Tombs made of words
words made of dreams
dreams made of words,
Words are tombs wherein
our dreams lie,
tombs are dreams wherein
our words lie
dreams are tombs wherein
Even I arc a rainbow
painting my hut
with its colour
and thatch it, with
labour of my love
A little sparrow; always
alight from the downcast sky
to roost herself on the roof
and by the voice of extinction
spread my sorrow
beak after beak.
Unbeknownst to me
She put a reminder
how, that unfortunate day
I lost my fledglings
nestled into my heart
On an elusive and endless road,
Carrying tons of sins as head load,
With a body that feels thorns on path,
A pilgrim progresses fearing God’s wrath.
Hearing crunch of stones underfoot,
Sometimes a forest owlet’s hoarse hoot,
Even time itself is iced up, frozen solid,
The pilgrim, so steadfast yet so stolid.
Wading through desert of sand dunes,
Gazing at sullen and dim Arabian moon,
To Kabah, metaphorical house of God,
The Holy ground his feet did trod.
Another one climbs summits of high cliffs,
Tunnels, channels, chasms and rifts,
Bound for Kailash, Lord Shiva’s abode,
Pushing on along the untrodden road.
But the distant shrine is so near to find,
Not seven seas apart, but in core of mind,
Allah, Christ and Shiva dwells there,
But thy mind to escape from snare.
Neither in Heaven not in earth,
Not in the wide world in it’s girth
But in the mind of a trekking pilgrim,
Find Him, O’ devotee, using thy wisdom.
the serene solitude
of a projecting cliff
washed by splashing blue water
whistling sea breeze
cold teeth rattle with shiver vibes
in the backdrop a lone tree
daily the seagulls are awakened
by the chant of sacred syllable ‘Aum’
a woman dives deep into the sea
to the fathoms of meditation
overflowing with love, compassion
she sings, dances to the rhythm
drumming with cosmic energy
floating in ecstatic vibrato
slowly settles down to earth
prayers from her depth of calmness
let all beings and non beings dwell in peace and harmony
Doves of peace,
crows and falcons
pigeons, angels of heaven
encircling her calmness
island of positive vibes
fearless tranquil dawn
away from messy world
one day it happened
no more hovering song birds
surprised she looked around
Inside a negative thought cliffhanging
she noted the point
wisdom of the nature
Startled , she then looked up to see
Dark eyes that watched her with a glint
Of mischief in them , just a hint
And as of old , yes , it was he
She blushed , her hot cheeks all a-glow
Her heart could not but skip a beat
When in a moment swift and fleet
She felt their proximity grow
The next second in strong embrace
Caught suddenly she smelt the musk
Of his warm breath and felt the husk
Of her old self slip out of place
A new passion set them aflame
Old reservations flew away
New life began on that new day
That had no room for hurt or blame
( Amita￼ Sarjit Ahluwalia￼ )
Unsettled in Mind
By Dr Swati A Gadgil
Unsettled in mind
confusion I fought…..
hollow walls encasing
a shapeless space
bonds so strong
yet fragile are the strings
difficult to hold
sustainability on brink…..
easier to scatter
with a blow of destiny,
than to gather
with scent of harmony…..
naive to follow
cohesive rules of Universe
demonish it feels
to break and disperse…..
definition of space
convincing and cogent
yet happiness trace
volatile and tangent……
will not feel the pulse,
or when sent to coventry
on some random impulse…..
unsettled in mind
confusion I fought…..
©Dr Swati A Gadgil,
All Rights Reserved.
Under the tree, they wait, huddled in groups, these
workers, part of the floating population that keeps the
megapolis floating. the workers in lungis and denim, wearing
hankies to ward off the Cornoa-19, wait for their turn, near the
police station, ready with the certificates. The out-of-job men
await their turn before the Sahibs; a group of real stoics, these
men of the slums, hungry and famished,
their dusty villages beckon mother-like,
the poor wage earners, in the long
these republicans, long forgotten by the system.
(Publication credit: Poetry in Quarantine edited by Dr Savita Deogirkar and Dr Shaleen Singh)
Anti – Imperialism
What’s John Bull gonna do when there’s no more Irish to shoot?
no more slaves to trade,
no more colonial rebels to put into concentration camps?
no more Arab villages to bomb,
no more lies left to tell about
who really got the win at Waterloo;
or how D-Day was nearly sunk
on the second day by a venal buffoon,
and the Great War,
yes that War
that was just one long bloody mistake anyhow.
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