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7月16日
| The Scent of Love
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Where comes this scent from
Tonight?
Where from - this fragrance new?
I sleep
Not being able to recall
The lone journey
Here -atop a silken thread
Deep ravines
Beneath
A teardrop spills over
As I bid farewell
In half awareness
In this darkness I drown
Not knowing when
We would meet again
Remember
Here is one who loved you
Lest there is no return
Where comes this scent from
Tonight?
Where from -this fragrance new?
As I lay gazing
Across a glass pane
Into the distance
Empty skies
Empty mind
Emptiness surrounds
This scent - familiar
Memories fade-in-
Again
This scent -
Cherished deep in my heart
Unspoken - Exotic
This scent –
Kept just for you
The scent of love.
Singapore General Hospital 1 Dec 05
Translation from the original Malayalam by Thara Ravindran
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Published in 'Songs of Honour'- an anthology published by
Noble Houe, New York, London, Paris - 2006
My Search Begins
The little oil lamps are extinguished
The dark blue idol has gone to sleep.
I close the door gently
Step out of my temple
And walk slowly through the lonely path.
Time sleeps along these granite steps
And down below
The river flows.
Over the wet sands
Looking for vanished footprints
From my temple of darkness
My search begins.
The cold wind blows
The night is dark
And I stand here
Alone in this cemetery.
Here sleeps my fore-fathers
With their crippling beliefs and superstitions.
Here I leave mine
To sleep with them for ever.
Golden Light!
Shine into the dark corners of my heart
And let me sleep for a while on your laps
And then wake up to see
The glory of a bright, sun-lit morning. ■
Yaatra
These unfamiliar winding paths
knocking at
unknown fortresses
A wayward inn,
covered in smoke
from an extinguished oil-lamp
Wait here a while;
there's no time
to lie down and sleep.
Before the night ends
pack up your bag
and get going.
You have to reach
the distant land
on the other side.
This is a journey
where you never see again
the path you leave behind.
This is a journey
where those gone this way
never come back to tell the story.
20. 12. 1998
Poems of the World (USA)1999 Spring Issue - Pg 19
This poem appears in an anthology, MEMORIES OF THE MILLENIUM--
published by the International Library of Poetry, USA (Jan 2001).
Yaatra is one of the ten poems selected for the CD-Rom, The Sound of Poetry,
by Int'l Library of Poetry.
mailto:mkbhasi@gmail.com?subject=comments
The Rainbows
The spine of my book
Is loose and broken;
What all things I wrote
I don't even remember.
But this I know:
The dark spots on these pages
Are my teardrops
These brown pages contain
Nothing but my shattered dreams.
Forgetting them,
I crossed the waves
Rowing against the tides
Looking for distant lands.
In this city humming with life
In my rented room
Alone and silent, I stand
Pressing my face against
The cold windowpanes
Not knowing how to cry.
Could it be my hopes and dreams
That fused as rainbows
I see in the distant sky?
16.7. 1997
Poems of the World 1998 Summer Issue - Pg18
mailto:mkbhasi@gmail.com?subject=comments
WHY DID YOU COME?
Through these unknown paths
Winding through narrow valleys
Where dark shadows are lengthening
Lonely traveler, why did you come?
The flickering lamp at the temple
has gone out; the priest gone to sleep
and total darkness is spreading all around
Lonely traveler, why did you come?
Not a single star in sight
under the dark deep blue sky
to shed a ray of hope at this holy site
Lonely traveler, why did you come?
Climbing through the slippery cliffs
you have reached this mountain top
without a flower in hand to offer
Lonely traveler, why did you come?
Just to lay this flute at your feet
Just to close my eyes for a while
and feel the thrill in my heart
Just to find the words to sing of you again.
(Received Editor's Choice Award April 2002 from poetry.com and International Library of Poetry)
mailto:mkbhasi@gmail.com?subject=comments
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When Will We Stop?
