1
Life

"What mortal, when he saw,
Life's voyage done, his heavenly Friend,
Could ever yet dare tell him fearlessly:
"I have kept uninfringed my nature's law"?
Mathew Arnold, Human Life

Oh, I have yet to go a few miles more,
Make a few calls at this and that store,
And visit one more beckoning shore,
Lest I forget to pay what I owed before.
Let me finish this business, and nothing more.
Then I will see you.

In the budding spring of my youth,
I didn't look for the hidden truth,
For love and learning came naturally smooth.
All was arranged neatly in its assigned booth,
But without any sense of the missing truth.
Then did I think of you?

The glory of summer was no simple matter.
There were many desires to quench
And hungry passions to feed — sooner than later.
In these pursuits, there were some egos to flatter.
Right or wrong, success alone seemed to matter.
Then did I think of you?

As the summer peaked, new vanities grew,
Drawing attention to things I hardly knew;
For the glamour of power and position in society,
A fuzzy line between prowess and prudence I drew.
My passion for sham recognition demonically grew.
Then did I think of you?

Now, when I am old and in the season of fall,
The green in nature having turned gold,
A strong voice seems to beckon persistently and call,
Lifting its eye from books of yore, encompassing all
That matters most — dear God, I will not fail or fold.
Now I crave to see you.

December 2005


2
The Journey

Childhood fancies make us grow,
Youth's urges keep us on the toe,
The prime of life tells us to sow
Seeds of trust — for love to grow.
Old age brings us a marvelous gift.
First, it does our many burdens lift:
We don't carry the same old ego,
For, with time, we grow mellow.

Each child comes with God's gift,
Given as parental love and genes
That determine our base and tilt,
Our raw nature and adaptive skills.
So nature and nurture combined
May shape us into a person divine
Or make us a creature of evil mind;
And each of these gives its own sign.

From early on we begin to explore
The world around and within us,
Feeding on knowledge and more,
Generally without too much fuss.
But soon our focus shifts to love
(First to the earthly, then divine)
That touches us gently from above,
Guiding us by its power sublime.

At each stage of our trenchant life,
We encounter some joy and strife;
Neither remains too long with us,
But we can't our feelings suppress.
All pursuits arise from love or hate;
These in turn determine our fate.
Of all the drivers, love is the best,
For it keeps us flying over the crest.

October 2014


3
The Enchanted Hill

Step by step, arm in arm, we ascend the live hill.
Steep and rugged though it is, a passionate thrill
Keeps us going without rest, to test our restless will
And see the truth that lies behind the enchanted hill.

It is no ordinary hill of earth and rock and scrub,
Nor is it pointed skyward as a tall, tangible nub —
Challenging our muscles and sinews to grind or rub
Against its gritty side, without a shady tree or shrub.

The hill changes its shape with our each step,
And after each moment — which is surely kept
Stored in memory — it morphs, as it deems apt,
Into something quite unknown and out of step.

Out of step, and unlike its past reality and repose,
It assumes a shape nowhere reminiscent or close
To its former semblance or purpose, as we suppose,
But a new state of being — an altogether new repose.

Call it as you may, but look deeply into its mystery:
The hill morphs to test our memory of its history,
Written by us and the hill together in live chemistry,
Recounting trials, toils, gains, and love's mystery.

The enchanted hill feeds on our feelings and flesh;
It teases and tortures and then restores us afresh,
Kindling hope and purpose in our weakened breast
Until we scale its last hurdle in one leap of trust.

August 2008


4
Signs of Life

From the lay of this piece of land,
Long abandoned, one can see
That generations of men and women
Lived and labored here — hand in hand.

The cottages with terraced gardens
That once stood proudly on this hill
Have all weathered and tumbled down
Time's slope without a frown.

A moving sense of form and beauty
In them who lived here is still visible
In the fallen arches and empty altars,
Dry fountains and sagging shelters.

But the air above the dirt and rubble
Is crisp and clear — like a new bell,
Still echoing with the songs and mirth
Poured here at each festival and birth.

The songs those men and women sang
Joyously with each other and with life
Must have been played in full tune
With the thrushes — welcoming June.

The sun and stars shine over this place
As before and seem to secretly know:
The life that was teaming here once
Hasn't been extinguished from thence.

A gentle breeze stirs the fallen leaves
On sunken roofs and the bare ground,
Like they want to come back to life;
For here, indeed, lust for life was rife.

I wonder: What happened to those
Who once vigorously thrived here!
Was it some grim disease or drought
Or just life's ever-streaming rout?

September 2014


5
A Measure of Life

We fill and empty our minds each day,
Like coffee cups, soup bowls, and plates,
And wash our memories down the drain,
Just to make our lives simple and plain.

We rearrange the cupboards and closets,
Blow out the dust, wipe away the grime,
And rinse our hands to wash away time —
Its huge burdens and obligations prime.

We comb the stores and the countryside
In search of things we assume we need:
Food and drink for body and mind aside,
Casual lovers, passions, and desires to feed.

Like Sisyphus, tied to the rock of routine,
We fill the hours with our labor and love,
While our mortal frames westward lean,
Yet our efforts seem worthwhile somehow.

This routine appears right, and aptly so,
For there, indeed, all the pleasures do meet
When love, labor, and laughter together go,
And one's daily life is just, simple, and sweet.

February 2013


6
Horizon

If only I could reach the horizon and stand
Where the earth rises to embrace the sky,
I could catch the heaven's azure in my eye
And touch the silvery clouds floating by,
While my feet are planted on solid ground.

The horizon is distantly circled around me,
But as I walk toward it from any direction,
It recedes away at the same pace,
Leaving me at its center, even if I race.
So I wonder what a challenge I face!

I have been walking toward the horizon
All my life — without any success in sight,
Calling...