Life Life, believe, is not a dream So dark as sages say; Oft a little morning rain Foretells a pleasant day. Sometimes there are clouds of gloom, But these are transient all; If the shower will make the roses bloom, O why lament its fall? Rapidly, merrily, Life’s sunny hours flit by, Gratefully, cheerily Enjoy…
Wonder A day drunk with the nectar of nowness weaves its way between the years to find itself at the flophouse of night to sleep and be seen no more. Will I be less dead because I wrote this poem or you more because you read it long years hence. ……. …… …… ……. Tears…
Amen Give everything away— Ideas, breath, vision, thoughts. Peel off words from the lips, and sounds from the tongue. Wipe off the lines from the palms. Give up your ego, for you are not yourself. Take off the body beautiful from your soul. Finish your prayers, say Amen! And surrender the soul. – Gulzar (…
Her poems are intense, palpable, strong sensory experiences, you are travelling with her, chasing evening shadows in the long corridors of an asylum, breathing in a sea, entering inside an abandoned church, drenched in rains! ……… ……… ………. ……. Deepti Naval is an acclaimed actress, also a painter and photographer. She enjoys trekking in the…
This Scene Your chin on your knees, you sit there, blue striped sari In a dream your hair flowing on your back Countless butterflies in the air or are they all skyflowers Your chin on your knees, you sit there, your eyes Famously distant, a red glow on your toes On your right hand, the…
मनौबुद्धिय् अंहकार चितानि नहम न च श्रोत्रः जि्व्हे न च घ्रणा नेत्र न च व्योम भुमिर न तेजो न वायु चिदानन्द रुपाः शिवोहं शिवोहं I am neither the mind, nor the intellect, nor the ego, nor the mind-stuff; I am neither the body, nor the changes of the body; I am neither the senses of…
In a room in solitude In a room in solitude was painting some silence, At once a chirping sparrow came and beaked a void intense! I thought that I should paint something on canvas of the air, Like an oozing laundry should I also ooze on chair? When I was on the verge of blooming…
An Old Poet’s Suicide Note Walking in the dark I grew blind Wading across silence I turned deaf Teachers who speak ceaselessly about light, how far above is it? Prophets who taught me about revolution, how remote is it? My legs have grown weary My heart beats are slow You still tell lies Don’t lie…
MILES UPON MILES Miles and miles and miles pass through me Unmoving and still as the train rushes on. Those distant hills cut their way in, sinking In joy. Rivers flow in my veins, and behind My wide eyes entire lakes dip and drown. Fields flutter; their tremor brushes my limbs. Houses spread out through…
About Poems Poems are not written, poems happen. Poems were there before there were poets. Poems are scratched window panes. Poems are decomposable and therefore must not under any circumstance be burnt. Poems are open around the clock (even the hermetic ones). Poems from foreign countries do not require a visa. A good translator will…
