Fables of The Self

Gems and Glitter

She points at
transparent cupboards and
plastic necks
decorated with jewelry,
and we walk in the shop.
Here ornaments are bought and sold,
and exchanged with ease.
But what about the vacant look
those eyes of mannequins carry?
- that perpetual sadness,
the illusion of riches and glitter,
the play of pebbles, stones, and gems?

Tales of Yonder

Blue Mountains sustain tales of yonder
the whispering winds bring with them.
The tales are elusive and float up and above,
one struggles one's way to catch them atop.

Blue Mountains store the tales in safety of ice,
the red and the blue hide in the white of snow;
moods and passions, hunger of flesh and love,
float in the avalanche of cross-cultural show.

Blue Mountains become monument of desire:
for a martyr, a flag flutters on his way to heaven,
a lady waits for her lover under the roof of stars,
a rainbow weaves threads of tattered emotions;
the book is thus bound as a lasting scripture -
folded in reverence in those high volcanic layers.

Inward Journey

One beautiful lotus
covered itself
with blueness of sky,
of Krishna, and of Neelkantha.

Erect in a pond of the ashrama,
introvert and immersed in itself,
it embraced the whole universe
in its soft petals.

It challenged me to look within;
to withdraw myself in the void of mind,
and go beyond name and form;
beyond adjuncts of attributes.

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Fresh Offering

Every philosophy has become stale,
every figure of speech repetitive dull,
every phrase can be termed a cliché,
my dear lady, what may I offer you?

The moon has the defect of cyclic variability
the rainbow comes with glorious uncertainty,
the sun sojourns in its scorching arrogance,
my dear, Nature has exhausted its wonders.

The societal interactions of clumsy snobs,
sandy beaches crowded by jostling mobs;
the age-old meadows have lost their lush,
dear, that's why we meet in a silent hush.

I can still offer you a fresh flower, though,
this poetic stanza - to decorate your curly hat.

Solo Dancer of Bastar

Hands over head
hands by the side
hands swirled around;
wind whirled and
leaves danced as
notes came down.

A tap on earth
a step to the right
a step to the left
in crescendo rhythm
his feet created
a musical tune.

A tongue frisked
a serpent hissed;
black was the body
and black were the clouds,
a flash lighted the fire
of hanging moon.

A triangular flap
tied to waist -
his sole attire;
with circular swings
and spiral ascents
he danced with Nature
Dham dhamak dhum.

all poems by c s shah