Those Waiting Eyes and Other Poems
The first poem came into my mind when I was going through a meadow in a car and on my way passed a small house with a front porch. See, how small a thing can produce eloquence!
Those waiting eyes
The wait of rain has been soaked in meadows.
The warmth of a fragile hand is still on
The support of the porch. A pair of eyes,
Tired and looking beyond, now is not there.
These paths has not always let men reach their
Chosen destination. The open sun
Is making the earth golden-green. Days pass.
In nights the waiting eyes light out like a
Magic lantern. Waiting keeps age at bay.
Paths send the men awry to some frozen
World of reverse-wait, flying ash and dusk.
The warmth of the hand lingers through the circle
Of life and death, of tides and ebbs. Time flies.
Moments
Cries of thousand crickets and single soul,
The island harks them all in a rhythm
Of their own. The obscure bell at temple
Fogged by the past of light and bowing heads,
Suddenly rings in a gush of drear wind.
Water moves in and out it goes bearing
The feet-marks of a lost play on the sand.
Where are they at this moment of tide? Now?
Back to a pent house? Moving through the path
Traveled by the others likewise? Nowhere?
None is there, so a miracle happens...
Sleep
The blissful sleep. The leaves of trees in silent fall.
A pair of eyes in profuse sweating. A fly's buzz.
All that dirt around us is not profaning him.
Watch with thirst, for such a blissful sleep can't touch you.
How many suns the sly piece of sleep has enticed
Only to fade in the nick of the time! Oh, sleep!
The urban lights, the glittering hands that one shakes
Every days and dances holding them through the times,
The papers growling, crying or smiling to us,
All of them do not come with you to your nights to
Sing you a lullaby to post your dreams to the
Correct address. Only the sins riding on your
Day's calculations climb your rickety stair.
Caffeine smells your voice of fear. Wake up. Stay so.
Watch the tramp in a coma till his hunger wakes.
A fly buzzes around and settles on his mouth.
A thirst chokes you and a distant enigma smirks...
Island
They say it is five hour's journey to land.
Five hours to see blue and green waves of salt.
Five hours for one blurred picture of seagulls,
Five hours to observe today is meeting
Tomorrow in a thin line of off-white.
Five hours to see, casually, human.
A too short time span to ponder on life,
Flashes of patchy memory and swigs
Of cheap wine, red, ruby, catching sun.
Gongs and buzzes, machine and man at wheel.
Five hours at most, and an island's calm coast.
The island we have dreamed as a salt dream,
The island that we have craved to become.
At the horizon an island rises
As the human evolution's lonely
World, welcoming society once again.
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