Fables of The Self

The Tired Wheel

Wheel, the symbol of onward progress,
of ingenuity and human excellence,
that wheel is tired of perpetual motion;
prays: O Almighty, stop this constant march,
this rhythmic terror of galloping horses,
these agonizing cries from the battlefields
of mutilated bodies and wounded spirits.

A Request

Your light dazzles my eyes,
I fail to discern the ray of hope.
Put a cover on your golden face,
for a while let darkness prevail.
Meanwhile I'll loosen a brick
to allow a ray to enter the cave.
It'd be easy to meditate then
on Light that links two words,
two thoughts, or two events.

The Concert

The blossoms were fresh and colorful -
a clan in a meadow,
like buttons attached to ribbons
with tender frills below.

Engaged in a courting ballet
they played to the tune of wind -
one, two, three, four - repeat,
kiss and hug, and a gentle retreat.

I withdrew my hand - plucking
delayed; nay, abandoned.
And as I turned, there she stood
inviting, with open arms - and
we danced together the dance of life
in ecstatic charm.

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Playful Relation

The sky extends its stretch
and clouds can't cover it entirely.
As they run to cover the east
blue is exposed in the west,
and a run to the south leaves
a bare patch in the northern belt.

In desperation, clouds complain:
"Look papa, the sky doesn't allow us to win."
And laughing with fullness of heart
the ocean embraces the entire sky.


Why do you plant artificial flowers?
Plastics never bloom -
I know and you know too.

They are uniformly symmetrical - robotic,
have no fragrance, but they please the eye;
to me flowers symbolize joy.

They may not sprout,
but keep the hope alive
in these days of drought -
predicted to be severe and prolonged.


Now that I am aloof in the midst of the crowd noises don't disturb me, nor do angular glances of distaste and frown.

I'm alone but not lonely, my inner world is alive - I do not desire quid pro quo for what I've done for others or others have done to me.

Values attached to emotions, feelings, and relations - and even to devotion - lose their clout in their sublimation in Divine.

all poems by c s shah