A Pebble and a Stone

A pebble in the flow,

At the bottom of the purling stream

Learns a bitter lesson

Of how far it was hit in its course

While rolling without gathering moss

A stone, a lover of silence

The pebble’s elder brother

Broken at the stroke of a hammer,

Knows how much labor

The muscles of a laborer

Toil hard in the scorching sun

In the building of a high mansion

Both the pebble and the stone:

Two pieces of rock after all  

But placed in different ways

And destined to reach different goals

One in the flowing stream and ocean

The other is laid in a high mansion

Goals in diverse or in like fashion 

The students of the same teacher 

Find their ways different,

Their goals different 

Their placement different

Their destiny different 

Two ideas that rise from the mind

For peace and equanimity

And for unrest and enmity

For preservation and for devastation

For chaos and for creation

For a hell in heaven

And for a heaven in hell.

These are after all Nature’s course 

The ways of the Rising Spirit,

They remain unknown_

Beyond the logic or the reason of a critic.                               

POETCRIT 37-2 JUL-DEC2024

Musings of Muse

                                                            Fantastic in nature

                                                             Majestic in stature

                                                  Musings from the realms divine 

                                                     Dawn in mind for their reign  

                                                      Rise like bubbles in streams

                                                       Arise like ripples in dreams,

                                                           Form and burst soon,

                                                        Against the poet’s boon,

                                                  Born and reborn, all perpetual

                                                           By the grace of Muse,

                                                 Goddess of musings to amuse,

                                             All seem to sing in sweet symphony,

                                                      In the chords of harmony.

                                            Unheard but heard in mental horizon.

                                       Untouching but touching the heart-amazon, 

                                                Unseen but visible to inward eye

                                                     For the poetic vision high.

Published: Poetcrit

Vol 37-2 July 2024

The Flower, the Present

                                                                  Time flows undercurrent

                                                           In quick succession of every event 

                                                     In life—the past, the present, the future

                                                          Communion, indefinable rapture,

                                                   The flower is the present, its past, the bud,

                                                   With treasures moulded to cherish as cud.

                                                           Dreams for the future, the seed,

                                                         To glow in life to every one’s heed 

                                                                Time is an eternal sojourn,

                                                  Of the bud-flower-seed traverse sans U-turn

                                                            The past and the future present

                                                         In the present as a ceaseless torrent,

                                                          The bud and the seed in the flower

                                                 Like cloud and the shower in the ocean-treasure

                                                              Truth of eternal life is beauty.

                                                                  To offer the life of gaiety.

                                                       The superb spectrum of life, the flower,

                                                       With the bud and the seed to flow ever.

                                                      The flower is the present with treasures,

                                                            In bloom, knowing no measures.         

                                                            

Published: POETCRIT 37-2 JUL-DEC 2024