Intimate

From you I draw my breath,
For you such tenderness,
That the heart would fall to pieces,
If it were to forget your name.
This gentleness isn’t borrowed,
Time is teaching me to reach out,
To slip my hand into yours,
Oh, how lightly you hold,
As if you aren’t there at all,
But it’s difficult not to feel you,
When you are standing so close,
Closer than my breath,
Closer than the beating heart,
I know not what to make of this,
This intimacy is new.

I long to introduce you to family and friends,
They all claim to know you,
And where you come from,
Strange, how can they know?
When I am only beginning to discover,
My personal, intimate God.

Wild Child

Oh, there is so much to give,
To hold, to live,
The merriment dancing in those eyes,
Eyes that speak of things,
Things I haven’t felt in a long time,
Like the warm presence of your head,
Resting lightly in my lap,
The unquestioning language of silence,
That none taught us,
Yet, we are eloquent as the summer breeze,
 It’s not always this quiet,
Sitting by the window,
With an arm around your neck,
I look at what you find fascinating in the dark of the night,
I hear dogs barking,
And the timber of your voice drowns out theirs,
I can’t help but smile,
You aren’t a big, black dog,
You are a wild tiger that I have raised as a child.

A Rare Bird

The world we find ourselves in isn’t perfect,
Yet, some will throw it all in to make this cage their home,
And lovingly so,
Perched on that shoulder is a rare bird,
The Gods have named her contentment,
She’s not easy to come by,
And will seldom express an urge to fly,
When rapturous laughter will fill the air,
All she’ll manage is a benign smile,
In a crowd her eyes will be strained from meeting other eyes
And yet, a silent toast will be raised in her honour,
By those who are running still,
They understand the price they have paid,
Chasing after long cherished dreams,
The cage they broke out of,
Only to be homeless in the wilderness...
Sometimes we have to be brave,
Not always,
But sometimes the need to stay must override the need to run,
To feel the ground beneath and be content.

Not In A Coat & Tie

Three years have passed,

There’s less discomfort,

Given that we can joke about you now,

The things you liked to eat,

To do, to read,

For a moment the heart is saddened,

Thinking of the things you’ll never do,

The places you’ll never see,

The celebration you’ll never be a part of,

At least not in a coat and tie,

You have been moved to memory,

That’s your new home now.

Your birthday comes and goes,

Of course, we know it by heart,

It doesn’t bother us,

We remember you fondly and let it pass,

But this day,

This day is different,

We didn’t see you come,

But we did watch you go,

Slipping away silently from the worldly cove,

Death was so close.

It wasn’t frightening then as it is now,

We are beginning to chart your journey,

And the futility of it all,

Three years have passed,

And every year is a new lesson in what we have lost.

Seed Forever

For a seed to grow,
It must go deep,
Dwell in darkness and savour retreat,
I am a seed, too,
The question is how much longer can I remain a seed?
Mustn’t I grow to attain my full height?

If I don’t realise who I am,
The world will continue as before,
The sky will have rained,
The earth would have softened to welcome the seed,
Weeks shall pass and a tiny green would sprout,
Caught up in my illusory world,
The creative process of the five elements will be lost to me.

If I don’t know who I am,
The soil of life will turn infertile,
And the sapling will never grow into a tree,
A diseased tree at best, egoistical, discontent,
If I don’t face my fears or mistrust my lust,
Neither tame my anger nor question my greed,
My greatest misfortune will be,
That I’ll forever remain a seed,

Trapped in darkness, unrealised.

A Regret Less

Being loved in death is not worthy of anyone,

Neither the ones who love,

Nor the one who is loved,

Priceless hours, nights and years must have passed,

With no one to soften the hardened heart,

The mind must have died a thousand deaths,

Mulling over the glorious past,

Tears must have gathered in little corners,

And angry hands must have pushed them far,

Long lonely evenings spent,

Fishing happiness at the bottom of a glass,

Sleep would have been perhaps,

The cruelest of all,

Teasing but never coming close,

Food must have the tastelessness of neglect,

That comes from eating alone.

I fear the adulation of the living means nothing to the dead,

For them it’s better not to know,

How many garlands adorn their lifeless feet,

A regret less for not having seen the face of love.

Your Grace

Your grace pours,
It rains hard,
The vessel of my heart overflows,
I pull other vessels to me,
Some are clogged, some empty,
You fill them all,
Provided they can experience the rain,
When there isn’t any...

Earthern Pots

We are all so fragile,
Like earthen pots yet to be burnt in a kiln,
The clay has been shaped, moulded to roundness,
But where, where will they carry the burden of water,
Some will break on the way,
Some will dissolve at the first dip in a stream,
Those who’ll make it home,
The clay would have muddied the water,
The earthen pots will never come to know,
How weak they are,
Thinking it’s the water that’s dirty...

Lamp Of Consciousness

Walk inwards,
Watch the lamp of consciousness flicker,
In the flickering light every face softens,
Years and old resentments fall alike,
Wearing this new skin of love,
Stand on the pavement of a new beginning,
And let the flame burn the effigy of old ways...

Wings Pristine

The richness of the blue sky,
Is lost to the troubled eye,
The dust on the mirror,
Calls for clean hands,
Who has ever heard of dirt cleaning dirt?

The flight into the heart of the sky,
Needs wings pristine,
Neither the body nor the mind will survive,
Death is certain,
Yet, one is alive,
All that has dropped are useless rags,
Rags that hold us up,
From uncovering our conscious self...

Wash Away

Clenched for so long the fists are jammed,
I have opened them in the past,
Only to fold them in prayer,
The palm stretched to ask,
Has so often become a pointing finger,
That the dislike for my own hands,
At times makes me nauseous.
The need to crawl and hide,
And not come out burns strong,
But I never stay long,
Not long enough to let it sink deep,
To rise ever so slowly,
That the past, present and the future that’s to come,
Gets washed away like a dream...

I Am Alive

In loving, I am free,
In experiencing the world through your eyes,
I am alive,
In smiling at your creation,
I merge,
In believing that you are listening,
I hear you, too.

Thermocol

The children of the poor,

Sit next to a garbage heap,

 And play with a large block of thermocol,

Standing like little soldiers,

With a hand on their waist,

Clad in threadbare cotton of yesterday,

 And the day before, Barefoot they fuss and fight over useless junk,

If they dream of dolls and toys,

I am certain those dreams never come to pass,

For they have that hungry look about them,

That says all good things are in short supply,

Yet, their shabbiness is not enough to hide,

 Their happy smiles or the seriousness,

With which they make a doll house of the garbage pile,

Absurd isn’t it,

 In this house of avarice,

A piece of discarded thermocol is all they need,

 To call their own.