Castles in the air - they are so easy to take refuge in. And so easy to build, too.

आम्हां घरी धन शब्दांचीच रत्नें | शब्दांचीच शस्त्रें यत्न करुं ||
शब्द चि आमुच्या जीवांचे जीवन | शब्दें वांटूं धन जनलोकां ||
तुका म्हणे पाहा शब्द चि हा देव | शब्द चि गौरव पूजा करुं ||
- abhang of Tukaram Wolhoba Ambile of Dehu

There's No Freedom Like That of a Child's Imagination

கடலுக்கு உண்டு கற்பனைக்கு இல்லை கட்டுப்பாடு

Monday, February 16, 2009

Kala Ghoda Poems

Rock

Rock of the church
I am forbidden from sin.

Pillar of the establishment
I am forbidden to fail.

Prince of society
I am forbidden to seek myself.

Rock of the church
I want to crumble!

Pillar of the establishment
I want to escape!

Prince of society
I am just me!

Rock of the church
I shall no more be that.

Pillar of the establishment
I shall cause it to fall.

Prince of society
I am I, and that is all!

Paper

Appointment letters,
visiting cards:
pieces of paper that say
I am CEO, Field Marshal,
Minister of Railways.

Pieces of paper with ink on them
promises, commitments, obligations
soaked into the fibre.

Pieces of paper that bind
in intangible chains,
light in weight,
stronger than fetters.

But pieces of paper burn,
Pieces of paper crumble,
Pieces of paper dissolve in water.

Commitments can wash away
Obligations get torn up
Promises go up in smoke.

There shan't be any visiting cards
or other pieces of paper:
there shall only be me
and my poems and my dreams.

Scissors

Give me a pair of scissors,
and I go snip, snip, snip!

Those ears that hear everything
that I don't want heard,
Give me a pair of scissors,
and I go snip, snip, snip!

That tongue that could never
bring itself to say a kind word,
Give me a pair of scissors,
and I go snip, snip, snip!

That nose that is never content
to keep itself out of my way,
Give me a pair of scissors,
and I go snip, snip, snip!

Those ears, those tongues, those noses,
The crude society they represent,
Give me a pair of scissors,
and I go snip, snip, snip!

Temple Day

Today is temple-going day.
Queue is long with hundreds
waiting to see me:

praying to escape from sins,
praying to get easy money,
praying to resolve doubts.

Outside one shop is there
selling flowers and coconut
to bribe me inside the temple.

It is selling little cushions
for cold metal idols to rest.
It is selling brocade dresses
for Parvati lined with jari.
it is selling little cradles
for baby God to sleep in.

All for pious believers
to dress up their Gods
as if they are dolls.

Am I a doll to be adored?
Am I a doll to be played with?
Am I a doll and not a dangerous king
who will be angry if
not looked upon with awe?

Doll-god? God-doll?
Mere idolatry
of innocent faith?

I want to sleep in the baby-cradle.
I want to rest on on tiny cushions.
I want to live in that doll shop.

1 Comments:

Blogger archana venkatesh said...

very intimate....reinstated god as a living....throbbing entity that he is.

i loved it. :)

5:21 PM, February 18, 2009  

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