Author Archives: gitabharath

About gitabharath

ex- teacher, banker, likes word games.

The search

I am a seeker trying hard to find

The reason for my existence in my own mind.

A restlessness that I cannot define

Drives me along, a relentless urge,

Uniquely mine, a swelling upsurge

Of energy that will not be denied,

A personal ,powerful, roaring riptide

That carries me along in its wake,

That throws up seeming treasures for me to take.

I have scrambled for, given undue importance to gold,

Striven for learning,  climbed up power’s scaffold ,

And I am just  learning that these are a tenuous toehold

To That which I seek-  the multifaceted, manifold,

Spark of divinity in me , that’s  my soul.

And when finally, the waves of Maya are stilled,

I shall glimpse my true nature, and rest, fulfilled.






The imaginary

In a universe so vast, it is easy to miss

Or as a human-in-a-hurry, overlook , dismiss,

A probability, a possibility, that maybe, that is.

But I cannot  say for sure This will never be, or was not

Even if It’s  never seen, although long-sought.

On the current of space-time, up- or- downstream,

Exists every possible permutation of nightmare or dream.

And if there are truths invisible to me and to you,

Conversely, am I a wraith, or  am I real, am I true?




Cartographer, please help me to find

A tool to map my uncharted mind,

Or to create a model that I can use

To select the paths to the goals I choose.

I fear quicksands of idleness, and deep crevasses

Of despair, I want to locate the narrow passes

Of hope.

I search for pointers that’ll help me cope

With challenges.

My brain itself is the tool , you say?

How I ask you can clay shape clay?

If I harden and sharpen my intellect

Will it become rigid— a mould

That cannot flex , adapt, relearn,

Let go of the obsolete, the old?

I also need guidelines to energize and enthuse

The ninety percent of my brain that I never use

This lost potential, uncharted domain—

What a waste of resource, an idling brain,

Non-creative, consuming energy, a useless drain,

An increasingly unaffordable strain

On humanity!





We saw him first as a dot in the sky–

The traveller from a far-off world,

And after he landed, it took a really long time

To interact, translate,communicate.

In some ways, he was rather primitive,

Hadn’t harnessed fully the power of thought,

But energetic, eager to learn  and quite ready to be taught.

So now, in our galactic survey maps,

There’s a planet newly added

(Though out on a spiral arm of the galaxy, the boondocks of space),

It’s re-classified as  inhabited by a civilised race–

We’ve included the space traveller’s planet of  birth

The blue- green planet he calls – the Earth!

Size matters

I looked down the microscope at an ant

And found his eye looking up at me.

Two pieces of curved, ground glass

And the very large and very small

Lose their quality of hocus-pocus

As my understanding sharpens it’s focus.

And where do I fit into the cosmic scale

Of size and might?

I do have an inflated ego,  but–

Surely I cannot be at the centre of the infinite!



A wave rose up out of the sea

A briefly glimpsed individuality.

His head was a foaming froth –

Of thoughts and dreams,

A bubbling broth.

He swept up nacreous shell from the brine,

Multihued mother-of-pearl ,a-shine.

Busily he rushed up on the wet sand

To leave his mark for posterity on the land.

Quietly he ebbed back,  once more to merge

With the ocean’s amorphous surge.

Pieces of broken shell remain on this shore,

While a wave takes shape afar once more.





The loom

The right half of my brain and the left

Weave together the warp and weft —

The pattern that makes me –me.

From all that I experience and see,

They choose the sight, the taste, the sound,

The bare fact and the intricate surround:

The alarm clock that marks the dawn’s advance,

The stray sunbeam where the dust-motes dance,

Both segue together, intertwine,

A design I appropriate as mine.

But I am too close,too involved to see

The pattern in its entirety.

And when I do see it, when my life is done,

I’ll probably find my tapestry is just one

Tiny thread of millions that interlace

To depict the panorama of the human race!