He’s master of the polished wordThat gleams like burnished steelJagged glass groundInto the eyes of the morning sunIt piercesSinksDeepUncaringInto my heart
Why did you tame the deerThat ran like the windIf what, you wantedwas its wild grace in the woods.Why did you cageThe bird that soared?If what captured your heart,was the lonely freedom of its song?Why did you bind herwith children and home,If what you lovedwas the swift movements of her dance?
What does tomorrow holdFor the little girl in her mother’s clothes?For the wistful bride with brimming eyes,Will it be like theworld of make – believeOr be washed awayA rainbow bubblein the kitchen sink?That tomorrow may be brightI seekThe martyrdom of lonely battle fieldsToday, the earthwill be wet with my sweatAs I breathe life into common …
Tomorrow we dieBut today, we distilThe essence of life’s hidden mysteriesFrom the hearts of a thousand flowersAnd transmute their fleeting gloryInto permanence for the unknownHow like the gnarled handsOf a toothless dreamer,Who plants a tender mango saplingWhose ancient eyes can never see,The splendour of spreading branchesOf luxuriant swinging fruitFor the unborn.
The day you flungThose unforgivable words at me,After the shrieking agony of amputation had died,I saw youThrough theCobweb mist of hurtAnd in the fractured lightFiltering throughAn involuted maze of rage,I loved youwith the painof a motherFor a childwith twisted limbs.
In the beginning, long the atomic race,Lonely winds whistled through empty spaceAnd whirled through cosmic dust, for endless daysIt was then that the planets were bornOne bright and hopeful morn . . . . . . . .The women of the Zodiac were seen that dayWhen the stars found light on the Milky Way.
You would not have gone,If you had seen in my eyesThe kaleidoscope of painMirrored in the eyes of a soaring bird,Shot through the heartTo fall –A stoneUpon the desert sand.You would not have leftIf you had felt my anguishAt having a beloved child with shining eyesDragged out, shriekingInto the mist,Of a bleak premature morn,To be …
Birds flyThrough the blueof infinite skiesGuided by theUnfettered freedomof their nature …Their instinctThat the secret of lifeLies in upwardAnd outward Flight
Happiness is not a symphonyBut a tune whistled intothe breeze…..The bubble floating by,Would lose its rainbowsWhen graspedWith rough and anxious handsThe beauty of this momentWould lose its magicWhen studied under themicroscope of reason,So that all its translucent beautyWilts in the heat of enquiryThe intoxicating beautyOf flowers in a dreamWould droop and fadeIn the noon day …
Tenderly joyousThe heart of a flowerThe tumbling somersaultOf a little boy …Effortless perfection.A searing volcanoIn an aching void,A demonic urgeThat nothing can purgeBut the impossible perfectionWe are theyWho have dedicated ourselvesTo perfectionA perfectionWhich does not matterTo singleOther soul