A few more – from Suresh Sethi

COVID-19

Krishna,

I know you love to show off your magical powers—

To bring massive upheavals on this earth:

And then justify them with your old excuse—

‘ I have to reduce the burden of Mother Earth’.

 

Hence the great war of Mahabharata;

Followed by countless, wars, floods and famines—

And now Covid-19,

Your latest arrow from your armory of Maya.

( to add insult to injury you admit you could have prevented all of them)!

 

I admit and acknowledge:

 That you are the Big Boss of the Cosmos—

And you are legally allowed to do anything you want to do:

But please for a change—

Can’t you send us the virus of: love, peace & happiness—

I mean just for a change?  


Lullaby

 

Beloved, day has come to an end—

celestial fire gone over the city fence.

Now the night comes a timely reprieve

for a daily panic:

finicky like the street traffic.

 

Set down your limbs for solace

and seek a kiss of grace

Say with a faithful chant: for a lonely want—

a confessional prayer

and go over with reverential fear.

 

Beloved, for a few hours let all doubts subside

and seek shelter in the dark.

Gently go over to sleep;

never mind to-night:

for tomorrow’s chronic rise.


 

            From my diary, November, 1979

 

Winterline

obscures likes wingtips

in the acataleptic shade.

Stars

coruscate like a tooth in the dark.

Pines

are silent in the accrescent cricket wails;

as wind

goes rustling through their blind eyes.

Chill

feeling my bones fuses sleep.

My mouth

is stale with nicotine.

Eyelids

flicker hesitantly like

much discussed ideas half-explained.

Legs

wobble and long for sleep.

 

                                    Poem

 

Already the swollen crevices of the heart

flood the pores of veins;

and memory with her illusive taunts

throws fear’s goblet stains.

 

Outside, winter creeps on soft soles.

The men go about their ways.

Only an occasional exuberance of wind

tells the parting of summer days.

 

Soon the moon will be a copper coin

sky heavily painted with blood;

and my reverberations like ill-begotten sons

shall tear my bed loose.

 

On the last ride when siren’s wail

shall sear through the traffic lights,

and I flutter alone within cold walls;

beloved, please be by my side.

 

 

 

 

               O God!

 

Some times:

let me suck at your breasts

for succor like a child.

 

Some times:

let me sleep in your lap,

my head resting with assurance on your strong thighs.

 

Some times:

with your vast wisdom

wean out my thread of life

from the entanglements of this world.

 

Some times:

show me the way out

from the confusions of dead ends.

 

Some times:

stop this incessant ticking

of the metronome of my head.

 

Some times:

lift me lovingly like a grandfather

who never asks any questions.


 Obituary

Brilliant like the sun at noon,

and reporting like the nervous telephone;

the latest OCA News lies on my desk

with corporate graphs, minutes, tasks

of winter ahead. And embroidered here

on the last page of the year,

‘Lala’, your obituary is cut

out and zeroed like a bomber’s target.

The little extra I know about you is

accidental, the rest between stodgy covers

like any reference stands

an index for the groping hands.

In a two minutes silence

(mutely staring at my buttons)

I pay an official condolence:

You, who were one of us.


                                                                   

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