The image
What I’ve sought all over
is just my image.
But water has made me
a little more bluish.
Soil gave me
My own memories,
Mother, my motherhood
And children, my childhood.
The departed father
Left my dead identity
Wet with love.
And woman gave me
My own sexuality.
I go searching for myself
In flowers and minds,
Males and females.
Still, up till now,
I do not get to know
What I actually am!!!
Water
It flows on one rule.
That once it is on
It has to be finished.
It doesn’t think of anything
When it is out flowing,
But it keeps on reminding
Not to think of anything when flowing.
There are some
Who make it dull thinking hard
But water doesn’t break its rule.
There is nothing to think over,
If there is no more reason to run.
We may go indebted to water,
If need be, to forget ourselves
By being in the down stream,
With not a thing to recollect,
But, ever reminded of still.
Body, puzzle
The body craves
To be a puzzle.
How hard other bodies
Keep it tempted!!
Affection, passion, love and lust:
It’s all kaleidoscopes for the body.
At times, it’s by this mortal frame,
That we come to pleasantly realize
The entangling tentacles of love:
Of our father, mother and near ones.
Yet, the frames remain as riddles
As time goes by shedding its cover
No frame seems abound in beauty.
They are all fatally entangled
In the clutches of unease and disease.
Where was it from:
The liking I took for the body?
From me!
From my very body!
Are all such frames but the aesthetics-
Of some alien empty terrains-
Which haven’t been explored, yet?
