Featured post

hell

Laplanders regard with dread and awe-the icy howling wind- the wiiliwaw;

To Northern races like the eskimos, Hell is a place of eternal snows.

Tropical tribes fear the heat and light- their Hell is a place where fires burn bright.

I pondered over this tangled knot, was Hell frozen over or burning hot?

Why should we fear the afterlife ;think it an extension of fear and strife

If it is true that the soul is set free  to adventure into eternity?

Advertisements

Zoo

Vivek, do you remember our trip to the zoo?

You were four and your sister, just two.

You shook off my hand and ran away

It was hot and crowded, that summer day.

I was frantic, searching, looking everywhere,

Till I spotted you outside the cage of the bear.

Breathless,  I picked you up, scolded and hugged,

But you were unconcerned and only shrugged.

“I was not losted, I knew where I was, you see, ”

“I came to see the big black bear! ” And you grinned triumphantly.

Now at college I see you’re surrounded

By unchained emotions, thoughts unbounded —

I hope your feet are so thoroughly grounded

That your dreams come true and the nightmares are unfounded.

Presbyopia

Long sight develops with age, they say,

But it’s the young who’re focussed on the far-away.

Fireworks and rages – pyrotechnics of the teens

Light up distant horizons full of glowing dreams.

The young demand  more drama and strife

They abhor the peace of humdrum life.

And, focussed on some grand designs, ignore today’s mild flavor —

The here -and- now is an acquired taste that only the mature can savour!

Big bang

Was the Big Bang random, a one-off discordant note?

As the Universe exploded from a cosmic mote?

Or, is,   like the clash of cymbals, a loud refrain

As Creation dies and is rebirthed again?

And is the music of the spheres a definite sign

That the start of space-time was by plan, design?

The caveman’s grunt,  down evolution’s road

Became classical music and digital code.

I can understand the formation  of a planet like earth,

And molecules of protein giving protoplasm birth.

But the torchlight of understanding that shows us the past

Cannot penetrate the blank wall of the Cosmic blast.

 

 

Toys

In the Neolithic age I knapped my stone

And crafted dolls of wood and bone.

I annealed iron in the metal age,

Carved wooden puppets to dance on the stage.

My toys with electronics are now tight-packed

They are programmed to respond, interact.

In the near future I think I shall train

A humanoid robot with an AI brain

So that in tandem we shall unchain

Our potential.

Or would our frail race become obsolete

And Nature then press Control+delete

On the cosmic keyboard where she loves to play

(As I with wood and iron),  with protoplasm and DNA.?

 

 

Dvaita – A- theism

I have given a lot of thought

To what my creator is not.

My god is not  a thing,  a concept, a person,

Though I’ve come across many a version

Of these.

Can the puppet dancing on his string understand

The drama, the skill, of the puppet-Master’s hand?

Can the sculptor be understood

By the finely carved wood,

Or the painter by his art?

Isn’t the creator outside of his creation,

Unknowable, apart?

 

A walk

A walk in the park is scary in the dark

When the crooked shadow-claws surround you,

A walk in the park at dawn, is a lark

The warm glow of  sunlight around you,

The shadowy branches- the terrors of the night ,

Dress in spangles of dew  and dance in delight.

Dawn changes my viewpoint,  my understanding, -my sight!

Is life’s shadow-play the tremulous night

Before the glowing afterlife dawns bright?

And does this sequence repeat itself,

With never an end in sight?

 

 

 

 

Hope and despair

Hope is when I walk at the dawn, at sunrise,

And believe we shall become more humane and wise,

Our focus on romancing the oceans and skies–

Our scientists shall engineer a spray-on device

To extract oxygen from water, and protect my eyes,

So I can stay underwater on long,  shallow dives,

And a full-body version, so I can live in and explore

In a microns thin pressure suit–the deep ocean’s floor!

Maybe very tiny,  very powerful jet-packs

That can be strapped on like haversacks

And let me fly over forests and mountain tracks.

Contact lenses that adjust to microscopic or telescopic vision,

Ear plugs that enhance my power to listen,

So that humans and our planet become healthier, fitter,

Cut out the showy glitter,  the waste,  the litter.

I feel despair when I trip over a stone below,

And see that the sunrise is the death of the stars’ glow.

I think the same scientists are in a rat race

With chemicals, bombs and germs to totally efface

Humankind,  leaving absolutely  no trace,

But allowing the earth to bring forth a new race–

Who will cherish her and whom she can embrace!