When will we stop?
We have been fighting –
Fighting for peace, they say.
We are refugees in our own land
A people with shattered dreams
A people with broken promises.
We are in a killing field;
The mines still explode.
Forget the past;
It’s too painful to recollect.
When will we see the dawn break out
Over the hills and vales again?
When will we see the sky
Clean and smokeless again?
When will our children learn to smile,
Sing and play in the sun again?
When will we stop this hatred –
This cancer that spreads through the soul?
When will we stop this killing?
Will someone tell me, when?
7 July 1997
Included in The World's Longest Poem for Peace.
by the International Society of Poets, Washington D. C.(1997)
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mailto:mkbhasi@gmail.com?subject=comments |
Those Who Walked This Way
Those who walked this way,
Those who left their footprints
on the sands of time,
Those who walked all alone,
Those who soaked
into their souls
all the simmering sorrows
of this hot earth,
Those who rowed across the sea
of raging waves and whirlpools
in a stormy night
against the tides ,
Those who left their fingerprints
wet with compassion
and disappeared somewhere
along this way —
How to continue their songs
giving a new melody
and a different rhythm?—
Unsure, I sit here.
They gave my memories
this rainbow; that I did not know.
They put this bamboo flute
in my hands; that I did not know.
They left this ember in my heart;
even that I did not know.
They burn as wicks in my soul;
That’s all I know—
That’s all…
that’s all…
I know.
Poems of the World (USA)1997/98 Issue - Pg 20
The Malayalam version of this poem received the following awards:
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Gayatri Award (New Delhi) - 1997 At a function held in Maulankar Hall,
New Delhi, this award was presented on 24 October 1997.
Vishnu Narayanan Nampoothiri, Chouvallur Krishnan Kutty and
Pro. K. T. Krishna Warrier were the Judges.
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Deccan Cultural Society Award (Bangalore) - 1998.
Pro. K. P. Sankaran was the Chairman of the panel of Judges.
This award was presented by Dr. U. R. Anantha Murthy,
Secretary of the Indian Sahitya Academy , at the Silver Jubilee
Celebration of the Society at the ADA Rangamandira, Bangalore
on 25 October 1998.
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For the Malayalam version, Ithile Nadannavar, please click here. |
mailto:mkbhasi@gmail.com?subject=comments
On The Seashore
The wet seashore,
The raging waves
And the lengthening shadows.
On this lonely seashore
Only the two of us.
The dusk, shy and beautiful
With its nimble fingers
Draws rainbows on your cheeks.
On this white sandy beach, I sit
Looking at your long blue eyes
The wind is howling;
The cold winter night comes
Clad in her dark robes.
With her long fingertips,
The sea rubs away the footprints
Still remaining on the shore.
Looking at the setting sun
You sit here beside me.
On this lonely seashore
Only the two of us.
( Selected for publication in 'Endless Mysteries', an anthology published by the International Library of Poetry in Summer 2002 page 145)
mailto:mkbhasi@gmail.com?subject=comments
15.7.1997
The River Flows Again
The river flows again;
Looking at its depth
And the whirlpools I sit here.
Man turned into a beast
And blood flowed over the banks;
And that's how these sands
Became deep red in colour.
Counting beads you lead
The dance of destruction -
Ethnic cleansing you call it-
With hatred in your eyes.
Here, prophets run for their lives
Jesus is nailed to a wooden cross
Buddha doesn't walk here anymore
Gandhi bleeds to death on the footpath
The blood of Muslims mingles
With that of the Hindus
And that's how the Yamuna
Flows red along this way.
We came through the ages
Not to jump into the whirlpools
And die; we have to live and
Create a New World for our children. ,
Let this river flow again
And let the waves merge
Let's think of the glorious dawn
And the promises to keep.
12/6/97
The Paper Boats
The rain has stopped;
watching the paper boats
floating on the water, I sit.
