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An ode to my creator




Wonder of wonders lies in here,
every creation profound and unique,
I admire God in his own, beautiful way,
for it is his creations that I ponder about every moment.

The water serene and flowing,
with its tiny ever-altering ripples,
thin as air and cool as snow,
created by the ardent scientist of an unborn past.

 The greenest blade of grass,
shooting up from nowhere in the wet soil,
with it's thousand little creases,
stunningly done by the loveliest child in heaven.

 The sky , where it ends,
ever a mystery, with its blend of a thousand colours,
and holding sheep like furry white clouds,
painted with the perfect hands of a thriving artist.

 The jubilant sun,with its infinite rays of heat,
scorching earth, like the nearest glowing candle,
which melts down as the night arrives,
and gives room for darkness to surround,
is lit with love by the caring mother.

 The leaves with its thousand nerves,
tender green, soft as the velvet and perfectly shaped,
sticking to the branches by the weak stems,
created by the humble and generous being.

The huge shades of green flowing from the top,
give us a cool shelter and pure air to breathe
planted caringly by the mystic who embraces silence.

The distant stars embedded in the huge velvette spread,
glow like diamonds which light our pathway to happiness
which was strewn over by the generous king of the kings.

The chill drops falling from the sheep-like clouds of the endless sky,
rejuvenate the lands which shoot out tiny living green,
which was so heartily splayed over by the almighty.

The music of the sturdy bamboo occuring from the dense forest winds,
soothes our heart with its enigmatic embrace,
which was most carelessly composed by the greatest musician in heaven.

The curious innocence in every child's smile,
the flowing mane on the horse's neck,
the magnificent mountains which tower the sky,
the still hole of silvery bliss,
the archway of seven colours after the rains
are all most passionately streaked by the artist's golden hands.

Oh! What beauty!
what serenity beholds my sight!
I salute the architect of my existence in this dreamland!

Comments

  1. How eloquently and beautifully you write, G. This poem reminds me of the song, "All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small."

    I wonder why you get no comments. We've got to do something about that!

    Joy always,
    Susan

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thank you Susan. I guess there might not be many takers for poetry. I am working on the difficulty in the comment box. :) Thanks again for reading! :)

    Gayathree

    ReplyDelete
  3. Oh Wow.. you have summarized everything quite brilliantly.. really beautigul..

    The greenest blade of grass,
    shooting up from nowhere in the wet soil,
    with it's thousand little creases,
    stunningly done by the loveliest child in heaven.

    esp. loved these lines..

    ReplyDelete

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The stars that connect the sky,  the tides that weave the sea, the pebbles that merge the shore, the trees that mesh the forest, the branches that link the trees,  the leaves that entwine the branches, the sun that lights the horizon, the sky that paints the water, the waters that survives the fish, the fish that eats the seaweeds, the seaweeds that carpets the rocks, the rocks that protects the soil, the soil that strengthens the roots, the roots that keeps alive the trees,  the trees that mesh the forest, the forest that survives the big bears, leopards, and birds, the birds that live on the worms, the worms that protect the soil, the soil that gives birth to crops, the crops that survive the we, the we that eat everything in this big, wild world, the world in us is the world outside, the outside that reflects the inside, the inside that is abstract, the abstract is opaque, yet translucent, the translucence of the sun rays in a muddled dew drop at daw…

To write is to dwell

FEBRUARY 15th, 2012





















What writing means to me...

As lonely as a cloud, as boring as boredom itself, I was. I grew up as a typical child at school but a very hefty one, I am still the same. I managed to cheer people with my innocence but did not manage to make happy friends to last a lifetime because of my gross physique. I couldn't play as I had no playmates at home and my only hobby was to sit and watch tv.

When I was studying in kindergarten, I used to visit a nearby shop with my dad. My dad was busy shopping for groceries and I engaged myself in observing things around me. The people who had mixed emotions that outshone on their faces, an old man cycling with a lot of strain, probably getting back home, the lady vendor with her dirty saree pinned up to her waist and squatting on the floor, selling vegetables, the autowala bargaining with his potential customer, the green trees which arched high with its countless leaves, the flowers that smile at me on the road side, happy child…

I'm too shallow to write a verse

I'm too shallow to write a verse To wrap around the twists and turns To dwell unto my own, I do Living somebody else's life or my own? Shrouded under piles of thought, I scribble, thinking only of the applause.
I'm too shallow to write a verse or two To make ends meet, I'm too cuckoo. I'm not the classic, scratching blue wooing 'em, tearing 'em apart  with every word.
I'm not the one who rhymes nor the one with notes for those lyrics. I'm the one who scribbles blotching blue on all my troubles, roiling over moments back and forth, trying to string those stray words, into at least a doggerel. See, I don't make sense.  I told you, I'm too shallow to pen that sonnet, that ballad, that haiku, that refrain, that ode.
I'm forcing it out all that gibberish snowballed  unto mine, to chime and rhyme  but nevertheless I realise in time, I'm to shallow to be read over cheese and wine.