and i, infinitesimal being, drunk with the great starry void, likeness, image of mystery, felt myself a pure part of the abyss, i wheeled with the stars, my heart broke loose on a wind. ~~~ pablo neruda, poetry ~~~ she stood by the dark still pool. no breeze in the air tonight, ripples didn’t chase each other across the surface. yet a storm rose in her, tossing her sense of peace, lashing into her; and in its violent whirling…
sing, goddess, of the rage of peleus’s son achilles, the accursed rage that brought great suffering to the achaeans. ~~~ homer, the illiad~~~ she tried to speak, but the fistful of chana in her mouth was an impediment hard to negotiate. she chomped on it furiously, glaring at him all the while. “what are you doing here?” he spat out. she wanted to answer but… the chana was too dry and his impatience seething. “what… what…” he gritted his teeth,…
when life is parched and dry / come to me in streams of compassion when all beauty and grace is hidden / come to me in the sweetness of song ~~~ rabindranath tagore, an approximate translation~~~ the darkness had a way of slipping around his heart. that’s how it had been ever since he could remember, a familiar black blanket of not seeing, not feeling, what couldn’t be soothed away could certainly be shut out. he looked at his face…
darkness there was: at first concealed in darkness this all was indiscriminate chaos. all that existed then was void and formless: by the great power of warmth was born that unit. thereafter rose desire in the beginning, desire, the primal seed and germ of spirit. ~~~rig veda, hymn cxxix, creation ~~~ anjali sat in front the resplendent idol of devi maiyya in shantivan, looking at a basketful of beautiful white lotus buds, a pensive lost look about her. she was…
and let me talk to you with your silence that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring. you are like the light, with its stillness and constellations. your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid. ~~~ pablo neruda, i like for you to be still~~~ a gentle touch of water on her face… like drops of rain. wha…? her eyes flew open… where was she? out in the open, under the sky? she looked up…
faith consists in believing when it is beyond the power of reason to believe. ~~~ voltaire~~~ “khushiii!” she woke up with a start and sat up in bed. arnav ji! no he wasn’t there. he was not next to her in their bed. he was in hospital, in a cold hard room with needles all over him and a pipe in his mouth, she heaved with pain as reality rushed in, rending the night. her eyes closed as if to…
everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. you will never be lovelier than you are now. we will never be here again. ~~~ homer, the iliad ~~~ the suv shuddered violently as it hit a pothole. asr continued to stare ahead, his foot pressed hard on the accelerator. they raced down the narrow path as evening descended. it was a kutcha road, not paved with asphalt. that year’s monsoon had been hard on the surface and left it rough…
thereafter rose desire in the beginning, desire, the primal seed and germ of spirit. ~~~ rig veda, hymn cxxix ~~~ she stood there, looking down at him. he lay in that hospital bed, hard white sheets, a pillow under his head. but where’s the cushion, she thought. he always liked to tuck a sturdy square cushion under his neck, she must tell di… then she stopped herself. again her mind went blank and she stared at him lying there eyes…
na jayate mriyate va kadacin for the soul there is never birth nor death nayam bhutva bhavita va na bhuyah nor, having once been does he ever cease to be ajo nitya sasvato ‘yam purano he is unborn, eternal, ever-existing, undying and primeval na hanyate hanyamane sarire he is not slain when the body is slain ~~~ bhagwat gita ~~~ she could feel the graze of his thumb on her cheek bone, a tremble in it. a tremble that became…
thng nh c tri theo ngy thng mt, though longing flows down the river of time qu kh anh; anh khng nhc cng em. my past, i did not share with you. linh h”n ta cn u n hn ‘m, my soul’s dark recesses darker than night ta cha thu, na l ai thu r’. inscrutable to me, inscrutable to all. ~~~ by the vietnamese poet xuan dieu, translated by thomas d le ~~~ “she was called nancy?” anjali asked…