Tilting to one side,
then tilting to the other
they finally sink;
sad and silent
my little son stands watching.
Do you know?
Life is also like this;
dark clouds on the horizon
and not a star to be seen.
You have to row, my son,
through the salty waters
of your sorrows,
all alone in your tiny,
leaking boat.
When the morning star shines
to show you the way
in this darkness
do not sleep my son,
though tired you are.
The rain has stopped;
still you stand
looking at the paper boats;
not a word said,
I wonder why.
Poems of the World (USA) 1998 Spring Issue - Pg20
Under the Neermaatala
Under the flowering Neermaatala
We sit, the two of us.
It’s evening;
The sun is setting
And the shadows lengthening.
You move closer to me
Look into my eyes.
Then, without a word spoken
We part and go in different directions.
Why did you come now?
I hear you ask.
Just to walk along this path
All alone this evening!
Just to sit under the fading Neermaatala -
Just once more!
18/7/97
* Neermaatala - a tree that grows near water..
mailto:mkbhasi@gmail.com?subject=comments
Thank You For the Memories
Thank you
for the memories
that float as sweet incense
filling this atmosphere around me.
Thank you
for the new dawn
that breaks over the distant horizon
when the morning-stars fade and disappear.
Thank you
for the lost dreams
which fell and broke on my way
like clay-idols that I had to throw away.
Thank you
for the ever-green woods
that hums the sweet melody
heard somewhere and long-forgotten.
Thank you
for this path,
long and winding,
where the shadows are still dancing.
Thank you -
let me say finally
to all those who passed this way
before me - thank you.
20. 1. 1999
Published in The International Who's Who in Poetry (2004) Page 3
mailto:mkbhasi@gmail.com?subject=comments
I Have Lost Faith In You
Like the unknown future
stretches this narrow, winding path
over this lonely riverbank.
Along this way uphill
in this dark and gloomy night
walk the two of us.
We have walked through
this incense-filled atmosphere
searching for truth but never finding it.
With lighted candles in hands
we prayed through the nights
on bended knees, counting beads.
We saw all those who said:
‘This is the one and only way’
fighting and falling on their way.
We saw the broken wings of love
as we went along this path
with no beginning or end.
Like shattered dreams
that went to sleep
the temple-lamps have died.
Searching for the Gods
who never open their eyes
we wandered in the dark.
The idols you built
from the five holy metals
have fallen to the ground and broke.
Ages slept through the nights
never wiping the tears
of the downtrodden.
Who made the rules
that justify the oppression
of fellow human beings?
How was it possible for you
to sleep silently through
these dark and gloomy nights?
Your laws prevent me
reaching my full potentials;
Did you ever raise your voice in protest?
No wonder, I have lost faith in you
and your social justice
and all that you say, you hold so high.
Why This Journey?
Why did we start this journey?
Again, I ask this question
To an invisible God.
We stand silently before the funeral pyres
And then walk hastily through this path;
Why are we continuing this journey?
I ask again.
How am I to lie on these silvery sands
On the banks of this jungle stream
And doze in a sweet slumber
To float along with the clouds?
How am I to hear the lullaby
That will make me sleep on your laps?
How am I? when this never-ending journey
Leaves me with questions and no answers?
Today, I continue this journey
With faltering steps
Climbing this steep, slippery path
Without beginning or end.
Before I go
Let me give back
The dream you gave me
And the flute you lent me.
For the last time, I ask
Where does this journey lead?
11.6.1997
mailto:mkbhasi@gmail.com?subject=comments The Dusk
Silent stands the dusk
You too like the dusk
Huddle up close beside me.
These footprints on the sands fade
Swept away by the waves.
The cool breeze from the sea
You and I and the sky
Watching over in silence
This dusk in a riot of colours.
Why this glance towards me?
I wander by the sea shores for ever
Not knowing how to dive
Into the tranquil depths of my heart
To gather the pearls in my hands.
