A Quiver Of Arrows, May 2007

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

-- H.W. Longfellow
(The Arrow And The Song) 

1. An Urban Tragedy
(A senryu sequence)

A boy hit by truck,
Lies in a pool of blood,
The driver drives on.

A complaint is made
But police say, "It is not
Our jurisdiction."

The boy was alive
When taken to hospital
But declared 'brought dead'.

The newspapers present
The news like an obit note
Buried in a nook.

The boy's parents shed
Bitter tears; they have no cash
To bury their child.

The body unclaimed
Lies in the morgue; there may be
A State funeral.

2. Sleeping Neta

Sleeping neta,
Snoring in the House.
Nobody saw him sleep,
Nobody heard him snore
For all the members in the House
Were sleeping and snoring too.
But when the neta sneezed atishoo!
And could not but blow his nose,
All the members up arose
And made a big political issue!

O these members,
Sleepless nights they spent
Canvassing for our votes.
How well they swore
As never before
That they shared our dreams
Of marching back to the golden days of yore.

The truth they spoke;
And to dream our dreams
They slept and snored in the House.
But when the neta sneezed atishoo,
He shattered the people's dreams.
That is the reason why
All the members in the House
Made a big political issue.

3. Sonnet To My Sister
(23 October 1989)

'How soon hath Time, the subtle Thief of Youth,
Stolen on his wing my three and twentieth year!'
Yes: it is true. But did I my life steer
Coupled with the force of Reason and Truth?
Ah, that I doubt. Mine years have been unsmooth
Ev'n as that of those who tirelessly strove
To make a name. I fear that I would rove
For some years and die unknown and unruth.

Sister mine! oft rings a voice in mine years,
"Vain is the light that springs from desire's flame!"
I heed that voice and mine eye droppeth tears.
Soon the tears dry and I remain the same.
O would that I would my remaining years
In Truth spend and return to whence I came!

4. The Cul-de-sac

The beaten path runs into a cul-de-sac and Madam Leela's joint.

Tinklings of glasses subside, the lights grow dim. Leftovers on
plantain leaves are thrown into the bin.

The beggar dressed in rags sits reclined undisturbed by the scribbled wall.

The bin overflows. Leftovers include half-smoked cigars, cigarettes 
and beedis and oily condoms. Some are knotted and some are not.

The guests leave by midnight, retrace their steps out of the cul-de-sac
and Madam Leela's joint.

The beggar no more sits reclined by the wall. Like an hairy ape he springs
towards the bin on fours. And so do the dogs.

The moon is full, the night is calm. The cesspool mirrors the starry skies.

5. Tennyson's Flower: A Glosa

"Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies;-
Hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower - but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is."

But how did you in the crannies grow?
Perhaps some bird let its droppings fall
On a perfect wall without a crack.
But fallen seeds no strength they lack
To cranny the wall sure and slow,
Flower in the crannied wall.

A potted plant cannot flower so well;
You break man's wall and bloom with ease.
I do understand Nature's mystic power
That makes kin each bird and flower.
But for reasons I may or may not tell,
I pluck you out of the crannies.

In maiden's tresses flowers lie
Lovelier than those across the land.
Lovely flowers bloom in crannied walls,
And blessed flowers in sacred halls
Decking household Gods; but I
Hold you here, root and all, in my hand.

The world seems so dry and stiff,
The world seems so dry and bland.
There be moments of bliss and pain
And yet no sense of loss and gain.
All cannot but only be fine if - 
Little flower - but if I could understand…

Yes, I will think and try my best
To know why man has built a wall.
But I think God, Nature and Man
Form a tight-knit human and divine clan.
So I ought to know, count myself blest,
What you are, root and all, and all in all.

Once I know what you are, root and all,
I should know that life is bliss.
Once I know the deep roots of life,
I should know both love and strife.
Once I know why man has built a wall,
I should know what God and man is.

6. To Vijay Nambisan
(A cento, 6 October 1995)

Every time I came to a difficult line
I breathed a sigh, for it seemed to be set
To a task whose glory I could not know
Or be ennobled by; but I wished myself on
(Not with reluctance) as I espied
A bluer sky and a faint radiance lighting
A line or two. I felt strangely cheered
And fancied myself closer to the Muse.

