Sands, the moor, the long lumber,
Just lonely me traversing the stillness,
Moonless night, sinking space,
Winds whistling in mournful tunes,
My fear of darkness accentuated,
By the sensation of piercing eyes,
An old bearded man so scary,
His hoary, toothless smile I saw,
Every step, closed eyes in fear,
Dim lights far down the distant road,
Bulbs of hope on delicate filament,
Rains lashing, pain so slant,
Slush and mud slow the trudge
Long shadows tracking this gloom.
Month: March 2013
Dust Storm
Winds knock on our door,
Hoping to push it ajar,
Seek refuge from the dust they stirred,
Hesitant then, now so hurried,
Frantic, chased by a fearsome foe,
By their own making, a lament, a woe,
Brown tinged, sands spin in a swirl,
From the heated hills, a horrid twirl,
The eerie cat cries, no place to hide,
From the caves, the dogs whine in fright,
Windows darkened, sound cracked,
You and me, and hope so huddled,
We hope to wear this dusk out,
Into a long, uncertain night.
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Dried Petals in a Book
I opened your book to read,
Several years they had rusted,
Shelved– lost, sad, trusted,
Tonight, at the crest of solitude,
With my feeble breath, I dusted,
In tenderness and in quietude,
Uncovered , unveiled, flipped,
Inside, found flowers dried,
Now freckled, they winked ,
Your message conveyed,
That you had read,
Left but loved.
Lost in her eyes
A tear drop,
Unshed, held back,
Still.
Save the murmur of the backwater,
Rhyming ripples in soft whisper,
A lagoon of feeling,
Deep in, hurting,
Counter flows of emotion,
Unkempt passion,
Unbridled,wild,
Yet restrained,
All I know is
I am lost,
In that droplet.
Impossible to let go…(No Wu Wei)
Cannot let you go ,
Fond memories, slow,
A spear in the heart ,
Plunge deep at depart,
Loss, stress, hurt, short breath,
Passion moves past earth,
You need to stay long,
Belong to my song,
Renunciation?
Repudiation?
Refute hope ? joy ? dream?
Sorrow heap in ream!
All I know for sure.-
Can’t let go: near, far.
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Prompts for the Promptless – Ep. 4 – Wu Wei-An Author’s Wu Wei
Though the photographer is not seen in the photo, he exists.
The painter is not visible in the painting, but his brush and marks are all over.
A mason keeps on building houses he does not live in.
The author seeks a quietude that inspires thoughts.
Thoughts in him advance only if he withdraws to self.
An orderly retreat from attachment.
A masterly inactivity.
Detachment is ideal to contemplate, concentrate, to be creative.
The author chronicles the times and tides, the agonies and the ecstasies.
He is in the story but has to be away.
He hears the unheard and sees the unseen.
The author’s dilemma is unless he experiences , he cannot feel
Unless he feels, he cannot write.
He needs creative silence to express.
Author’s disquietude is a natural harmony.
This post was written for Prompts for the Promptless Episode 4-Wu Wei- by Rarasaur
[1] Wu wei is non-action or non-doingor the art of letting go.
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Hope lives eternally…
I sit by these backwaters, in expectation,
Dip my hand in the coolness of brackish blue and moss green,
Small fish nibble at my toes in affectionate tickle,
Houseboats glide past waving their oars at me,
The pearl spot fish eye me shy, each afternoon,
Evening hours, I sit here under the neighbor’s coconut tree,
Round the mud mound and caving bend, the four o clock boat surfs slow
As I struggle to inter- lock coconut leaves into an orb,
A substitute for my lost tennis ball,
Which my angry friend threw in a fit,
Over the wall of dried, shriveled coconut husks,
It rolled into the water, skidded, sadly drifted away,
Mom said I might get a new one, with Dad’s next salary.
Earlier, I hoped for my tennis ball to float back,
Now, I wait for my friend to return.
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On Eating Alone
![Eating Alone [Explored]](https://i0.wp.com/farm9.static.flickr.com/8004/7699932582_816e4ae580_m.jpg "Eating Alone [Explored]")
Spread of feast of dishes deceivable,
Green, wet, banana leaf in colors, splashes,
Your favorite pickle, spicy flashes,
I turn away to stare at the ashen floor-
its ginger and – lime red in oil and more,
Think of you; cannot eat.
Recall that you abetted, as we bunked,
Bicycled , hid, roamed, ‘berserked’, flunked,
We strayed, tired, dreamt, hungered together,
Told mom sympathy tales; sought food and cover,
Ate in ‘schemed’, swallowed, quietude,
Bonded as we pretended, hurried.
Tonight, as I sit alone,
Its all memories in stone,
Rice, curry, fish and lime.
My thoughts wish sublime.
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The Dancing Lord
Scale of life, of death , of time,
Thunder drum – sounds of creation,
Sun fiery, entangled in your locks,
Arch a halo – gyrated, burnt!
Destruction! Undone, balanced.
Trampling elephantine ignorance,
Serpentine fall of unlocked tresses,
Liberating the cosmos in hurtling bliss,
Universe rocked by your steps,
Trembling in awe at your prowess,
You rush through the space of nothingness
Dance! through this timelessness
Dispel the unseen, unheard, unfelt,
Teach me to sing, to dance, to drum
To create, to protect, to renew,
To reconstruct from the embers.
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The Colonial Contest: Schadenfreude 2
Your knowledge, erudition
The devaluation of tradition,
The crafting of innovation,
The advantage of education,
The roll call of the printer,
The rifle and the powder,
Your indomitable will to conquer,
Skill to Incite among my ranks deceit .
All I had was some self respect,
Which your taunt grated, it hurt
Deep into self, it pierced ,
Empty my fury, yet livid, irate,
I knew I had lost,
To your mind brilliant.
I disengaged.
This post is part of Prompts for the Promptless – Ep. 3 – Schadenfreude over at Rarasaur’s blog
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