Tuesday, November 23, 2010


I pushed it out of my belly,
Almost breathless,
I picked it up, a bloodied mass,
Turned it over, looked at it from all sides
I twisted it, stretched it, crushed it,
Does it grow ? Does it shrink,
Is it warm, is it cold, soft, hard?
Then I tossed it out in to the sea,
It was my child,
Fathered by Love,
I called it Pain.

1 comment:

  1. Perhaps this could have stayed unstated,
    Had our words turned to other things
    In the gray park , the rain abated,
    Life would have quickened other strings.
    I list your gifts in this creation:
    ...Pen ,paper ,ink and inspiration .
    Peace to the heart with touch or word,
    Ease to the soul with note and chord.

    How did that walk,those winter hours,
    Occasion this?No lightning came ;
    Nor did I sense ,when touched by flame,
    Our story lit with borrowed powers-
    Rather,by what our spirits burned,
    Embered in words, to us returned.
    - "An equal music" (Vikram Seth)

    Welcome back...