When dawn creeps into my hut
and the skies smile on dew-laden flowers
I send you a verse, wrapped in sunlight,
Who says dreams are for the night?
Hmm… February 21, 2008
The Tree of Love… October 29, 2007
They called it the tree of love
with eternal blossoms and
dreams dangling in the
mystic romantic silence
between birth and awakening;
And it is to this tree
my dear,that the colours
of my soul hang from.
They told me my love had
no place- for I had not
watered the tree nor basked
in its shade, nurturing it
with a sweet and graceful presence.
Yet, why is it that
my soul returns to it again
and again… unknowing?
Let them collect my colours
and mix them all up
let my colours remain unseen
to my blind eyes and heart-
In a still puddle of unseen joy…
Inspiration May 9, 2007
All Nature is but Art, unknown to thee;
All Chance, Direction, which thou canst not see;
All Discord, Harmony not understood…
{ Alexander Pope }
We do not ask for what useful purpose the birds do sing, for song is their pleasure since they were created for singing. Similarly, we ought not to ask why the human mind troubles to fathom the secrets of the heavens…. The diversity of the phenomena of Nature is so great, and the treasures hidden in the heavens so rich, precisely in order that the human mind shall never be lacking in fresh nourishment.
{ Johannes Kepler }
Rumi April 27, 2007
The breeze of the morn
Scatters musk in its train,
Fragrance borne
From my fair love’s lane.
Ere the world wastes,
Sleep no more: arise!
The caravan hastes,
The sweet scent dies.
( From Rumi’s Rubaiyat)
Evening Hope.. January 15, 2007
There is a fragrance of the earth that engulfs me. All around me I see an orange light diffusing slowly into darkness. The lamp is being lit in the temple. Flickering hope, to soothe wearied souls. The river gushes on unmindful of tiredness. Sometimes I light a lamp and send it with her. When she stops, far away from home, my light would still burn. I see figures moving down the steps of the old temple, silhouettes of a life gone by.
A thorn gets stuck in my foot. I want you to pull it out and soothe my foot with the balm of your kiss. My mirrored skirt looks drab in the twilight. It swirls around my ankles, threatening to trip me. I run alongside the river, looking for you. Where is the scorching sun that made us sweat, the heat of the earth that made us look for relief? The mud at my feet feels cold, I shiver.
I was held in your embrace in the afternoon, and now I am all alone. Your tunes are still ringing in my ears, as if to mock at my dreams. They rise like the waves of the ocean, in a resonating crescendo, to come to rest at my feet. You are not here, playing joyous tunes. Why is it that I still hear them? I crave the warmth of your lips. I rush from tree to tree, hoping to find you hidden somewhere. All I can see are the owls staring back at me.
The stillness in the air is a sharp contrast to the music in my heart. The brown earth, the green trees, the white jasmine, the scented sandalwood- all are shrouded in the blanket of dark. How can I find you in this intricate mesh of darkness and hope?
I close my eyes to see you smiling back at me. Within my mind, there is no darkness, no temple, no silhouettes. All figments of imagination vanish when I close my eyes. The crackle of the twigs and the temple bells are noises I cannot bear. I gather a little water from the river and splash it on my face. My reveries are burdens when I cannot share them with you. I gather the flowers the trees have shed and pack them in my odhni. Red, blue, white, orange: colours of love, colours of spring. I want to make a garland for you. I do not know how I shall pass time without you. I tell the garland things that I want to tell you.
I draw patterns on the bare soil with my fingers. Drowsy with the weight of your love, I welcome the bride of night, with her white crown and bedecked robe. She teases me with a gentle shower. I look on mutely, at her callous beauty.
If you find my lamp in the next village, will you not come back to me? Will you not be reminded of the high sun and the beads of sweat on my face? Will your feet not trace their steps back, into my arms?
I shall wait, even I have to wait for eternity.
Prayers for the New Year.. December 31, 2006
It is that time of the year again. Time to sing Auld Lang Syne and ring in the New Year.