I continued to read verse after verse
Flattered by a line and deceived by the next
Till I opened the Diary Of The Expedition.
I fancied it well worth the read; and then
Breathless on a lofty pinnacle I knew
This was the highest peak in all these poems.

7. The Soap Bubble: A Paradelle

Like a floating bubble of soap 
Like a floating bubble of soap, 
The colourful globe in the air
The colourful globe in the air.
Air in the colourful bubble 
Floating like a globe of soap.
 
As on a map appears a free land
As on a map appears a free land,
Soon bursts the bubble of my dreams
Soon bursts the bubble of my dreams.
As bursts a free land on a map,
Appears soon my bubble dreams. 

When will my breath be a sigh? 
When will my breath be a sigh 
That imprisons the unfulfilled dreams? 
That imprisons the unfulfilled dreams? 
When my dreams be a will unfulfilled
My sigh imprisons the breath that dreams.

The soap bubble imprisons my breath
Floating in the air like a globe.
On that appears a colourful map
Of the land of unfulfilled dreams.
Soon my breath will be free
As a sigh when the bubble bursts!

8. The Soap Bubble: A Nonet

O what a beautiful soap bubble
Floating in the air like a globe
Whose colours bright form a map
Of the land of my dreams.
Not air but my breath
Trapped like a sigh
Until the
Bubble
Bursts! 

9. To Prof. G. Viswanathan
(A cento, 7 August 1996)

How many Eve hours had you brooded
To fuel the fusion of your poetic self,
And to spill thoughts as you grew minded
By the flash of wish to express yourself?
From your dial you slipped with lettered ease
To clock the rhythms from ampler ether,
A melange of notes that jazz and tease
Fine horses of sound and sense in tether.
You breathed your thoughts into countless elves
To blare the emotions of your soul.
Into the words the listener delves
To comprehend the meaning of the whole.
	In verse your plural splendour briefly shines
	Under The Night Sky and After The Rains.

10. An Anthem For Renouveau
(HCAS technical meet, 6 February 2006)

A sylvan campus by the lake
Is Hindustan of arts and science.
Its hall of learning sure enshrines
Wisdom's spirit ever awake.

Now Renouveau reawakens,
Goes In Pursuit of Excellence -
The motto of our alma mater,
Yesterday, now and hereafter.

True to our motto
Our thoughts shall flow
In Pursuit of Excellence.
Come join us
And sing this chorus
In Pursuit of Excellence.

In Pursuit of Excellence,
Our thoughts shall flow!
In Pursuit of Excellence,
We all shall go!

11. Sound & Light: A Diamante

                      Sound
              Rhythmic, primordial
             Rising, falling, echoing
       Melody, harmony; intensity, contrast
           Bouncing, speeding, revealing
                Colourful, celestial
                        Light

12. To Mr. K.S. Subramanian
(A cento, 25 September 1996)

Sweet is sad, sad is sweet
In the pleasant land of song
Where none but a few belong
And know its map complete.

The old want their joyful rhymes,
The young seek plain and naked Truth.
Your book offers to please them both
In tune with the changing times.

Ragpickers is a choice bouquet,
Flowery verses not minus the thorn;
May serve to prick conscience forlorn
Or show the world its own decay.

Your poetic voice cries out in horror
As groups revel in spilling blood.
Your verse will still the sordid flood
And hold to them a frank mirror.

Your book, your book must be bought
And read by all with single mind.
And those who read will surely find
Why society is mired in nought.

13. Maid-servant's Song

Some day my spouse will build a house, wait and see.
He'll buy a car and drive me far, wait and see.
The rich he'll rob for that's his job, wait and see.
I'll turn rich for sure and you'll turn poor, wait and see.
I'll make you sigh, I'll make you cry, wait and see.
You'll sweep the floors and do the chores, wait and see.
And this song I sing, from your lips will spring, wait and see.

14. The Pheasant

God shall save the queen,
But who shall save the pheasant?
The queen has wrung its neck
And sports its plumes at church.
God shall save the queen.

15. The Rose of India
(Appeared in The Madras Times, 19 November 1993)

Indira Gandhi,
The loveliest rose
That Nehru gave
To India and the world.

Her fragrance spread
From ambient fields
To all encompassing space
Through the rainbow arch.
Hence
Rakesh Sharma
Flew to soaring heights
To mark the beginning
Of India's conquest of space.

