A word and feeling that rolls back a million times
Eluding its true meaning; evolving into new feelings.
As a child it was the warmth of mother’s bosom
While dozing off into sleep.
Father’s sad smile when forgoing all comforts
For our sake; in the prime of his youth.
The cold hands of my friend on my temple
While hallucinating in the delirium of typhus.
The mighty Lord Siva in the temple
With whom I shared my little secrets
And my patented hatred for teachers.
In youth it was the smile of the girl
Who tried to cross my path in vain.
Lone mother waiting at the front door
For the return of son; long lost to fate.
A glass of water from a faceless Indian
After a long walk in the summer sun.
Blake’s poem and Segal’s novel
Silent presence of my Master
Who answered all questions with his mental vibes.
Decaying flowers on the tombs of birds
Who flew away from the perils of existence.
It is the firm grip of my kid on my finger
When he is fast asleep.
My sad smile when I forsake
Life’s pleasures for his sake.
Cold hands of my wife on my forehead
Consoling me from life’s defeats.
The eternal dance of mighty Lord
When he talks to me through the
Creeping warmth of morning sun.
Feels me through the soft hands of new born baby.
The feelings never end
The meaning is never clear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem