Stream of Life

Week after week
Life goes on.
Episode succeeds episode,
and yet nothing remains
except memories
of things said and done.

Moments change the present into past
the stream of life keeps flowing
sometimes slowly and smoothly
and at others rushing on boulders in a headstrong manner.

The life stream keeps flowing steadily, 
erruptions occur, subside.
But we go on
adjusting
accepting
erecting compromises
and pass on
from mood to mood
phase to phase.

Stray Dogs

Again the sight of the stray dogs crops in my mind.

Can I do something to minimize their sufferings?

Can I administer anything which will satisfy me that I anyhow  I did what I could to alleviate their pain and mine too?

Life on the Streets

While returning home in the evening

 I see many stray dogs gathered near the door.

It takes me some time in finding the key

So even without thinking I look at the dogs once again.

Unwillingly I notice that one is bleeding, two others are suffering from skin disease;

Another is not able to walk properly.

Even as I am getting inside the house

I follow them with my eye,  

Haggard, bleeding they roam the streets,

In search of food, shelter and more than anything else, a friendly touch.

 Closing the door I try to forget them and get busy doing important  tasks.

The next day a stray cat starts mewing

I dole out some milk to her.

But she wants shelter and cozy warm place to snuggle in

As it is biting cold outside.

She starts wriggling herself against me:

I get angry and threateningly drive her out.

But suddenly my son admonishes me not to do so: “she also feels cold. Let her remain in”.

Again the sight of the stray dogs crops in my mind.

Can I do something to minimize their sufferings?

Can I administer anything which will satisfy me that I anyhow  I did what I could to alleviate their pain and mine too?

I don’t know whether its poetry but these thoughts trouble me and the best way to deal with them is to write them, commit them to paper.

And forget about such an unrealistic thought as taking care of the stray dogs.                                                    

Don’t you agree?   

Right now returning home in the foggy weather,

In the yellow light  I notice some woolly brown balls in the park,

After a moment or two I realize that they are of course ‘the stray dogs’,

The Dogs that have troubled me and disturbed my inner peace.

some stray thoughts, places, persons, peculiarities and perceptions: from Ramdhari Singh Dinkar's famous "Rashmirathi"

some stray thoughts, places, persons, peculiarities and perceptions: from Ramdhari Singh Dinkar's famous "Rashmirathi"

A beauty

The air was calm
Silent waves rose and fell
Now and then, the leaves fluttered
And the sari rustled
The image formed and then scattered away.

He came there
Saw, admired, said, ‘How lovely’!

She suddenly startled,
Roused from rumination
looked at the mirrior in the water
Then slowly raised her face;
Saw the timeless beauty of the mountains
Heard the silent sound of the sea
And realized suddenly
That whatever is perishable
Can ever lovely be?
Mortal beauty can never compare with
the enchanting phenomena of lapping of the waves
Or the blossoming of a beautiful flower.

Today she looked beautiful
And he may admire her
But tomorrow she would be an old lady
And none will be here to say, Ah! Poor she!
The river will flow calmly,
The breeze will blow coolly
And it will rain timely.
Other girls will come and sit there
And will be called pretty!

She was only a small part
Of the chain stretching to eternity
And only so far as
She was a sparkle of the fire burning constantly
Shining brightly for a moment
Dying out the next could she be called a beauty.

Being a beauty!

The air was tranquil and calm
So was the sea
The leaves were blowing
My sari fluttered
Branches swayed
The pebbles shone brightly.

He came there:
Saw, admired, said, ‘How lovely’!
I looked at my reflection in the water
looked at the timeless beauty of the mountains
Heard the silent sound of the river
And realized suddenly
That whatever is perishable
Can ever lovely be?

Mortal beauty can never compare with the enchanting phenomena of lapping of the waves
Or the blossoming of a beautiful flower.
Today I look beautiful
And you may admire me
But tomorrow I will be an old lady
And none will be here to say, Ah! Poor she!

The river will flow calmly,
The breeze will blow coolly
And it will rain timely.
Other girls will come and sit here
And will be called pretty!

I am only a small part
Of the chain stretching to eternity
And only so far as
am a sparkle of the fire burning constantly
Shining brightly for a moment
Dying out the next can be called a beauty.

Lost in the confusion

Lost in the confusion
And the crowd
I stand in the middle of the road
facing the onslaught of vehicles
a dark patch.

The vast earth,
Important personages,
Luxurious cigarettes,
Rustling silk, crackling cottons
And bottles of lavender,
Where am I in the middle of it?

My identity lost in the crowd,
Seen for an instant
An eye a moment, a smile the next,
Then melting in the panorama of people,
Becoming faceless
A profile, a shadow
Embarking on an uncertain journey.