Fables of The Self

Doll's House

There are no angles,
no beams, and no columns
to this doll's house; it is designed
to a plan of 'merry-go-round'.

There are no guns, no knives, nor pointed words, a small eraser is the lone weapon to smoothen rough lines in a drawing-book.

There are no safes and vaults,
nor lock and keys,
in absence of doors and windows
the house is as safe and cozy
as mother's lap.

Some people label it
as ivory tower and expect
to find a arm-chair scholar,
but here rests a little girl
with her doll dear.

A Route

Curtains merge with the wall,
create eye catching decorations,
and I forget to look for
the hidden staircase.
Percussion for the hollow
- a tympanic note -
takes quite long, a life long, to detect.
And in between,
from a structured frame,
a mockingbird invites me
to enter its nest -
one way to cross the wall.

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Illusive Heights

With the illusive blueness
you cover the earth,
and hypnotize me in the process
of comparisons in heights.
You are vast and high,
encompass and support
gods in the heaven,
and here I raise my hands
to reach you, O sky;
always falling short by four fingers -
the illusive space that makes
mockery of my attempts.

Guest Lecture

Lanky, fair, and clean-shaven,
the monk occupied the guest room,
the old garage converted for the purpose.
He welcomed the sun before its rise,
turned to east and folded his hands,
made obeisance and murmured a hymn;
The sun came to life only after his call
energized by the confidence he instilled.

In the evening-lecture as the sun set
in his eyes, the monk pointed out:
The sun borrows light from you
and shines because you want him to.
You are not in the universe
the universe is within you.

I did not understand but could surmise,
he showed me a way to tell the prayer.

all poems by c s shah