The journey is almost done

and somewhere ahead may be the end of the road.

A little pause, a little breath,

all around are rising slopes.But a breathing space

where one must rest

Here is a fountainhead,

and ahead is the winding old stairway.

But the boy must press ahead.

He has already cast away the clutter;

less burden and a light heart,

the night has come with the stars,

and soon the moon too will shine.

This may be the last leg of the journey.

Who knows the stars may be kind

and before the sunrise the boy may find

his destined place, his cherished dream.

 The season turns

the season hurts

It's meant to wrap the darkness around

that enigma of the soul,

the desert, the sea, everything secretive,

dark like the Indian soil and the Indian rain, the Indian soul.

The hands of the breeze are warm and cold.

The enigmatic season, that's how it rains;

it rains in step; it rains out of step;

it scares,; it beckons;

it turns away;

it wraps around;

it swings;

it stops;

it creates a want; creates a need;

it changes the color of the sky from blue to gray,

from gray to pitch dark

of the moonless night.

It brings a dance that destroys the belief;

makes you a Spartan cynic who who doubts all.

The season turns and hurts on the go,

leaving a trail of in the air and the soul.

 The ability to feel the tremors of ecstasy is the best part of being human. The society makes it expensive for the man who is capable of feeling it. In the midst of all his feelings it is the one for which he pays heavily because in that moment of the 'Sublime' he feels the depth of the immensity and in that moment is his estrangement from the rest of the world.

 The unexpected and hidden, come camouflaged in the colors,

stealthily, gently, in steps of the shadows

when you thought the sunlight would vanish forever.

The moments come like a chick just breaking out of eggs.

Watch them and hold your breath;

do not touch lest they break.

Sushama Karnik

 Your name, O God, like nectar to me at all times,

why does the heart tremble today,

why does it turn away

when today

I need it most?

Tell me God why can't I recall

your presence near me?

The whole world is praying for your grace,

and I hide my face

in grief, in grief.

 

 Michael Papendieck photography

Gather ye sunbeams on a wintry morn,

garner the rays and weave a yarn;

wrap it around and tumble down,

then catch a dream and roll around;

slide you sideways, then up above;

then open your eyes and take a deep breath.

In an instant, the symphony will unravel

the secret of the slumber of God's aeon.

Sushama Karnik

Dec 10, 2016

 Come to me in the silence of night,

come on the wave of intensity.
Come when the desire is the strongest pull
to our illusory destiny.
Listen when the soul speaks and not the mind,
Come to me with no intention ;
come as the words of poesie.
Come in the emptiness of your soul.
And I will teach what it is to love
in the wilderness of the forest
and in the cascades of the shivering rain...

Night passage Night passage

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