Wednesday, 31 October 2012

Prabuddha II

For centuries upon centuries
I’ve listened to your voice
listened to your violin,
saw your picture in the papers
read all accounts of you
your work,
I’ve wanted and waited
to see you
for so long;
can you teach me
to sing to make music
the way you do?

This is my favorite of all your songs:
“You walked with me, from lifetime to lifetime
You showed me the way, from lifetime to lifetime…”

This is my autograph book
and it is those words I wrote
on the very first page.

Write something on these pages.’

Prabuddha flipped the pages
Where unknown names
had scribbled their lines:

‘Best wishes to you!’
‘Remember me, won’t you
the day your dreams come true?’
‘Seek and you shall find!’
‘Love is the sweetest pain’.

‘I don’t know how to write such things, child
let me just write down my name.’

‘No! No! No!
You are such a great person
how could you ever
be at a loss for words?
You must write something,
something you’ve never written before
for anyone!’

Prabuddha turned to a blank page,
scribbled his name and date.

‘You are so bad!’


Sunday, 28 October 2012


One weave upon another
a layering of epic stories
of leaf and soil
time-mass accumulates
lost history insulation
beyond gaze
beyond excavation
like slulines
and birdsong
and frames that collapse
in the exhaust of light
heaviness of cloud
burdens of perfection,
nature yields
faces and plates
soft dimensions
and distinction
by and by
to eyes that can lay truth
and unlayer illusion.

[Inspired by the photography of Aravinda Chandrapadma]