Author Archives: tapeshwar

Spectrum of Consciousness

An old tree, that
Fell down yesterday
on to the earth,
Came sprouting up in its ever verdant greenery –
into the
Spectrum of my consciousness;
Like a newly sowed seed
Welded into me
The whole stretch of its magical beauty
Ever replenishing
the lost memory
with the present reality
Making, no difference –
What was there, so live
what is here so lively


Barren and inert; stray

Wilted shrubs and drooping grasses –

Skeletal –

line up round the cracked circumference

of a hollow and deep well

that has been

drained out of its water 

They bask in their commonality

Owning their end in uselessness

 The only respite, coming in 

from the far off skies

Looking down in familiarity –

Blinking with thousands eyes 

Reposing Eternity

What is that,
round your parting breath –
A butterfly
to all your gainly wishes

Just a moment ago
You were breathing normally
Now, by what cursory faith
It eloped with a huff
into this thin air around

I have seen
those peaceful tranquility
on your unblemished wrinkled face
Reposing eternity
into the lap of your closed eyes

I tether my hope
in your every presence
Hither that I grum in your absence
Thither I wish to conjoin in your love


What is that
Helical bonding

Up there in space 

All consure up in togetherness –

Mete at an infinite end

I know not of your justice, that

Measure my deeds

Worn out

in quixotic time

What is yours

Have taken a respite in me

Taking loads of curse and care

Redeeming qualities

of my existential presence 

I know not

On what axis our Earth rotates

All polar co-ordinates, come

with their own diurnal wishes

A shadow to my day

Painful Riches

She has been doing it
for quiet some time
in the garb of a faint smile
All these years, and before
She could strain herself
to sieve in her pain
Guarding her happier moments
Lest, it must not erupt
Wailing those unforgettable torment
She would always lure herself
into a sobering smile, that
on a casket of painful riches
that she could trust,
She could do onto her
What a lost memory could do
to herself –
As she has been doing this
since her memory was gone

An Old Glass

Age was sinking fast –
layer by layer
from that worn-out table, where
An old glass
Holding up its fragile stand
keeping its past memory submerged
in those days of my childhood, She would
Grip her fingers around
the warm milk
and would stretch her hands out towards my mouth
to gurgle it lovingly
Luring me with toys, and lullaby

I plaint a sad cry –
The wherewithal of that touch