Yasmin Sawhney

POEMS & PAINTINGS

ENIGMA

‘Nirvana’ – (freedom from rebirth and death),
proclaims
that for eternal bliss
one must detach from life,
reflect alone and journey into self.
All able, abstract dampers
of the human spark.

Yet no one’s ever returned to say
if evasion or escape
taught them aught
or brought them what they sought
or whether life is but a vivid dream in death
or death but an interlude in life....
Eons of endeavor
have not yet said or read
who lives, who dies
or why or when
or where we stand today -
at the gate of death
or at the door of another birth.

The enigma remains.
The soul slides unmindful of
world-words and blurred-bounds
of birth and death,
for some live but only after death;
and some live but every moment die.

In this spinning disk of shade and sheen;
who knows which came first
the blossom or the seed -
death then birth or birth then death.

So blink not.
Drink merely to what is,
not to what may or may not be
and seek not
‘Nirvana’ – (freedom from rebirth and death).

MAQBOOL FIDA HUSAIN

M - Metaphor Man
Marvelous thinker
Master of the bristle tool
Maverick
Magician
Movie-maker and
above all a
Misread
Monk.

F - Fertile mind,
Febrile too....
Willful child ……. of a Greater God
Fabled
Flush with Funds.
Famed,
sometimes
Framed.
Fountainhead of line and lore
Making
Forms dance
to his personal score.

H - High priest of
Harmony and
Hue.
High-flying sage
of the snow-white locks, Lolita lips
spindly-hands, unshod feet
and figure of stacked sticks.

Unruffled, writing -
writing a fresh
History
of ‘new-age’ Indian Art.

ALONE

People milling
bodies and souls,
to and fro
like marching ants.

The old
wondering
why their hinges hold them
pondering the futility of it all;

The young
spiraling into nowhere,
hustling those
that tap not to the tenor of Time
and the impassioned few
branding their burning beliefs
on half-baked minds.
They move, jostling each other,

often stepping on toes;
surrounded so in body
but in the depth of their souls
battling
their hidden spooks
alone.
Quite alone!

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Find your space

Woman friend !
You yet may walk
or you've already trod this trail :
of bruised knuckles,
tattered toe-nails,
graying strands ;

you may have
fostered food and brood
oft with no support ;
trudged quite alone
lengthy labyrinths
and toilsome heights ;

stepped from foyer to foyer
with low lights
of deep-stowed stubs of snubs,
of self-doubt
slapped on to your mind ;

stood forever,
waiting,
waiting for love's ebbed tide
to turn ;

yet walked
more miles
fusing
furious musings
with masks of soothing smiles.
Resurrect now !
Shift the lips of life
far beyond
to taste of paradise ;

go gather those masks
even off friends,
feed them to the winds;

fumigate
to ferret out fear,
let it zigzag far into the night;
step over stifling holy books
holding God's hand;

tamper with puffed egos,
let their breath bolt
in sudden gasps;
break shackles
link by scarring link;

then stride back to the queue,
to find your space,
up on the platform of life;
let not pretence of brief adoration
or false prompts
spoil a brilliant show,
for
you too
are God's special child.

Dreams in the sky

Unfettered soul
rootless, leafless tree,
tracing spirals in the sky,
Its craggy arms
pierce wordy well-springs
in search of loftier lights.

Stoically it stands
gazing
at the disorder
of disasters and godsends -
deeds of a dazzling white dice;

at wealth-gatherers
bickering for that elusive elixir
as ultimate gleanings
from the rooms of Life.

The tree
neither query has,
nor decree nor antidote
humming Zeno’s song
it has moved to
new dreams
new concerns
and other skies.

Don’t let the clamour die

When unfair lashes fly
don’t hide,
show the lesions
dig to the depths
reach beyond the skies
but don’t let the clamour die.

And when the circle of friends
diminishes to a distant dot -
as it will,
flay the frown,
pick up the gauntlet
just don’t let the clamour down.

“Its all on a person’s will” they say
If the volleys are right
the returns will come
so beat the barrel, tell an honest tale
but never ever let the clamour pale.

For from the depths of pain
amazing powers flow
from mumbles and low rumbles
great crescendos grow
So keep on, try, try
Just don’t let the clamour die.

India is shining

India is shining !
her whining unheard from unlit hearths,
her people hungering and parched
for drops of water,
for the throb of jobs,
for a bit of shift in unending queues,
for a place in the shade
or a spot in the sun.

India is shining!
split and set
like the multi-toed foot of an elephant:
the Hindus,
laying aside their ‘all embracing’ stance,
wielding weapons,
parting people
placing them on sills, in slots;
the Muslims,
cocooned in their own archaic beliefs,
swinging between
firm-fisted shouts for jihad
and murmurs for support ;
the Christians,
scattered and marooned
without ‘Christ speak’--
to “love”, to “serve”,
to “turn the other cheek”
and the Sikhs
who broke away to whittle a new path,
circling back
to the same mud-splattered mark.

India is shining, indeed
winding fast back
into the pages of the past;
to just before
the Mughals and the British made a pass;
to just before
She tumbled from the pinnacle
to touch hard rock,
all because
She’s becoming, once more,
like the multi-toed foot of an elephant
instead of an un-split hoof of a horse.

Different Perspectives

What you see far beyond
as a circle of haze
I see as a beckoning light.

What you make out to be
mere lamp-posts
I see as milestone to aim for
and swiftly leave behind.

That snaking shadow
you see sneaking away
I perceive as a possible avenue
and the shoulders you suppose
seem a trifle tired and bent
I see as holding up wings –
wings unfurled
and poised to soar.

The perspectives no doubt are different
for you measure with a logical mind
and I sense as an aspiring soul.

Kindred souls

Isolated
by a wildly scrambling world,
a broken soul groans.
Somewhere,
like watchful Does
kindred souls stir.

Bound by an
unseen cord they come:
in person; online;
alone or in a combine -
manifest as a newfound friend;
an exceptional medicine man
or a fleeting comment
by a stranger passing by.

Thoughts swapped
are healed and set aside;
pain feather-stroked
by profoundly perceptive palms
and fears flung off
in the warmth of rekindled trust.

And the soul begins to know –
Divinity never errs!
It fathoms
and when It’s time is right
always,
always It stills
the groan of the heart.

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