Wednesday, October 27, 2010

One Day

One day, the  bow string will snap
and the arrow will fly towards
its aim or off tangent,
the time will come,

Its either death or madness
God or demon
and choosing between
the two is not a human task.

One day, love will rush to
kiss  the sky or plunge
into the deep sea,
the time will come

It may survive it's ecstasies
or die shriveled in sadness
and fate will decide
not the lover's love

My bow spirit in the deep sea
slowly cracks, the deck leaks,
stern slowly breaks,
the time will come

One day, my journey will end either
in my discovered land or
in the sea, shrouded by the waves.

Black Madonna of Czestochowa

It was the gift my aunt got
Madonna of Czestochowa,
seated regally with her soot-
blackened face and her infant
no longer a cherubic, as the
term would define to this fullest.
Scars from wounds and lances
writ on her face, centuries of
tortured paint and her blackness.

It was my aunt who reacted first .

Her glum piety told it all:
"I am black as coal,
praying to mother Mary
I begged a bit of fairness from
her rose-petal skin to soothe
and whiten my own
Now, whom will I beg for
a whiter skin ? " She asked
looking at Black Madonna and her
skinny black lad, perched on her hip.
 
In the painting, Madonna's
her fleur-de-lis robes flowed down
as she signalled to infant Christ,
as the source of salvation,
in turn the infant blessed the world
with a Bible in his hand.

"Who's is the most powerful of all?
Christ or Mary? Man or woman?"
My son's query, I answered with a twist
that the mother attributes power to the Child.

I agreed to his point while proving my own.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

My world at night

My world at night
is a dark place
fluorescent
lights shine.
My world at night
is a lonely isle,
life stirs nearby.
My world at night
is static through
the roar of wind,
men and machines.
My world at night
is shallow without
shoals, though books
in racks sitby
gazing in the dark.
My world at night
is colourless
my palette has
all the bright
hues of my past.
My world at night
is odorless too,
the wild jasmines shine
in the ebony night
of experience.

This may sound
sentimental,
but my world at night
is meaningless without you...

Wednesday, October 06, 2010

Sand Reckoner

A timebomb ticking
away till explosion,
counting sand to
fathom cosmos,
we saw tears in
every grain,
occasional smiles too.

We are sand reckoners
counting grains that
pile into a heap
to shroud us
after the grand finale!

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