Seeking the soul:

This question erupts an earthquake-
I tremble, stumble and fumble
when asked-“Have you met your soul”?

What does it mean?

Clueless, I ponder, I wonder, I wander,
I meander with the flow of the blue river
near my house whose mouth smells of terrible urine,
yonder across the lavender bushes,
the red oleanders, the violet roses
that have become a dry desert of Thar.

     It seems to be eluding, the answer-

gossamer cobwebs all around me-
I get back home.
I dust the red rust hidden behind.
A vaccum cleaner helps.
I wash the dirt, look at myself in the
mirror-
“Ah! Finally!”-
I hear a voice like
the tender dew that kisses a white lily.
I look around. I don’t see anyone.
I look at my pomegranate lips in the mirror.
They are locked safely.
There are goosebumps on my skin
like green grasses that have sprouted
from fresh drizzles.

Something in me says-
“Just go and relax and have a cup of coffee.”

When I am about to,
I hear from outside a feeble whimper-
“Amma! Is there any food?

It is that of a woman with a saree and a blouse-
both tattered here and there like blisters
and her baby between her
breasts and navel tied like a swing to a tree.

Something tells me to give her food.
I get into my kitchen and
give her
some rice and spinach that I have cooked,
packed in an aluminum foil.

She gets it- blesses me and leaves.

Unwinding, the warps seem to be coming to shape.

Peace, kindness are all within.

Maybe it’s the soul within!

By Brindha Vinodh

This entry was posted in Poetry on by .

About Brindha Vinodh

I am a postgraduate in Econometrics but a writer within. I have contributed to several anthologies and been published on many e-zines, journals, OPAS, etc. and a featured poet at an international publication house. My roseate sonnet was selected as one of the best poems of 2020 by the same group-InnerChildPress international.

3 thoughts on “Seeking the soul:

  1. Amita Paul

    A poem that flows with the stream of consciousness like the blue river with its contrasts of a mouth that smells of terrible urine and the pleasant cleansing smell of lavender , oleanders and roses, for example , and deliberate use of random colours — blue, red, rust, violet, green, white and so on — and textures — blisters , gossamer, cobwebs, goosebumps . The deeper thread of meeting one’ s own soul stems from the 14 th century insight of Thomas à Kempis whose modern version is : “Wherever I may go, there I am.”

    Reply
  2. Santosh

    This is a beautifully written poem – the juxtaposition of fragrance and stink, the pleasant and unpleasant, and that feeble whimper of the old woman did a lot for my soul with such effortless poetic elegance.

    Reply

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