Born with a purpose,
Born to fulfil 'Garibi hatao!'
Garibi hatao, the abolition of poverty,
She smiled
To light the stars,
To illumine the way.

But,
Nearly a decade ago,
Death came pitiless
And
With a rude hand
Plucked the rose away.

Who did not weep that day?
Even stony hearts
Had a tear to shed.

But the rose
Did not wither away.
It blows in another clime
Where the gods do dwell.

Still its fragrance pervades
The soul and the land.
Every drop of blood she shed
Serves as oil
To feed the lamp of love.

16. Ode to Bhairavi

Fair Empress, the winds rouse the sleeping buds.
See them bloom so fair in various hues;
The reeds are filled with music soft
And birds sing songs of praise upon the bough.
The waves roll upon the peaceful shore
And seem to chant a vedic hymn.
All, all for thee, thou blessed Queen!
Victory to thee, victory to thee!
Victory to thee, our beloved Queen!

How lightly you wear the sparkling crown,
How sweetly sways your righteous sceptre;
These shew to us that thou
Came to serve and not to reign.
Enchantress! thou hast chained the devil
And transfixed it on a tree.
The dark spirit shrieked like an owl
And strove in vain to break its chains.

Who shalt have the heart to frown
When thou pass by in thy majesty?
The tigers may lurk in the deep woods
And crouch to prey on thee.
But when thy crescent smile they behold,
They shalt grow as mild as a lamb
And play about thy lotus feet.

Hail, hail to thee, O Bhairavi!
Rivers shall flow once again
And roll on to kiss the Bengal bay.
And devotees shall throng thy shrine
To worship thy countenance.
Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti.

17. Hymn to Bhairavi

With a crimson ball in her arm
Morn appears with rosy cheeks
And wakens sweet Silence from her dreams
Of the moon and jewelled stars of Night.
And Silence glad inclines her conched ears
To hear the whispers of the breeze,
The flap of wings, the ditties of birds
And the serene melodies of waking thoughts.

This is the day... this the day
Each rose shalt blow without the thorn
And each bee shed its thorny sting.
This is the day which returns with Spring
To mark this glorious day of days
On which our beloved Queen was born...
Yea, Bhairavi our beloved Queen...

The priests in every house of worship
Chant thy name and hymn thy praise,
For thou always bend thine ear
To list to the poor man's plight;
And thy starry eye and moonlight smile
Illumines the peasant's sorrowed heart.
Thou was born to create and not to destroy,
Was born to fulfil the eternal law -
Whenever adharma waxes and dharma wanes -
To take a human shape on earth
And strengthen the arms of those who toil
And wipe from their eyes the tears they shed.

Yet 'tis true, though strange it seem, that thou
Wast never born nor canst ever die,
But hast ever been and is and shall be,
The alpha and omega, the beginning and end!
Each chaste heart is thine, where enshrined
Deign to accept this our solemn hymn.

18. To Prof. S. Shankar
(A cento, 2 September 1999)

Thoughts enclosed in buds poised to bloom;
Thoughts in an evening's gathering gloom.
Thoughts pregnant, phototropic
Awaiting a rosy morn.

Thoughts hurrying down darkened doorways;
Thoughts seeking the sun's bright rays.
To move, to provoke, to inspire
Fallow fields of weeds and corn.

Thoughts striving in a deadwood world;
Thoughts inscribed on a flag unfurled.
Remaking the hearts of men
In a Utopia unborn.

Thoughts playing but not just with rhymes;
Thoughts fragmented by trying times.
These poems of Shankar overflow
Into the hearts of men forlorn.

19. A New World

Many beauty queens
Throng this House of Fame
With immortal longings...

Here there is no earth
But a mosaic floor
And a parade of flesh.

Here there are no skies
But a painted roof
And thoughts with wanton wings.

Here there's no water
But whisky and gin
And tongues salivating.

Here there is no air
But cigarette smoke
And the breath of passion.

Here there is no light
But glittering jewels
And eyes burning with lust.

Quit this House of Shame!
Seize the earth, the skies,
Water, air and light…
Come, fashion a new world...

20. Shakuni

Roll, roll the dice.
Shakuni, thou lord of Chance,
To thy tune Fate will dance.
Roll, roll the dice.

Roll, roll the dice.
Shakuni, thou lord of Fate,
At thy feet Chance will wait.
Roll, roll the dice.