Posted in Poetry on 04/08/2008 06:33 am by alakananda s
Into the Scheme of Things
Funny how you make
An infinitesimal blob
In the middle of nowhere.
Like moths drawn to their Fate
Drawn to your useless ties.
Dancing to the tunes of Maya
As she dances to the cosmic drum.
In the mad cavorting of life
When you think you had a glimpse
Of Eternity in another's eyes
Days when sleep eluded you
And like the ill-fated monster
You "cried to sleep again".
And through it all,
The wonderful, fantastic, misery
And the pain of human life;
A pain so brutal;
A pain so beautiful; a pain that soothes the heart,
In this crazy world,
Where the dying mourn the dead.
Posted in Poetry on 03/13/2008 07:01 am by alakananda s
Days of white heat and pouring rain,
When the mountains cry in anguish;
You float by, but hear no whimper.
When the fury ebbs, the mountains sigh.
Deep within, the earth roils;
Her sweat pours forth
A beautiful bloom,
Borne in the prime of pain.
As furrow by furrow,
Man hacks through
In search of gold,
Of gold and lust.
Lost amidst the days of yore,
Some atavistic memory
Cries out to a prehistoric God,
That silent rides the mountains high.
Posted in Poetry on 12/28/2006 11:50 pm by alakananda s
This is a short poem by my daughter who is 10 and calls herself ‘Flame of the Forest’.
Black is the hair that flows at the nape of my neck;
Black is the color of Beauty;
Black is the song of the beat of my heart’
Black is the color of Love.
Posted in Poetry on 12/17/2006 07:54 am by alakananda s
My head swims and there's lead in my legs
I fall along the path and the five men walking ahead
Fade away from my crazed vision.
None pauses or turns around
Somewhere I hear a question asked
And the wise eldest answers
With not a step missing.
No one stops, not even he,
The archer, whom I loved most.
I fade away, and then,
I feel strong arms around me and an anguished voice
"No my dearest, I will not leave you,
To die a dog’s death on this deserted path"
Somewhere in the air, amid the stench of death,
Wafts the fragrance of a precious flower
And the cry of a demon's death-
Somewhere the click of dice
And the scent of blood in my hair.
I lay dying and in my last breath,
I breathe a prayer-
"My Lord, I wish that in our next birth,
You would be the first born."
(Inspired by MT’s ‘Randaam Oozham’)
Posted in Poetry on 11/30/2006 08:44 pm by alakananda s
We Indian women-
We are a breed apart
One of us stopped the sun
While another burnt a city
One reduced the mighty Trinity
To mewling infants at her bosom
One smart lady outwitted Yama*
To snatch her lord from his noose
[He was probably worth it]
One handled husbands five
And was more a man than the mighty five
One has to her credit an earthquake
While others had gods
Eating out of their hands.
But the poor Indian woman Today,
Running between her kitchen, the labor room
And the office
Where does she find time
For such simple joys of life?
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