Sometimes the night

transforms the sea.
A damsel , mysterious,
the soul of the oceans and the sea.
yearns to meet the land.
A paper boat child, she sits
on the shore with a gift
for the human mind
with a longing and a message
that she too is sometimes sad
and loves to come to the land.

Sushama Karnik
1Sept. 2020

Thanks for the image @fawzi hejazi

fawzi hejazi

Home

1 year ago

 you,

the jungle longing to escape

for some exotic location

both inside you and

outside you at the same time.

things kept dissolving and

leaking through your skin.

(I opened a can of pineapple chunks

and ate the entire contents of the can

thinking how long it had been since

I had eaten pineapple.)

where was I....

the blue hour arrives

finding myself before a mirror,

liking the face I see looking

back at me.

the

end.

Van Gogh's Starry Night

 On a starry night he walked

to the foot of a leafless birch.

The moon cascaded its light.

It was the bluest of the blue that night.

The steeples rose and the roofs

were bathing in the serenade of blue.

His fevered brow felt the icy calm.

His eyes closed and took in the sky.

In one quick breath the universe wrote

the entire saga of his life

on the canvas he had carried on his tired back.

It was a delirium of blue on the palette and the sky.

He dipped his brush in blue

and let it swirl in spirals;

dipped again in amber, and let the birch rise

in a leafless glory ascending to the sky.

It was the night when the agony

turned into a raging flight

to tear the veil from the reality,

and the sky answered to his dream of

ending the world of duality.

Sushama Karnik. (c). moon

GOOGLE.COM

The Starry Night

The Starry Night is an oil-on-canvas painting by the Dutch Post-Impressionist painter Vincent van Gogh. Painted in June 1889, it depicts the view from the east-facing window of his asylum room at Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, just before sunrise, with the addition of an imaginary village.

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Coming and going from room to room

I rummaged through drawers for story-books

and found nothing but pairs of worn-out socks,

broken chessmen and elephant castles, wooden dreams

while the nine-year-o[d sat patiently, sullenly

tapping his fingers on the board,

waiting for me to flip out a tale,

while I was lost in his childhood tales.

I kept getting out of the heaps of toys he discarded

the little bits of lessons learnt...

And the longer I took to come out of his past

the faster he grew in understanding me.

I regressed as he grew in years

as he watched me take my time coming out of his room;

his anger giving way to compassion,

sullenness giving way to a mellow forbearance.

That half-hour's time was an age for both.

17 Sept. 2015.

Percy J. Savai

 He is dead

She is in jail

What went wrong

Where did they fail?

They were both middle class

In a way they were the same

Bright and intelligent

Just looking for money and fame.

They just chose the wrong set

Of people around them

So totally unaware that

It could lead to mayhem

The glitz misled them

The ‘friends’ were all fake

Dope and substance abuse

All for ‘keeping up’ sake

The big guys are out there

Having parties and fun

Who cares if families are broken

They are safe, they do not have to run

So maybe we should tell our kids

To dream and dream high

But check their own parachutes

Before they take off for the sky.

Anonymous

 Always one step ahead of the storm,

the caravan is crossing the sands.

A mile away from here is the island and the lake.

That is where the caravan will land..

Always one step ahead of the sun

the caravan will pitch the tents.

That is where the oasis will begin and the desert end.

Always one step ahead of the dawn

the rooster will call in the far-away town

and that will be the call of the life.

Always one step ahead of the tribe

the man in front will scan the farthest sign

to scour the land in search of the light.

May the darkness of the spirit not overtake the tribe.

May each and every man make it up to the destined post.

Sushama Karnik (c)

GOOGLE.COM

Image: Camel Caravan And The Silk Road High Resolution Stock Photography ...

Found on Google from www.alamy.com

 The longest of time when the lotus blooms

is the hour of midnight;

the time for the mind to sleep and the soul to speak.

It is then that I arise

at the heart of the lotus as a single pollen

holding fast to the stem.

A purple night and a white flower

with a subtle tone of scent.

I watch the hour as an alien looking at the habitat of someone else.

That is a sudden moment of the Absolute!

I lose my mooring and float!

There is nothing here I can call my own.

Total freedom,

and total peace!

The hour of the lotus,

the hour of the Absolute!

Sushama Karnik.

And back then

 And back then

when we were madly in love,

in love with life, in love with love!

On the rocky terrain, we spread our gowns.

The sounds of the waves

were the echo of our lives.

Solitary spots where we shared secrets,

stunned to find what demons hide behind

the silken robes of dreams,

and how the demons enticed and turned into

temptations, unexplored, promising a heaven,

or a world of catastrophes.

We closed our eyes and shared the fears,

the portals waiting ...

Time is haunted and waiting still

on that shore...

Sushama Karnik

Image shared by David Testa