The Reprisal

Ponytail by Last Exit

Her hair lost all help from its folds,
It calmly spread itself all around
Their heinous and voracious eyes.
She lost the magnificent art of her curls,
As she was being ripped apart
And chopped clean and bald.
Weeks on, she hid her from her own eyes,
Hours on, she buried herself in cries,
Each second, she loathed the ticking clock.
The hatred she braved grew its own hairs,
It ravished with each moment of her wrath,
It violently spread itself around all life.
She choked with its overpowering force,
All it took was a final pact of truce,
And she let it out with a potent scream.
They were waiting for her lustful gaze,
She provided them with enough charm,
That they never saw the poignant umbrage.
They smelled her like some meek dogs,
Like a python slithering around a prey, Her hair
Fervently swirled over their slothful frames.

Nataraja | The Lord of Dance

Art : Nataraja by Satheesh Kanna
All the reverberations of the world nestled
In a tiny speck that glowed bright,
Like beads in a necklace, It united with
The mighty hands of a violent Lord.
The speck, moved along like a Cobra,
It wrestled to be released, A space
Overpowering, yet calm waited
For the Cobra to taste his infinity.
The Lord held the flames of wrath on his left hand,
He clutched onto it with a rage unmatched,
With it all powers shall crumble down,
With it all creations shall see annihilation.
Umbraged, liberated and fearsome,
The speck escaped his hands, Fire
Spread all around the Lords’ head, For once
The speck was here, next it was there.
It encircled the Lord in a heavenly tune,
The frenzy uplifted the Lord,
His hands moved to push the flame,
Onto the circling speck.
In a flash of ambrosial light and sound,
The speck exploded and whizzed all around,
The Lord went onto a fury of power,
He felt his waist circling with divine force,
He saw his hands moving to the exalted hymn,
His legs making steps against ignorance,
He found the world pay prostrations as he,
The Shiva discharged his fury by performing the cosmic dance,
The Tandava.

Notes
Fritjof Capra, a renowned physicist in a search for connection between Eastern mysticism and modern Physics suggested a revolutionary idea, that Shiva’s Tandava was a sub atomic phenomenon. I have tried to portray the beginning of the universe in connection with the Tandava. Here the speck is a point that existed before the big bang. The speck being seen ‘here and there’ marks its dual nature which is an exciting behavior of sub-atomic particles. Shiva is an image of a power that provides for the big bang. If any clarifications are required do ask.
Here is the extract from Fritjof Capra’s essay :
“Modern physics has shown that the rhythm of creation and destruction is not only manifest in the turn of the seasons and in the birth and death of all living creatures, but is also the very essence of inorganic matter and for the modern physicists, then, Shiva’s dance is the dance of subatomic matter.  Hundreds of years ago, Indian artists created different forms of visual images of dancing Shiva in a beautiful series of bronzes. In our time, physicists have used the most advanced technology to portray the patterns of the cosmic dance. The metaphor of the cosmic dance thus unifies ancient mythology, religious art and modern physics.”
For more visit :  http://www.spaceandmotion.com/Philosophy-Fritjof-Capra.htm

And here is a good article on the Nataraja :  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nataraja

Sunflowers

Art : Abstract Sunflowers by Janis Zroback
Why do Sunflowers face the Sun?
Is it for to keep them by,
Or is it what that keeps them right?
By the veil of a darkening cloud,
The light separated my solitary walks,
The truth I searched for was spurious,
Sometimes it led me astray, And I gazed
At these wild passel of Sunflowers.
For a diurnal spread of flowers,
The Sun ripen into the truth,
For a hard going, homo sapien
As nocturnal as a day-blind bat,
There is no conviction to endorse.
So, I say the Sunflowers face the Sun
To catch their stroke of nonchalant life,
The search for truth is truth indeed!

Something About The Sea

Painting : Radiant Sea by Karen Winters

O, the vastness that spreads before me
Of countless waves being born and dismissed,
Makes me feel the ignobility of being me.
The sea is an overpowering poem,
Upon its shores I gaze onto infinity,
The waves crush me and my thoughts,
I shuffle between spells of admiration,
And fear of nature’s brute.
A gust of wind uproots me from the Earth,
The boats in the horizon seems closer,
Slowly now, I feel I am merging
With the commanding power of the waves,
I feel one, I feel flight,
O, the vastness of the Seas.!!

An Ode to a Falling Bud

Photograph : Child Fighting Cancer
Courtesy : The Deirdre Imus Environmental Health Center
An ode be to you, my falling bud,
You fell onto a world of famished calm,
Ignored, tortured, and in darkness’ helm,
And still you remain,
In a world of silent dreams.

In your dreams you see the bloom,
Love that fill your fragile mind,
Hopes blossom, life shines,
And colors all around.

