The Sea Sees

The sea sees many a wave
rising, falling and crashing
on the shore.

The sea sees many a bird
embracing life by
flapping their wings.

The sea sees many a ship
that either sail smooth
or sink to the lowest depths.

The sea sees many a person
who are happy, standing near it
and unhappy elsewhere.

The sea sees many a star
that tirelessly twinkle
and continue to light up an
otherwise sombre night.

The sea sees everything.
But the sea stands still
most of the time.

Return and Retreat

I go far ahead
and come back to you
like the waves
crash on the shore
and return to the sea.

Railway Station Ramblings

Anxious passengers
await
the arrival of their trains.

Bothersome salesmen
bark
to find buyers for their biriyani.

Carefree children
cry and whine
for the chocolates they didn't get.

'Dashing dudes'
develop tactics
to dazzle a prospective 'darling'.

Everyone is engaged
in some enterprise
or the other.

Some people alone
continue to sleep
even in the presence of light;
even in the presence of awakening light.


P.S: The last verse is a tribute to Robert Graves's poem "She Tells Her Love While Half Asleep"
Click here to read that poem.

Mad Love

Oh yes,
Love is blind.
What can it make you do,
apart from caring,
hoping and loving more?

Mad love,
maddening love,
madly in love.

Midnight Musings

Should I feel sad that
I could talk to you only at the end of a day?

Or
should I feel happy that
it was the beginning of another day?

Bye bye Home!

I lie down
gazing at the stars,
trying to solve their marvellous mysteries
and admiring Parabrahman's handiworks
dancing on the ethereal stage.

Musical notes make a breezy procession
and awake the happy spot in my heart.
Oh! It's his* music!
No doubt this music melts my heart.

One moment, still like the sea;
the next, sprinting like a stream.
Once rising and falling like a fount,
then like a cataract caressing its mount.

Is it his music?
Or His music?
No way to decipher.
I then realize
his music and
His music are the same.

These song records
leave their records
in the heart.

I can listen to his music
and His music wherever I go,
but I'll definitely miss this particular spot
on the terrace, where
I lie down
gazing at the stars,
trying to solve their marvellous mysteries.

* - refers to my three favourite musicians - Ilaiyaraja, Yanni and Yann Tiersen.

Nomadic Horde

A mass gathering of clouds, a horde:
their fluffy white wings I hastily board
and travel to mystic lands yonder.
My vehicle's nature and origin, from there I ponder.

Snowy white, at times they are.
Sometimes, their dark arms stretch afar.
I wonder if the contrast is due to their notions.
Like man, do they have varying emotions?

Sometimes, they act like a truant child.
On other times, they're everywhere and act so wild.
Different morphs do they always assume;
ethereal enigmas they endlessly exhume.

When I'm a mere human, I marvel at their greatness.
When I'm a super human, I marvel at the greatness of their creator,
the One who gifted them as a vast veil
to the Moon Lady who often wants to conceal her shyness.