A magical purpose

There is a magic to survival,
And it is to believe in magic,
It’s a treasure trove of imagination,
Of unicorns and jinn like creation.
They all are let free to run amok,
And help visualize away desolation,
To create a dreamy self elation,
To find gleamy diamonds of hope,
In vast deserts of relentless life.
The magic that lifts up sunken dreams,
The dreams that lift you up to create,
The creation that’s most magical ever.
Where you, universe and god are one,
At different forms, existing with purpose.

March 29,2017
(C) shashikala.sasidharan

Accreting Pain

Inside me, He saunters around, whilst
I haplessly struggle to throw him out.

Abrading and aching my skin and bone,
he hammers my heart, creeps in my soul.

Jabbing my brain, prodding my mind;
Murmurs sullen words, he climbs up my spine.

He gropes me to be felt, as he brays my bones;
one who tirelessly bangs n barges my door.

Though I diffidently beg off his cortege
and tell him there is no space for him to lodge.

But he keeps on averting my appeals,
since he has brought his own trappings.

The only anomaly is that he is not Humane.
He is an excruciating emotion ;
I know him as “Pain”.

~Monika Ajay Kaul

Not the path of love

You left me half-way and went.

I stood for a while and thought

Whether I should move ahead

Or go backwards to look for you.

However, I realized that ahead,

I would not find you

And the path behind was too labyrinthine.

So, I am standing where you left me.

I am sure one day you will come

To take me,

For the path of life

Can be walked alone,

Not the path of love.

 

pramila khadun

 

Notes on the Poignancy of Suffering

We shared
a feigned nostalgia
for those things
that none of us
could remember
or would even care to;
Of how,
the world broke our hearts
and left them scattered
in a thousand pieces
for collectors of detritus
in some far distant future
to catalogue,
for someone
to publish learned papers
on what all
those broken pieces
meant.

Inheritance

A bundle of fun,
That resembles you,
A bunch of laughter,
That echoes ours,
A job to keep me up,
A place to hold me up,
A thousand errands to run,
And hundred lists undone,
All things small and big,
A little world of our own.
No trespassers, no bystanders,
Just a space where time stood alone,
Not passing in and out of days, nights.
An inheritance of love passed on…
Quietly, subtly with grace and poise,
To call our own.

(C) shashikala sasidharan
March 26 2017

Winning Stars

A new bonding
Cushion my thoughts
Gently padding in the air
Softly touching my heart

A lighter smile
Glisten my cheeks
Flowing simple tears mine
Gleaming thy light

Borrowing silver verses
from dozens moons
I unfold familiar ballad
To my full hearts

A new wave
Crest my upper limbs
Winning stars
With brighter light

If you could see

Could you see through

Through the veil of truth

Through the magic melodies of the mystical flute

Through all of that which is displayed

 

Blinded by the mundane

You have forgotten how to see

How to see truth

How to see that which is necessary

 

Blinded and enraptured by what this world offers

You have forgotten that the sole winner remains Death

Death, who comes, unbidden

Death, who urges us to see, just see, plainly!

 

Pray, I wish to see through

Through this façade seeming both hazardous

And pleasant

I wish to see through so that I may understand about existence!

 

Yes, existence, which is so baffling

Ready to turn us into slaves of its many arrays

Ready to bind us into its confused mess

Ready to have us believe, that truth is that which we do see!

 

Why, if only I could see through

Through the veil of truth

Be sure that I would thrust it unto you

So that no more shall you be blinded by that which you see!

Interlude

What echoed in our minds while we stood
In the emptied theatre, was the applause
Of the audience, after the successful tragedy
 
They probably would never experience
All their lives.But you and I who were there
When the curtain finally dropped, knew well
 
How our unscripted Interlude
Through the tense rehearsals of the week
When no prompter in the wings helped us with our lines
 
Threatened to disrupt the tenor of the Acts:
How could I kill you in their world
And love your life in mine?
 
The lights were switched off, one by one
As we slipped out of our skins–
Somehow that summer stripped bare
 
All the inhibitions that love brings with it
Until words were drowned in sweat
Between the laughter after dinner and the early breakfast.

The Sun-god at Mount Horeb

Sun-god
sitting still on mount Horeb
amidst the stark clouds,
sweeping towards the swept
open space between trees
and pawing at white and dark fleshy flesh.

Sun-god
your pale, smirky lemon face
like the grapefruit in Ago-Iwoye Market
scribbles dirt patches on my face
and made my throat to swill water
enough to fill up a tank-container.

Oh Sun-god!
I plead,
do not douse us all
from this buzzy day
only ‘dap’ softly softly
into the balmy, cosy night.