How many dreams?

 

I asked:

How many worlds do your eyes hold?

How many dreams do your eyes hold?

And you said:

None, none at all.

Eyes are not for dreaming,

They are for seeing,

or, crying.

Raakhi's gossamer touch

Some threads are made of cotton,

And can become of steel,

Most times a raakhi's gossamer touch,

Other times a mail of steel. 

* raakhi: a cotton thread a sister ties on her brother's wrist for his protection

The South Pole of the Moon

 

I am the South Pole of the moon.

I don't know what is walking,

But I believe someone is walking on me.

Nothing like this happened in eons.

Someone from the earth tore a part of me,

And threw it up in the sky.

The earthlings call it dust,

And they say, the dust will settle.

This walker will leave imprints

On my pristine soil,

It will tell the earth 

About all the elements

That reside in my self.

But it will miss the heart and soul therein.

Earthlings will then take the elements

To yonder beyond,

And leave me bereft of my elements.

Who are they to take my elements away?

Whose Universe is it anyway?

Song of the moon stone

As the landing comes near,

My heart trembles with fear,

Will the giant hand

Take away stone and sand?

And the last time around,

When the earth's buggy didn't run aground,

They tore up my mother's heart,

And took away many a part.

I never saw our stones again,

Word came they went into a den,

And became a hundred parts,

They call them now lunar parts.

Word came that there is breeze,

And the winds there never cease,

The winds wear away earth's stones,

And lay them bare to the bones.

Don't ferret me out,

O monstrous earth's scout,

Let me be in my land,

With my stones and sand.

Wrong side of Sixties

As I cross over to the wrong side of sixties, my feelings are a bit like this message I received a few days ago from a good friend:

When I was young, my family was hardworking and not-so-rich. But I can tell you, after years of honest, hard painstaking work, I am no longer young.

Happy birthday to me.

 

Fables of stones and pebbles

 

Died to know what is afterlife.

 

The other side of the hill is also green,

Yet, I trudged far to see that green,

The colour of the sky is not blue,

Yet, I flew many miles above to see that blue,

Water has  no colour,

Yet, I dived many leagues below to see its colour,

Nothing remains after life,

Yet, I died to know what is afterlife,

And, I died to know what is afterlife.

This is my freedom come

Chains have become ghungroo,

Unshackled, and cut asunder,

And, Shiva's tandhav

resonates on earth and sky,

This is my kingdom come,

This is my freedom come.

*ghungroo: Small metallic bells strung together on the anklets worn by classical Indian dancers 

Not an episode

 

Lachrymosity,

the welling of the eyes,

And arrhythmia,

the uneven forcefulness

Of the heart,

Have such a strange arithmetic:

They, at times, happen together,

And, at that time,

It is not an episode.

Fewer than 5000

I received this post yesterday:

Was reassured when I read the 'Fewer than 5000' part.

Zero is also fewer than 5000.

 

The rainbow has broken

The rainbow has broken,

And the colours are all spilling out,

The rain has stopped,

And, the colours are spilling out.

Now, I see the sky

As if through a prism,

As I often see the world:

Shades of grey

Make the black below.

Above, some say,

The seven colours

Make up the white. 

Friendship is older than friends

 

Friendship is older than friends,

Happiness is older than friends,

Life is older than friends,

Some roads are older than friends,

New roads take me away from friends,

And, I drift away from friends.

But friendship is older than friends,

And it outlasts new roads and friends,

And survives;

Happiness remains, life remains.

Can't unravel, can't untie

 

How do you do it seafarer,

Do it with ease?

Untie all knots

On harbour, or, on rough seas?

I can't unravel, can't untie,

Mangled threads, or, even this life,

Therefore, I often cut open

With a surgical knife.

The search is on for love

 

Over each darkened path

In this world

There is a floating lantern.

Below each waterfall

In this world

There is a lagoon blue.

And, all the runnels and rills

in this world

Have been stopped and dammed.

And, the search is on for love.