Fables of The Self

The Eye and The Iris

The eye holds water as waves
with strange instruction :
not to cross over to the shore
till the emotions ride them.

The delicate instrument: an eye,
with momentary rest: a blink,
waits for limitless time: an eon,
for history to unfold: our story.

The iris reflects shades
of blue, black or green,
like colours of a rainbow,
in semicircular harmony.

Contracting in fear and
relaxing in joy the iris appears
beautiful in her dilemma,
like a wheel in motion.

With radiating linearity
it expertly controls the light
as it passes through the pupil
in this world of depleting visionaries.

The Wait

When he returned from the forest she'd left
like the fading moon at dawn.
Mountains stood undisturbed and seasons
endured her detour; trees survived harsh
summer and retreating rains posed no harm.

Now the winter gossips with autumnal parch
and the mountains laugh a silent laughter,
a cave ricochets the sound of vesper hymn.
His face shines with knowledge, as snow
melts with the kiss of sun;
she's sure to return. --

Previous | Next
Under Obligation

Reclining against the parapet -
between stars and the sun -
in a twilight haze;
an inn, a parlor, a hospital
where body, mind, and soul recoup,
I raise my head - above is light,
below darkness.

I jump the threshold,
seek help for the planet -
to a moon, the stars, and a sun.

Changing Times

The sand was dirty, dry and brown
as the sea had backed away
in fear of 'reclamation drive'.
The destitute, gays, dogs and vendors
occupied the stretch between
receding waves and rising apartments.

A lady, new to the metro, strolled with
her man, hand in hand, unconcerned
of fishy smell the wind carried,
or the piece of fish a kite dropped.

A little girl, dressed in poverty,
touched our lady's sari - a gesture
for some bread or a penny.
The lady withdrew in disgust, muttered:
Ahead of the sun, the beach has become
the land of setting civilization.

all poems by c s shah

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws