Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Fest of colours



Under an umbrella,
Sits a quiet boy,
At the edge of the
Busy road,
Selling multi- colours,
Of Holi,
 On a hot
March afternoon,
Unable to use the
Tempting colours,
For himself/friends,
The child waits eagerly,
For indifferent clients;
If the big-eyed boy,
In a torn shirt,
Does not sell
The assorted colours off,
And brings some cash for the
Starving family,
He will
Not be able to
Play this Holi.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Reclaiming a home in Bunyah



---Sunil Sharma
Les Murray returns from Sydney
To reclaim a personal heritage---
His childhood home
Full of memories of
Time spent on
A dairy farm;
Of a woodcutter father
Working hard there,
Mother who died,
And a feud silent
Between a grandfather
And a dad,
Unable to forget and forgive,
The trees full of white ants,
That killed one of the siblings.
The promised farm never materialized,
And his dad went back to the tree-cutting,
In order to survive;
The return from Sydney
Was reclaiming his regional
Australian roots,
And finding again there
The continent’s true face!
Among the aboriginals, farmers and authors,
The great Murray,
The Bard of Australia,
Discovered the Soul of his
Culture that was missing
In the glittering cities.
Urban centers are
Alike these days
Everywhere but the way
Farmers in rural Australia
Work hard against the odds,
Gets mirrored in poets and writers,
And like aboriginals,
These communities carry nature
Within their selves as sacred,
And that act of getting connected
With nature in a sublime way,
Makes Murray the great voice,
Booming,
Coming down from
Outback/ steppes/deserts
You hear often,
 On lonely nights,
On the desolate highways,
Echoing loudly---
In the fevered,
Rational,
Calculating,
Profit-seeking,
Stock-exchange-fixed
Minds and hearts.


Thursday, March 21, 2013

Snow and childhood recovered in Aarhus



The three male MBA students,
Fresh-faced, shy,
After clearing the tough
Accounts exam together,
Felt so elated and de-stressed,
That they danced spontaneously,
As a small rock band on the icy stage,
And played in the
Aarhus snow, lit-up by
A smiling sun,
On a tranquil afternoon,
Almost unwatched,
The three would-be managers,
Letting their guard down and
Sending snow balls gleefully
At each other as harmless missiles:
A Chinese,
An Indian,
And a Dane,
Their laughter, identically same,
Despite the skin difference,
The dulcet sounds,
Echoing and amplified,
In the silent nearby courtyards;
The three adults, otherwise
Working very hard,
Forgetting even the Time,
At that precise moment of
Great abandon and merriment,
Away from international campus,
And demanding text-books,
Re-claiming collectively
Through such a simple but
Universal gesture
Of throwing snow at the other,
 A precious
Childhood,
Always buried in books,
And most important,
They re-discovering a common
Bond and Humanity,
In that playful activity
Staged impromptu,
On that white, tempting
Expanse.

Sunday, March 17, 2013

Dearness Quotient



You are,
My dearest,
As important
To me,
NOW,
As a solitary,
Wayside tree is---
For a thirsty-tired
 Pedestrian,
The slender
Outstretched arms
Providing soft
Green cover
To sweating him,
On a May afternoon,
In the polluted New Delhi,
Humming with bulldozers,
And cruel
Mercury
Touching
A record-breaking
 45
Degrees Celsius!

Saturday, March 2, 2013

Citizens and the winter rains



Tender and shimmering,
 The winter morning rains,
Sudden---fierce,
In Delhi,
Against a baby sun,
Smiling pale-faced,
In the grey sky,
Buffeted by the
Cold winds,
Rains, heavy
Rays, weak,
Blended well,
An impressionistic painting,
Made by divine hands,
And beating down,
Furious,
Upon the homeless,
Couple cowering,
Under the green plastic
Sheet held up,
By a pair of the
Quivering,
 Gnarled hands,
On the manicured
Lawns of the imposing
India Gate;
Fancy cars
Glide by,
Oblivious to the
Presence of
Two doddering citizens
Of the Republic,
Huddled together,
In the gathering,
Slow mist.