I would like to ask, when has the world ever been old for it to start afresh? We are, all of us, ensconced in the wraps of eternity. Days roll into weeks, weeks into months, months into years and years into obscurity. Beneath all these rituals and the merry making of a New Year, let me not stop appreciating the beauty of each morning. Each morning, which comes to me, ‘like a gilt-edged letter with some unheard-of news’, as a poet sang not so long ago.
Let me not give up reason while learning to see the beauty of each moment. Can balance be that elusive, in this seesaw of a world, kept stable by the forces of the good and the bad? I would like to pursue it. If I fail, well, I would have at least tried.
Let me remain ever close to the soil, to nature, to my self. Let other influences be just that, influences. Let them be embellishments to my self, never my whole self.
Let me never take things for granted. The winding rivulet, the musical sunset, the lashing waves- let me look at them always with eyes of wonder. Let me marvel at their beauty and hence, be renewed.
Let me always respect an idea, good or bad. For it is these little things that go on to make the grand symphony, the timeless classic.
Let me never try to define myself, allowing my soul to run like the breeze, accepting for myself its changing hues and transient moods.
Finally, let me never let myself down.
I wish you all a very Happy New Year. Keep learning, keep smiling, keep exploring. 
La Déesse de pierre December 29, 2006
La Déesse de pierre
Dans une ville de dieux, nichée sur un petit autel,
de ses contours sculptés me fixait la Déesse, -
Présence vivante immortelle et divine,
Forme qui hébergeait toute l’infinité.
L’auguste Mère-du-Monde avec sa volonté puissante
habitant le sommeil abysmal de la terre,
sans-voix, omnipotente, impénétrable,
muette dans le desert et le ciel et l’océan.
Aujourd’hui du mental voilée elle est là et se tait,
sans-voix, impénétrable,omnisciente,
se cachant jusqu’à ce que notre âme ait vu, ait entendu
le secret de son étrange incarnation,
Une dans l’adorant et l’idole immobile
mystère et beauté que peuvent draper la chair ou la pierre.
This beautiful poem by Sri Aurobindo talks about the Divine Mother. Last night, suffering from a rare bout of sleeplessness, I came across this gem. Here is Sri Aurobindo’s translation in English.
The Stone Goddess
In a town of gods, housed in a little shrine,
From sculptured limbs the Godhead looked at me,-
A living Presence deathless and divine,
A Form that harboured all infinity.
The great World-Mother and her mighty will
Inhabited the earth’s abysmal sleep,
Voiceless, omnipotent, inscrutable,
Mute in the desert and the sky and deep.
Now veiled with mind she dwells and speaks no word,
Voiceless, inscrutable, omniscient,
Hiding until our soul has seen, has heard
The secret of her strange embodiment,
One in the worshipper and the immobile shape,
A beauty and mystery flesh or stone can drape.
Sri Aurobindo has not used a capital to begin the word ‘gods’ but has capitalized all the words describing Her, the One with the mighty will. Sculptured limbs indeed, for don’t we build Her in our mind’s eye and see Her the way we want to? She harbours all infinity, says Sri Aurobindo, and yet, she sleeps with us on earth. What is she waiting for? Without a word or a sound?
She has been silenced with the dragon of knowledge. Our minds are clouded with too much information such that we cannot see Her. She meekly waits, the One with the mighty will. She waits for the day where we begin to see with the heart and not with the mind. She is the eternal mystery; see Her with the mind, she is but a stone, see Her with your heart, she comes to life.
Whether draped in stone or flesh, she remains the same.
My interpretation…
In a land of gods, dwells She,
Looking over the world with mercy.
Deathless and divine,
She is painted by the colours of our mind.
She is the All-Powerful Mother,
who sleeps in the nooks of our soul.
Nay! she speaks not a word
Like the vast desert or the infinite sky.
She wears a dusty cloak of thoughts
Smothered, hidden, foggy.
She waits for the moment that we can see
the secret of Her true self,
Transcending Her chiselled form,
She lives within our hearts.
Rumi December 26, 2006
I sought a soul in the sea
And found a coral there;
Beneath the foam for me
An ocean was all laid bare.
Into my heart’s night
Along a narrow way
I groped; and lo! the light,
An infinite land of day.
( From Rumi’s Rubaiyat )