But all your dreams seems plucked,
You hold your fragile petals, now dry,
Before they ever tasted the Sun,
Before they ever felt the dew
And its sweet lullabies.

Yet the garden of your dream,
Hold birds, butterflies and light,
Its valleys are brewing
With scents thrown all around.

The ode be to you gentle one,
Lost in the fury of a grueling life,
Yet your dreams take you
To a place where you dance, In a shower
Of unperturbed bliss and lasting springs.

Swing on Around

Photograph: George Eastman Collection 1908
Courtesy : Sepia Saturday
   

Days when the world seemed flat vanished,
Is it knowledge that made the world go round?
I would think it was the decay of the bones,
Now the body wrestles to budge, I find
My mind in a nostalgic loitering,
And in its lonesome walks I reach a past
Filled with an array of amazing sights.
The world is no longer round,
It is in fact, gracefully upside down!
Beside me are friends, quite a bunch,
I find my grips going tight, I wish to stay,
Is it the mind that ceased to grow?
Or is it the body that has greedily overgrown?
I feel tired looking back now.
Before I close my eyes, I want to do,
I want to lift these torrid years of existence,
Upside down, downside up,
Swing meticulously, cry out loud
In a happiness that gives no bounds,
Maybe I would grow too old for all these,
But my mind shall love the time!
Prompted by Sepia Saturday

Sail on Along, my Friend

Art by Benfoster

As you lay nestled besides your fears,
Like a surprised saint when he tastes truth,
Do not fall into a fret my friend,
Cause all stories begin from nothing,
All empires rise from pure debris,
And all dreams begin from a whisper!
Still your soul wishes to march down?
Well, then my hands shall embrace you,
Like a sail that guides a loitering ship,
I shall keep your life aright amidst tides.
While you search for new shores,
I shall hold you safe, come what may!
Take your life with you, do not forget,
Cause someday the sails may snap,
Sans doubt, swim to the nearest shore,
The sails shall float in salt and sea,
And surely reach for, when you need,
Then we shall build a new ship, and ride!
So get back up my friend, To rise
Time inevitably strikes opportune!
Walk, run, sail and never stop,
Surely now all fears are yours to conquer,
All sorrows yours to slaughter,
And we will ride, come what may!

 Written for Carry on Tuesday. Prompt was “Come What May”.

Rekindle!

So all stories melt away like snow,
Before the heart finds its abode,
The body has played out its show.

It is not often we find truths,
It is not often we find paths,
And it is not often we live.

In a trance between life and death,
We float in the chambers of hope,
We live to let live, We live to let climb.

The steep stairs of faith narrows,
The road ahead seems dark, with time,
It is then you rekindle your fire.

The fire was born with you,
He lived all his life with you,
But do you know his essence?

The ones who knew found paths,
The ones who knew radiated shine,
The ones who knew kept it burning.

A story is meant to melt,
With a bit of fire rekindled,
It melts quicker, but burns brighter.

So all stories melt away like snow,
Before the body has played its show,
Let your heart find the abode.

The Search For Beauty | Dedicated to All Mothers on this Mother’s Day

Painting : Quench by Katie.M.Berggren
O, beautiful world,
What grace and love do you keep?
I walked along your coast,
To find a shore of charm,  
But came back with nothing at all.
Abashed, destroyed and polluted,
The world belongs in disarray,
No song is sweet,
No flowers are bright,
No beings provide delight.
Amidst my falling hopes,
I stumbled upon a moving view,
A snuggled baby in a mother’s arms,
And two bright eyes providing shade,
Solace and eternal love.
In those arms rests the comfort of all,
In those eyes remains brightness paramount,
In those beats, hidden, is love beyond,
In her heart reside the beauty I searched for!

Rise!

Young Woman Picking the Fruit of Knowledge, 1892 by Mary Cassatt

Winds no longer blew her hair astray,
The last bout with medicines stifled,
She stared blankly at the side walls,
White, clean and ominously uniform,
She too was an overgrown part of it.

Tranquil, frail and solaced; she lost hope,
Scavenging away tears made her suffocate,
She felt the comfort of death in the air,
She felt its poignant lips kiss her,
As she closed her eyes and breathed.

A relief from the toil seemed afar,
She always held two glasses in her hands,
One was filled with the tears she shed,
The other held the nectar of faith,
Both tasted pathetic now.

But with a final struggle of life,
Her blood raged with an animosity,
She threw away her glass of tears,
Her sight was redeemed with light,
She could feel faith burning, though
Unlike before, she could feel it sweet.

With a brewing desire at life,
She smiled, she laughed and chased butterflies,
She danced, she sang and made others smile,
She dreamed, she hoped and loved all,
She rose, she lived and kissed the skies.