The One Thing
The Magic Drop
In Search of Peace
Listening to the echoes
Distance and Glory
Those foot prints
in the forest retreat
our friend in the sky
could not have left.
Then how do we explain
the new imprints,
these distinct impressions?
Who might be the third?
She is fear, born to two;
a compulsion for having
recognized each other as
different - I and you.
Fear multiplies as this universe;
reaches far off frontiers
where stars and nebulae gravitate
on themselves to save the face.
Fear hides in forest hut, with us,
follows us in darkness of night,
or when clouds cover the sun;
we fail to recognize her role
in our bid to rectify the lapse.
Fear is always the third, if there are two.
That night the stars descended low,
unusually low; at least appeared so.
Searching for the moon
they dared a detour,
a few merged with Radha's tears,
other mixed with Gopis' laughter.
The moon refused to ascend high,
listlessly held by the pull of Raas Lila.
The stars came low,
lower than they aught to have;
the ambiance of Vrindavan,
optimum for a slip!
He is not visible, like stars in daytime,
and I am tired of issuing explanations.
The boredom makes me doze off, and
I did not see stars play in the night sky.
I've heard the moon waxes and wanes
like a joker in the circus. We all laugh,
we are the worshippers of the sun; and
the ocean takes full advantage of the lapse.
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Improper was the right word
for her turning away in haste,
the action that led to gossips.
He pinpointed her fault, in his right,
for he had formed a firm opinion
based on his experiences in life.
The radio, the concert, the seminar
all shouted his 'ism', which
invisibly hung around her neck.
Will the weight pull her back,
or will she return of her own?
To be sure, he would get
a chance to pat himself
for having predicted correctly.
Short poems (haiku-style)
A Koel and the spring,
I wait under a mango tree
for a promise to be fulfilled.
Ears turn to west,
a thunder from her anklet
announces the rainy season.
A leaf must fall,
fall is for such a fall,
a chance offered.
The new one laughs;
the fallen and
the sprouted are one.
We aren't genus "plant";
we are animals - we resist
every geriatric severance.
Flesh and bones,
to support the mirror.
create mental images
to fill the mirror.
in the wake of desires.
all poems by c s shah