I wonder if it is life that is moving
Through my stationery body
Or is it me stumbling and bumbling
Like a drunk, through a life that is still
And unmoving with every decision
As meaningless as any other?
Or are we like a photograph swept across
Geographies and histories by the currents
Of memories, longing for a touchdown
Despising the buffeting and the uncertainties
Not wishing to be locked-up in the album of eternity
For we love whatever little we see from our precarious position?
Or are we mere grammatical symbols
Of the language that the Gods speak?
We are questions, exclamations, pauses
And even smart sentences
Or intelligent snippets of some celestial chat.
Hope the Gods record their conversations!
Arvind Passey
12 February 2013
4 comments
Saru Singhal says:
Feb 12, 2013
One of your best. I loved it!
Arvind Passey says:
Feb 13, 2013
Thanks a lot, Saru… poetry just happens, you cannot force the words to come and arrange themselves into a poem. That is, if you don’t wish to write something that appears contrived and made-up.
Kriti says:
Feb 13, 2013
Arvind this is by far my best piece in your blog! I loved loved it not only because it is beautifully written but also because you dealt with a matter that keeps me wondering too. Loved being here as always…
Arvind Passey says:
Feb 13, 2013
Thanks a lot Kriti… but poetry doesn’t really aim to solve any mystical or spiritual enigmas. At best, it can attempt to show you a glimpse… the rest is left to the reader and the way he/she chooses to get into the thick of that experience.