Aurobindo
I see him
See him
Lost in sadhna,
Yoga-sadhna
Writing Savitri
In Ashrama premises
And the cottage
For sadhna.
The old man,
The old sage,
Sri Aurobindo,
In the whites
In Pondicherry Ashrama
Lost in sadhna
Writing The Life Divine
As the flower of sadhna
Of meditative ruminations
And reminiscences.
The old sage
Sri Aurobindo
In the whites,
The yogi
In meditation,
In Pondicherry Ashrama,
The guru,
The spiritual guru,
Master of
Transcendental meditation.
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Jhumur,
I too swayed,Swayed and dancedTo the beatsOf traditionalDrum music.Jhumur,Jhumur songAs such the rhythm,BeatThat it making you dance,Compelling youTo shakeThe feet.
Julie, I love you,
Julie,Forgetting it all,It allI have come,Come to youForgetting it allAll that binds you,Binds me.Julie, if this be,This be notThat you will forget me,That I will you,If this be,This be notThat I will you,You will me.Julie, Julie,I love you,Love youBy my heart and soulEven though the world standsIn between you and me,I shall even then be…
Suppose your son turns into a bad boy,
Will you curse your fateOr call a sin of your previous life?Who can say it what it is in his life,What in the life of my son,I think well of them,But it will happen accordingly?People praise me as I keep giving to the world,But when stop I the world come to a stopAnd it is…
Will not my wit and humour turn me into a joker, a joker of Indian English poetry,
Never learnt to be serious,Always smiling,Never learnt to keep quiet,To shut up the mouth?As always, sitting on the last benches, whistling,Like the old and ageing student, a senior and big brother,Mustached and old, cracking jokes with his smaller batchmatesAnd making the old teacher beat othersAnd he the Paglet and disciplinarian teacherThreatening to come with a…
Kashmir is not of the pundits,
But of theirs,Only theirsWho are demanding for azadi,Azadi for Kashmir,Wanting to liberate for themselves,Not for them tooWho too are the membersAnd whose consensus too matters on it?
Something is definitely admirable
But something is vehemently sociologicalWhich but you cannotIf get you not trapped in.After mixing with, you will come to knowHow obstinate and arrogant,Superstitious and cruel and callousAre they.As they know it not the languageof the heart,But of the bodyAs they like to go for a killAnd drink.Once I could not compromise withAs for the beautiful…
the detox center…
the boy turned to him:
‘pray for me…’
‘son, i prayed for you
when i took you in,
when i sat and listened,
when i fed you,
and cleaned you up…
now pray for me,
and most of all for yourself,
when you walk through that door
like a man, and ask for help! ‘
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they destroyed the Native Americans,
to slavery with a sword….and built freedom on this premise…on the backs of African-American slaves,and immigrants that fled oppression….now the actions of the pastare demanding their price!and the battle againwill be fierce and harsh!freedom isnt built on oppression!they’ll be no more herding,we are not cattle!
we who grieve are the children of journey,
our hearts are bruised, our backs are bent,our feet determined and weary.we who search the darkness to know the light,who are the beat and hunger of human existence.who cannot separate the suffering of those in need,who know that walls are bridges not crossed.we who stink of loss and sweat pure sin,who enter the temples of…
living in broke down cars,
waiting for tomorrow that wont come.wash your clothes in dirty sinks,your hands bruised, your hunger stinks,when they come you wont run.or sleeping in the alleyways,too damn tired to care or pray,waiting to stand in line.bad dope and broken glass,forget you ever had a past,trade forever for a dime.stamp the numbers on your head.you’re just one…
stop the bombing…
murder is murder!violence never brings peace.there is no ‘God’who ever justifiedone group of peoplekilling everyonethat is different.no one people are superior…hell, no one is superiorto anyone else…nobody ever has the rightto own anybody!quit stacking bodiesin the ditches…stop digging the ditches!stop the bombing!
we live on faith,
yet every step ordainedby destiny!my father thunder and lightning;my mother the wind,i cannot call by name,but am always in its grasp.through bruise and scar,despair and suffering.i may question the night,i may despise the day….but i keep moving with the rhythmof waves stroked by the moon….my father speaks!my mother wipes my brow;and my lover, the rain,…
war is the action mankind takes
an actual fear of living.we fear death, not because it’sthe end, but because we havent lived!and so it’s ‘easier’ for us to kill ourneighbors than to face ourselves,and see ourselves in other peoples…we fear God, we fear life and death,and we’re terrified of ourselves!
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An old man sat beneath a tree
Alone;
So still was he
That, if he had been carved in stone,
He could not be
More quiet or more cold:
He was an ancient man
More than
A thousand ages old.
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A little girl and a big ugly man
And asking to go home, but when she ranHe hit her on the head and sent her flying,And called her a young imp, and said he’d breakHer neck unless she went with him, and thenHe smacked her on the cheek.—I was a snakeAt that time crawling through a robber’s den,And diamonds were sticking to my…
The wind stood up and gave a shout.
Kicked the withered leaves aboutAnd thumped the branches with his handAnd said that he’d kill and kill,And so he will and so he will.
I was frightened, for a wind
Something that was in my mindYesterday—Something that I did not knowCould be found out by the wind,I had buried it so lowIn my mind.
The leaves are fresh after the rain,
The sun is shining warm again,The sparrows hopping in the laneAre brisk and full of cheer.And that is why we dance and play,And that is why we sing,Calling out in voices gay,We will not go to school to-dayOr learn anything:It is a happy thing, I say,To be alive on such a day.
The moon comes every night to peep
And I pretend to be asleep;But I watch the moon as it goes by,And it never makes a sound.It stands and stares, and then it goesTo the house that’s next to me,Stealing on its tippy-toes,To peep at folk asleep maybe;And it never makes a sound.
I saw God. Do you doubt it?
I saw the Almighty Man. His handWas resting on a mountain, andHe looked upon the World and all about it:I saw Him plainer than you see me now,You mustn’t doubt it.He was not satisfied;His look was all dissatisfied.His beard swung on a wind far out of sightBehind the world’s curve, and there was lightMost fearful…
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bent like a sickle.
Translated by Robert Hass
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You left in the morning, at evening my heart is in a
Why is it so far away?Thinking of you, I go up on the hill and wander.Around the hill, why is it such a sadness?Dandelions yellow and shepherds-purse blooming white —not anyone to look at them.I hear a pheasant, calling and calling fervently.Once a friend was there across the river, living.Ghostly smoke rises and fades away…
Spring
with smug self confidencea haikai poet.Longer has become the daytime;a pheasant is flutteringdown onto the bridge.Yearning for the BygonesLengthening days,accumulating, and recallingthe days of distant past.Slowly passing days,with an echo heard here in acorner of Kyoto.The white elbowof a priest, dozing,in the dusk of spring.Into a nobleman,a fox has changed himselfearly evening of spring.The light…
He’s on the porch,
how hot it is!Translated by Robert Hass
Early summer rain–
two of them.Translated by Robert Hass
White blossoms of the pear
reading a letter.Translated by Robert Hass
Blown from the west,
in the east.Translated by Robert Hass