[A poem dedicated to Pablo Neruda, but wrote it becasue of my friend Ashmi.
Wrote it after Ashmi made me lsiten to the first three lines of “Tonight I can Write” put to music from Kuhu’s house . Wrote for the first time after three months when Jan tests and assignments made me dry up like desert sand.
Got the courage to upload the poem after Nikesh Murali 's encouraging email. Read his poem Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines in Muse India ]
Got the courage to upload the poem after Nikesh Murali 's encouraging email. Read his poem Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines in Muse India ]
I’m the son of a farmer
From the two arms of the Creator’s Son
Four faces, eight eyes born of lust
I can hear you
weep
I can feel your presence from
My right ears, to my heart
Fleeting like a butterfly
I’m the farmer’s son
Who scoops up gold
From alluvial soil
And water, where river dolphins bathe
You are far, far away from me
A people’s poet, they say
They say, you sing for men
Who fight against the flour for bread
And drink tea in noisy, crowded lanes
With a torn, soiled shoe on one hand
And needle on other
a long-tailed needle
People’s poet, they say you are
How can you be one?
You are separated from me
By so many people
People with mansions
And mobility
With mobiles and money
And many-many generations of
Breeding
It’s not a culture that separates
It’s a bank-balance, inaccessibility
And ruddy elitism of books
That ceaselessly grows between uslike rain forests
or bee-hives humming
This distance, altitude
Will remain
Till bee-hives keep melting on a round moon day
Till rain forests keep aiming to touch the eternal blue
This distance will remain
Till the moon is not a piece of green cheese
Yet so far, yet so near
Your voice, through the entangled wools of ions
Can stir a million emotions in me
So near, yet so far
Separated by rain forests and melodious bees
Green cheese moon
And dollars and dollars of distance.
From the two arms of the Creator’s Son
Four faces, eight eyes born of lust
I can hear you
weep
I can feel your presence from
My right ears, to my heart
Fleeting like a butterfly
I’m the farmer’s son
Who scoops up gold
From alluvial soil
And water, where river dolphins bathe
You are far, far away from me
A people’s poet, they say
They say, you sing for men
Who fight against the flour for bread
And drink tea in noisy, crowded lanes
With a torn, soiled shoe on one hand
And needle on other
a long-tailed needle
People’s poet, they say you are
How can you be one?
You are separated from me
By so many people
People with mansions
And mobility
With mobiles and money
And many-many generations of
Breeding
It’s not a culture that separates
It’s a bank-balance, inaccessibility
And ruddy elitism of books
That ceaselessly grows between uslike rain forests
or bee-hives humming
This distance, altitude
Will remain
Till bee-hives keep melting on a round moon day
Till rain forests keep aiming to touch the eternal blue
This distance will remain
Till the moon is not a piece of green cheese
Yet so far, yet so near
Your voice, through the entangled wools of ions
Can stir a million emotions in me
So near, yet so far
Separated by rain forests and melodious bees
Green cheese moon
And dollars and dollars of distance.
Twenty Love Poems and A Song of Despair
Photograph courtesy: Nobelprize.org
1st February, 2007
21:17:12 hrs
4 comments:
I enjoyed this. :) "Tonight I can write..." is one of my FAVOURITE poems. It makes me sigh every time. Such perfection.
Hey, thanks a lot, come again... “love is so short, forgetting is so long”-these are my favourite lines! Glad to meet you. :)
Aruni beautiful lines mate. I think its time you started thinking of a collection of poems to whet the appetite of us poetry lovers. Count me in as the first customer.
Hey Nikesh, thanks for the encouraging words; but I owe this to you, for convincing me to upload it..Otherwise I wouldnt have! Really...!
:-)
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