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Naughty Sparrow In Search of Peace Listening to the echoes Distance and Glory The Effect Playful Relation Shiva's Dance The Corner Fresh Offering Second Meeting The One Thing The Magic Drop The Staircase Basic Desire The Party The Wait Doll's House Tidbits New Poems Poetry Section More Poems... |
A Place to Rest
I mistook your silence as your weakness and continued to shout and scoff, the words I now find unworthy even to think of. I used them as a cutting edge, in arguments and debates, in seminars and workshops, only to prove you wrong. I did not realize - shouting doesn't make a music or a song. Exhausted, now I seek a place to rest and you silently stretch your arms. -- Not a day without a line Not a day without a line even though it may be crude, drawn with a heavy hand, not fine. All the anguish of a lifetime might hold back the brush, still, not a day without a line. The onrush of emotions mixed with gross colours, combination of figures - grotesque and uneven, a broken limb here and a smiling face there, sensual embrace counterbalanced by meditative poise; ah! music from the orchestra divine, not a day without a line. The canvas always remains painted; what do the lines mention? They struggle to hide the obvious and reveal the hidden. Thoughts ordain new apparels and dance in joy of the "new find", not a day without a line... -- -- Previous | Next |
Genetic Mess
The two bodies lay side by side with their limbs intertwined, like a still painting by an artist: grotesque and disturbing to the mind. The scientists were quick, and eager as well, to think of cloning a new species from the red drops that fell. But the two bloods got mixed, difficult now it was to separate red cells of a civilized martyr from those of a hunted terrorist. 'To clone or not to clone' is the dilemma they now face, these scientists of New Age brood over the irony of genetic mess. -- The Magic Drop The sage put a drop at the root of the pot and the plant bore a flower; the experience I admired. Wonderstruck, I thought: what might be that potion that rejuvenates the sick, like a flick of magic? Determined to learn the secret I went in search of the shiny nectar. O grieving lady, give me a drop from your longing eyes that would bring back life. Sorry dear, the tear is my private treasure. O mother river, give me a drop from your flowing freshness that would bring back life. Sorry son, it's meant for oceanic merger. O mighty ocean, give me a drop from your undulating waves that would bring back life. Sorry sir, the cloud has claimed it earlier. O rain god, give me a drop from your swollen clouds that would bring back life. Sorry son, it is meant for the pearl. O farmer, give me a drop from your sweating brow that would bring back life. Sure friend, let me finish my work. -- all poems by c s shah
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