside
My legs, fast as they are,
Would amount to only drumsticks
Yet is it not best
to leave such powerful beauty be?
It is a great arrogance that chains
such a powerful thing
For the benefit of ****** poets,
old couples, and howling children
Selling the soul of a wild beast
Second by second
glimpse by glimpse
for the price
of a fairground ticket.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 12:13 AM UTC
familiar with all weather
broken rims of existence
soliloquies of despair
rainfall in silence
ripples of loud mirth
echoes of joyous feet
stillness of nightly earth
tunes of bitter sweet
romance of blind hearts
oaths of porcelain
stains of leftovers
fragments of bruised skin
lying in broken stones
living on river's face
nothing the ghat owns
but its loneliness.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC
Long meanders the line that divided us
While we lived, rugged is the knife that severed
What was a quiet bond between two particles
Of stardust.
From my reserved cloud I can see
The domes on the temples I have never visited,
The ghat that runs by the holy rivulet is solitary,
The mists of human endeavour do not blanket
Those flagstones in warmth or comfort,
All that remains is algae sprawled on the steps
Of the ghat where silence is the spirit
The light and the guide.
Two particles of stardust collide in an instant
In the fluidity of Space time, and all that remains
Is a whisper in history
That once existed two people, separate,
Though begotten of the same dust as the Stars,
Who were united in a flash of light,
And an eternity of peace.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
When in moonlight her tide swells
the river dances to the temple bells
mounts the ghat kissing in lust
moans aloud in the wind’s gust
it’s then the moon lifts her veil
entwines her makes love at will.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
it is circulated deep into the soil
that you’ve wore the dress of paraffin
in the multidimensional wind of the winter
the cash-memo of the recently purchased
gold-bangles
would reside for some time more
then all the pregnant women
would assemble in the river-ghat
to meditate on the paddy-blossoms
all diamonds and clubs
would overcome their insomnia
through this arrangements
the crushing-news of fostering
flows
this dilution is well-known
the river-ripple of the air
after reading the sun
would keep some extension of dahlia
on its palms
in an unwritten evening
the demi-god-birth of the fire-flies
would break
their easy dead bodies
by the instigation of the surges
would ring … and ring… and ring
and spread cheerfulness
the elderly rain-tree comes to spray anti-biotic
on the spoilt top-branch of the young lad
covered with citronella
Sep 28, 2010
Sep 28, 2010 at 4:35 AM UTC
**The young woman, plain, was unsmiling behind the control panel,
a ribald passion filled his veins, her mien has to do something,
the airfield was deluged by waves of grief, among them
was those robust women, he tried to forget but couldn't
who may defeat the purpose, if he takes a second look.
She gave her word to fly the single engine airplane
"Don't fear darling, i am an aerobatics specialist
if need arises i wouldn't hesitate to crash land,
take care of your hurt, bleeding lonely heart".
How reassuring! never would he turn back,
after this difficult take off awaited life long.
No more entries in this log book.
Her dark make up, was feline an added attraction
that gave him a libidinous surge, an ******** with ample promises,
to last till he reaches his destination final, from where
the return flight, is even unthinkable the lady pilot winks.
This Cessna to the unknown, has the aphrodisiacal scent of
wild orchid flowers he once discovered in the far stretches
of the Western Ghat mountain ranges
and ******** secretions of one particular lover
a reminder perhaps death wants to carry as it happens**
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 6:03 AM UTC
As the day is bled into the river
I watch the coming and going.
Place me in them
each one has a name like me
a home and a family
where their mind work laden
would have a heart to anchor
children to love and care for
a night to stir the fire
to burn all the bitterness
and be reborn the next morn
to shuttle one bank to the other
of the wide river.
I marvel at the chance
of meeting them once
suffering the absurd pain
of never crossing their path again.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 4:21 AM UTC
I saw the old man at the Holy Ghat
Long time back, but
He still continues to follow
Me and my thoughts
Incite me to dig deeper
On life
On death
On the path that he has lost.
He does not know
I am handicapped too
By pain, loss and loneliness
Life to be, has become
A colorless phase
Slowly passing by, grain by grain
Like the sand, in the hour glass.
I have no clear vision
But only a blind spot of living
Even dreams are marred
By imposter Hopes
Playing kaleidoscope of light
At the end of life’s tunnel
Why there is a light,
only at the end
Which never ends, Alive
In the end
And we blindly live, on and on
Yet I keep walking, on and on
Dripping past Karma
In drops of sweat, tear and duty
Believing, drop by drop
I am loosing it all
The life’s been so long and slow
The old man caught up
Holding my hand,
Talking
Knowing
Feeling
That I am lost too
In the maze of life
Dust claims dust
We will die too
Karmic baggage still
All intact and packed
Another journey
Another tunnel’s end
_______________
ॐ नमः शिवाय
Om Namah Shivaya
Nov 6, 2010
Nov 6, 2010 at 10:48 AM UTC
Aakhir kyu
Beti puchhe babulse , " mei kyu parayi?"
Uski ye haalat dekh ke kayanath bhi sharmayi.
Na mei pihar ki, na sasural ki.
Babul bata mohe, mei aakhir kahaki?
Vidai ke waqt; tune kar di mohe parayi;
Kisine ne jaani mere dukh ki gehrayi.
Aaj tere jaane ke baad to, ne ghar ki , ne ghat ki.
Bas khed hei mujhe is baat ki .
Sasuralwale kahe," tera pihar;"
Yeh soonte hi jau mei sihar.
Sochu manhi man mei; kaunsa pihar !
Jaha aaj apna koi nahi hei; woh pihar !
Niyati ka khel hei yah kaisa?
Pihar ** ya sasural; dekhe harkoi paisa.
Kis se kahu mei dil ki peed ?
Akeli hu; bhale ** chahu aur bheed.
Paav mere tune baandh di janjeer.
Aakhir kyu, aisi meri taqdeer ?
Armin Dutia Motashaw
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 10:13 AM UTC
That’s a sad story sighed the man
Sitting some stairs down the ghat
Made his life miserable the woman
She fully broke the zamindar’s heart.
He loved her more than his life
She knew not love was what thing
Cursed the day he took her as his wife
Gave her a precious diamond ring.
He bought her each wish from her lip
She knew she would only have to tell
For her the man’s love was so deep
He could sell him to bring her all jewels.
For each night she made her bargain
Trapped him her greed’s deadly deal
Blind love drove the man such insane
He became a puppet of her will.
The coming storm he couldn’t foresee
Enamored in love and its waste
Good money was sunk freely
With no reaping of scantest harvest.
His trade started suffering huge loss
Investments sunk in shipwreck
Along came to make the matter worse
Debts’ tightened noose on his neck.
Soon she left with a man she had known
Taking with her the ornaments
She had never thought him as her man
Little did she care his torments.
Still echoes said the man his cry
From here he went to the river
In evenings as this his sigh
Can be heard rending the air.
I asked him how all these he knew
Saw no man but I was alone
Shivering in winter’s cool dew
As moonlight on waves quietly shone.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC
Aakhir kyu
Beti puchhe babulse , " mei kyu parayi?"
Uski ye haalat dekh ke kayanath bhi sharmayi.
Na mei pihar ki, na sasural ki.
Babul bata mohe, mei aakhir kahaki?
Vidai ke waqt; tune kar di mohe parayi;
Kisine ne jaani mere dukh ki gehrayi.
Aaj tere jaane ke baad to, ne ghar ki , ne ghat ki.
Bas khed hei mujhe is baat ki .
Sasuralwale kahe," tera pihar;"
Yeh soonte hi jau mei sihar.
Sochu manhi man mei; kaunsa pihar !
Jaha aaj apna koi nahi hei; woh pihar !
Niyati ka khel hei yah kaisa?
Pihar ** ya sasural; dekhe harkoi paisa.
Kis se kahu mei dil ki peed ?
Akeli hu; bhale ** chahu aur bheed.
Paav mere tune baandh di janjeer.
Aakhir kyu, aisi meri taqdeer ?
Armin Dutia Motashaw
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 2:21 PM UTC
Let’s be lovers again on the Belvedere
Hand in hand we would climb the stairs
Then fly to the past in our memories’ wings
To that timeless space where duelled Hastings!
Let’s be lovers again in that time spectral
On Victoria’s lawn her memorial
In the autumn’s white blue horizon
Under the bronzed face of Curzon!
Let’s be lovers again in our revived heart
In wind kissed skin on the Prinsep Ghat
See the sun go down on the west bank low
Coloring our eyes in the river’s glow!
Let’s be lovers again in the garden of Kyd
Where under the banyan love poems we read
Take a boat sail to the south upstream
Where the Hugli flows in the Bay’s dream!
Why can’t we be lovers like the olden time
Where landed Charnock in the humid clime
That grew to a city with three villages to start
And etched forever in two lovers’ hearts!
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 5:53 AM UTC
For life;
We came on earth,
To try what would be.
Gloominess or mirth.
An overwhelming response
of nature.
Or wrath set forth
To be living and let live.
Every form of life,
Green, blue, white and brown.
We all know these pronouns—
They are
bound by stories intertwined,
strange and similar,
as outcomes align.
I am writing a free verse
Not because I am out of rhyme.
But for the cause of disruption
That you feel;
When you think about time.
Time - the unpreached
lord of everything.
A ghat road;
which aligns and declines
Your destiny.
Destiny which is only known to
your ticking wrist watch.
A metronome,
Teaching you beats
to dance.
To reach your purpose
still undefined.
Moving arms of this
Motionless time.
Sep 24, 2025
Sep 24, 2025 at 5:39 PM UTC
I sit alone on the pond’s ghat in this rainwashed noon.
Her ripples dead
She ruminates once more
In the deafening silence of the crickets’ buzz.
*Came the men to splash upon me
The women within me bared shame
Frolicked the boys in me carefree
Made me alive in their joyous game!
Swam on me hope’s stretched hands
Sunk in me the broken heart
Left over me the girl her hair strands
At the end they all did depart!
Now I must wait for the sun to set
To drown my memories of the noon
Dreaming the stars to open heaven’s gate
Wrap me in night’s ripened moon!*
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 5:51 AM UTC
I've seen a fairy, cute shy
at the blue river
like the moon in the sky,
I named her
sweet and fair
Ah, I cannot fly!
She's sitting down with unfold legs
holding her right knee of hands
on the grass ghat down
with the white gown
looks like a swan,
Her smiling face was shining ray.
She was spreading hair
drew her smiley face
and behind was full of trees.
She's the lucky one
who doesn't care about her?
She's really like a sky fay!
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 2:13 AM UTC
on the flight -
i collect candies
for the ghat journey
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 1:10 AM UTC