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Sushama Karnik

19 hours ago

edited

Tomorrow always brings the sun home.
Sit here and watch the hills.
The steaming coffee will send a cloud of steam
to meet the sun hiding in the mist.
Shout a greeting, loud and clear
and the sun will send a ray of hope
to you from behind the golden screen

Sushama Karnik

The summer days drew him to the foot of the tree,
sometimes to read, sometimes to dream,
sometimes just to while away time and brood.
Grass grew tall around the tree;
The shadows grew longer and dark;
the tree grew taller above the man's head
and the man knew nothing at all.
But the man and the tree were naturalised
to each other's presence without knowing the silence
and the link with the forest around.
The light of the life of the tree
burnt inside the dark heart,
a white flame burning
inside the dark candle.
And the man knew nothing at all.

Sushama Karnik

Thanks Lise Wal for the Daily Drawing.

Thanks Lise wal, after a long time I am writing on your drawing

Lise WalTimeline

16 hours ago

7-26-19 #mywork #drawingaday #art

A road and only a bike

Raindrops gather and become a deluge, become streams, then rivers

the ocean cannot contain.

I clamour to cover my head, then clamour for a shelter.

I cannot step back and watch

myself being swept off my feet.

and think,

"Is it happening to me alone; is it happening to all?"

It's a vast road .

Crossing it in the rain, with only a bike.

The road which looks like infinity,

and I caught alone in the equanimity of the sky that is raining

and watching;

The tide behind me, I cannot see if it's chasing me or receding,while the sky is raging above me!

Oh , how can I escape God looking from above in equanimity?

Sushama Karnik (c)

Thanks for the image György Fülöp

György Fülöp

5 July at 09:03

Tilosban .🚳

Old books have a weight to carry,
the weight of all the years behind
and on each page somewhere a line
marked in red as if to give it permanency
in the fleeting hours and the years marked in the calendar-time.
And each line marked is meant for someone to come and read it later and dip in the lake of the words to find the lost pearl.
Old books are forests with a smell of ink that feels like musk
giving away the secret code for the fawn to follow the trail.
I have borrowed old books often from the old libraries
hoping that I might get the traces of how you might have read and felt, how your heart and mind worked and left behind the signs in the hurried notes you scribbled in the narrow margins.
You were always the one who raced ahead of time
and I the one who followed the trail in the forest of cryptic signs.

Sushama Karnik (c)

Thanks for the image and inspiration Souheil Ghammachi

Thanks for the image and inspiration @Souheil Ghammachi

Souheil GhammachiTimeline

4 hours ago

All her life she’d loved books.
She loved the look of them,
the sweet weight of them in
her arms. Most of all, she
loved the feeling she got
every time she picked one up,
the feeling of holding an entire
world in her hands.  

• Lost in a Book
  by Jennifer Donnelly

A Prayer

Give me a beach,
clean and white ,
a space with an immense light.
Let the sea recede
back to the reach of the sky.
Let the light fall evenly
at tht odd and the even
spaces of the mind
and then let me turn
and find again
the doors once locked and the key misplaced.
Let those doors crumble and fall
and show me the inside
damp and dark.
Let the cry of the gull pierce the sky,
and the afternoon feel its pain,
the pain of the birds who left the nest,
forced to live in the ruthless sky.

Sushama Karnik (c)

Thanks for the image @MIlan Lakic

Milan LakićTimeline

2 days ago

Esmahan Özkan - the light of a lullaby

The eyes.
Drown deep
In the sea.
Come, soar like a nightingale.
Breathe, the scent of orchard.
Sink, to the depth of winter.
Chisel, a figure out of snow.
Drop, exhausted
On a carpet made of maple leaves.
Idle thoughts, idle dreams.
They have filled the days and the nights.
The thoughts of some marble
Carved in a shape of a figurine
Have haunted my days
while I lived in this idyllic cavern of a space,
your heart.

Sushama Karnik

Souheil GhammachiTimeline

6 days ago

edited

I’ve always thought that the
most beautiful people, truly
beautiful inside and out, are
the ones who are quietly
unaware of their effect.

Source: paintedhorse

your heart.

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The moon shone again abruptly,
The stars were suddenly bright.
The milky way opened again.
After eons the sky was bright;
after eons the notes of music
blended with the ocean's tide.
The cat came again to the window
and basked in the golden sun;
the wood thrush left the woods
and came to the backyard of the house.
A blending of sounds, shapes and visions
jostled for place in the mind.
And for once, I loved this chaos,
the clutter and the untidy mess of the house.

Sushama Karnik
21 June 2019 8.20 a. m.

Desire welded into stone.
The formal attire shields
the nuances of the mind.
All around, that which was foliage once
has all grown into a fossil.
The sky in muted tones,
the hillside has gone gray;
closer to the eye is the line of green
The woman still bears the smile
standing beside the finely crafted stone.
What delight is there in concealment of the mind?

Sushama Karnik (c)

Thanks to @ Art Lover and @Grace Wisdom for sharing Rene Magritte

Art LoverTimeline

2 days ago

 Photo album: Rene Magritte

the-invention-of-life-1928
Rene Magritte

The Irritating Gentleman is a painting by 19th-century German painter and portrait artist Berthold Woltze.

After everything was lost to time
The moon at my window stayed behind.
Hereafter I'll lie awake
and evoke the days and nights
in halflight of the images.
This is another way of delight
way far beyond a mirage,
far too real to be false.

Thanks for the image: @Night passage Night passage

Night passage Night passageTimeline

17 days ago

Noapte frumoasa!

This little raindrop
seemingly small,
just before it drops
into my open hand,
has given me a glimpse
of the world it came from.
It had belonged to deserts I never saw.
It never knew before it became this drop
that the fiercely hot sands
were hiding it in their bosom.
It heard the call of the distant sea
and rose in the form of vapour.
A wander-thirst seized it
and it joined the caravan of clouds.
It was a caravan of pilgrims
who took it to shrines never seen by the open eye.
Then it joined voluptuous rains
and for a time lost its identity
among the fellow-beings who came from the different climes.
That was a joyous time of unanimous life.
But the time of parting was near at hand.
Mother Earth called them all,
and back again they leaped
into the arms of the Mother.
And I happened to catch it in my palm
watching the whole route of the travel
in its crystal-clear form.

Thanks Souheil Ghammachi for the image and

Thank you @Souheil Ghammachi for image and the tquote which became the inspiration for the poem.

Souheil GhammachiTimeline

21 hours ago

To have the ability to hold so much
in our hands, and not realizing
what we have......

inner thoughts...!