Friday, October 15, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
All was dark, till your face was seen.
The light and peace that are here now
Have come from you.
O Vaasudev, you are beauty!
In every agony that I have felt
You have given comfort
And healed wounds.
O Vaasudev, you are love!
When all else fail, and
Joy and hope abandon me,
I cling on to you,
Hoping to survive.
O Vaasudev, you are life!
As your call will be heard
Making me depart from this world,
May your name be on my lips,
And, you shining in front of my eyes.
Hold my hand then, as you are holding now..
O Vaasudev, you are mine.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
The mischief-maker by my side
Keeps me busy the whole day..
And often I regret having no time left for myself.
No answer do I have for his flow of questions;
Thus, he defeats me.
Running all over the house,
Makes noise, breaks things
And comes and hugs me
So that I do not scold him!
For all the trouble, and all the worry
I am glad; because my house
Has at last become
Thanks to my mischief-maker.
Yashoda's mischief-maker has sent my one to me;
To fill my life with joy.
Hence, in my little one's hug and his laughter
I feel Yashodanandan's healing touch,
And can hear the flute once more.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Walking away one day from all that is mundane,
She stopped to soak in a moment of silence.
Looking at the glorious setting sun,
And letting the wind play with her long, dark hair,
No thought did she let bother her
Nor worry about the next day,
As for the moment, she was her own,
Enjoying every breath she took
While the wind played with her long, dark hair.
(A tribute to womanhood)
Friday, February 26, 2010
No answer could I give
My little one,
When he pointed out with wonder
The moon running in the sky
Just like the car in which he was!
His wonder made me trust
The deep joy of childhood
Which I had thought was lost to me
Nothing is lost if there is joy
In heart, for
Joy pure proves there is love and faith in the soul.
My child is a sign of God being by my side,
And my fragmented life
Is once more whole.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Walking down memory lane one day
Since I know my days are numbers,
I asked myself if the balance sheet
No, it didn't give me contentment,
As we are trained to look only for joy
Forgetting to accept the fact that
Sorrow is a part of this life.
Today, as I am nearer the exit,
I understand that even the rude balance sheet does not matter.
Battle-weary was I, but am so no longer
As all battles are now over.
Standing quietly in the twilight,
After giving up all that is meant to go
Sooner or later,
I am waiting to embrace rest
Without the terror of battles anymore.
Call me an escapist, if you so wish;
But I am what I am, and my life and my death
Are my very own.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Friday, January 15, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
A 65-year-old Cypriot Greek shepherd, Nicolis Loizou, was wounded on 30 December, 1957, by security forces. He was challenged twice; when he failed to answer, troops opened fire. A subsequent hospital examination showed that the man was deaf.
Lamps burn all night
Here, where people must be watched and seen,
And I, a shepherd, Nicolis Loizou,
Wish for the dark, for I have been
Sure-footed in the dark, but now my sight
Stumbles among these beds, scattered white boulders,
As I lean towards my far slumbering house
With the night slumbering upon my shoulders.
My sight was always good,
Better than others, I could taste wine and bread
And name the field they spattered when the harvest
Broke, I could coil in the red
Scent of the fox out of a maze of wood
And grass. I could touch mist. I could touch breath.
But of my sharp senses I had only four.
The fifth one pinned me to my death.
The soldiers must have called
The word they needed: Halt. Not hearing it,
I was their failure, relaxed against the winter
Sky, the flag of their defeat.
With their five senses they could not have told
That I lacked one, and so they had to shoot.
They would fire at a rainbow if it had
A colour less than they were taught.
Christ said that when one sheep
Was lost, the rest meant nothing any more.
Here in this hospital, where others' breathing
Swings like a lantern in the polished floor
And squeezes those who cannot sleep,
I see how precious each thing is, how dear,
For I may never touch, smell, taste or see
Again, because I could not hear.
(From, Collected Poems by Patricia Beer, published by Carcanet Press Limited in 1998)
The world is still very much the same.