Wet stands the dusk
Like a mermaid
From the celestial spring
In the vales of the dream lands.
You are a laden cloud
Inside me, hovering over
Ready to pour down —
I never knew.■
(Translation by Thara Ravindran from the original Malayalam poem, Sandhya).
mailto:mkbhasi@gmail.com?subject=comments
The Distant Shores
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Not knowing where
These crossroads lead
As I reach this wayside inn-
A lonely traveller
Not knowing who
Sent you this midnight
With a dimly-lit candle
Yet seeing his kindness
In this infinite emptiness
Not knowing how
To express my gratitude
Moments merging
Into lengthy silence
Here, in a rented room
This sleepless night
Staring at the walls where
Shadows play charades
I realise:
The distant shores lie
How far away!
| THE
DISTANT
SHORES
M K Bhasi
Singapore
Published in The Star-Laden Sky,
an anthology of poetry published by
The International Library of Poetry
(Kent, USA) 1997 |
Poems of the World (USA)1998 Autumn Issue - Pg 20 | AHALYA
Translated from the original Malayalam by Thara Ravindran
The Malayalam version of this poem won the Kerala Kavi Samajam (Poets Association of Kerala) Award in 1995.
The story of Ahalya as told in the Raamaayana
Sage Gautama lived with his beautiful wife Ahalya,
who was the first woman created by Brahma.
One day, Indra, the god of heaven, crowed like
a cockerel near the aashrama. Thinking it was time
for his ritual bath and prayer, Gautama went to the
holy Ganges nearby. During the sage’s absence
from the aashrama, Indra entered it disguised as
Gautama. Ahalya was not deceived by the
impersonation, but vain of her beauty, she lost
her judgment and yielded to his desire.
Gautama returned immediately after this incident,
having finished his ablutions in the holy Ganges.
Pretence was hopeless before that all-seeing wisdom.
Looking at his wife, Gautama cursed,
"You shall stay here turned into a rock unseen by
anyone. After a long time, Dasaratha’s son will pass
this way and you will be freed from my curse when
he sets foot on you. Then you will recover your lost
virtue and get back your own beauty."
With shattered dreams
like drooping lotus petals
stood Ahalya
before sage Gautama
like a withered petal
of an exotic flower –
her trembling heart
heavy, laden with sins.
The god from heaven
nestled by celestials
crowed somewhere
around the hermitage
in the guise of a cockerel.
Alone you approached me,
having seen the sage
leave for his dip
in the cool waters
of the holy Ganges.
When in a sweet, lazy slumber
you embraced me and left
comes the sage before me
knowing all;
I trembled.
Here I lay in the valley
where saints,
the seekers of eternal truth,
once wandered,
turned into a stone
in this woods
by Gautama’s wrath;
Neither dusk nor dawn noticed.
My deliverance at long last came
from the raging sage:
Freed thou shall be
by prince Rama,
Dasaratha’s son,
he shall come this way
from Ayodhya,
Viswamitra by his side.
Awaiting, listening
for your footsteps
treading on distant land,
for eons I lay
in this woods
holding my breath.
Roses bloomed around here
withered and were gone;
So were the sweet memories
fading like dreams.
Yet to this day, O prince!
I lay in wait for your arrival
a lamp alit
in the sanctum of my heart.
When at last your feet tread
on this cold stone
will I resurrect – me, Ahalya ,
and seek a new life.
Stealing a sight, savouring,
the hermit shall sing:
Glory to thee!
We shall meet again.
Haven’t I seen them all,
these saffron-clad ones?
Haven’t I heard the resonance
of their brows
like arrows from bows?
You stand before me
with the unsatiable hunger
filling your eyes – of lust,
fingers running through
your graying beard ;
And I shall ask myself:
Do I want this life again?
No, take this life back please,
this wretched life,
meant to please them
with its warmth and cold.
A stone shall I remain forever
relishing in my sweet slumber.
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