Ocean Is My Name - 1 Poem by Seshendra Sharma

Ocean Is My Name - 1

Coming from somewhere as I stepped into this world, it gave
me a name unasked. From then on, all the steps I have made carrying
the weight of all my pleasures and pains are the faltering steps in
quest of an expression - a journey of mine to find a name for
All humans are walking oceans. The day when the human
ocean-roar is heard, I could hear the call of my inner consciousness;
what is searched outside, is found inside. All our external journeys
are guided by impulsive instincts. I am there outside, also inside!
When I melted to tears for the sufferings outside, then only I could
identify my pains inside. "Yachcha kinchit jagatsarvam drushyate
shruya tepiva! Antarbahischa tatsarvam vyapya Narayana sthitha!
Anantha mavyayam kavigm samudrentham vishwashambhuvam."
("This entire universe, visible and audible, within and without, is
embedded in Narayana. Endless, imperishable poet, even visible at
the other end of the ocean is spread across the entire universe.")
At last, in these primal lines the essence of word-power is
unleashed like timeless roar of waves. The turbulence inside unveiled
what I really am!
Now, the heart flows in sounds as though a streamlet courses
through rocks.
That's why, the Chaitra tunes have merged in forests, in
orchestra, in orchestra-clock, and in ocean of time. Now, when the
time comes to name myself, how can it be other than this?
Ocean is my Name
- - - -

What do you know about the ocean? Ocean is not merely a confluence of tides…Arey, in this vast circle of uprootedness spread over unknown horizons how is it known which is the ocean, who is on the shore?
You are a boat sailing smoothly, comfortably—a palanquin carried along the tides—Confrontations with frightening situations; the thorough defeats that measure life and deaths in weighing machines; the precious moments spent for a dear thing—When did you partake of all these celebrations of scrimmage-horrors? When did you visualise the soul of the flower that blooms only for a moment and filtrates colourful windstorms?
Ocean is a magic substance! How do you know its depths? Do you know how many mountain ranges are hidden in the ocean's nerves; how many civilisations are ingrained in its entrails, how many age old fire-agonies inhabit its arteries, how many adventurous journeys of archetypal souls in its recesses are making gurgling sounds, how do you know?
Yesterday the ocean was running fast with a horse-power, each wave like an image, like a metaphor - today that ocean is a scene of falling tidal waves, collages of foam like white bleakness, conches that lost their voice on the shore, scattered shrimps, the heartbroken ships that lost water permanently - everything is the ruined capital of human limbs shrunk into the pages of my throat;
There is a roar in my voice; there is an echo in the roar - In my roar, oceans, mountains, forests and villages are all shouting for an expression, for a name; for an experience different from their being, but there is an indifference to name in my name;
Time flows from me towards the high point of expression, it is moving towards silence gathering all possible sounds.
Ocean is not a confluence of tides. Ocean is a language, ocean is my name.

Unable to carry the burden of rainy season's clouds winds generate revolts of cyclones —they teach the art of revolts;
Let out a cry, fearlessly; we live only so long as we have the wish to celebrate our lives.
Ocean, you live long! O Tides, you become ferocious, don't walk like dogs...Wind, call your tornados. Shore, let the distance grow. Ship, let you be wrecked into pieces.
I will go to the point where oceans give punches on the sky; I will make friendship only with typhoons, I will adore the beauty of the lions, I will throw away my life there itself...
The wind collects clouds from the earth and the oceans. It leaves them on mountain peaks. It leaves them on the vociferating forests, on the peaks of frenzied skies asking them to meander freely like children. The wind is the messenger of ocean's dreams. With its body it authors sagaropanishads; the wind is the interpreter of ocean's heart! Whoever understands it, only his property is the heart...

This world tries to locate where I am! How does it know in which intoxication I amnow having given up all stimulants - How does anyone know what memories are there in my pocket? Who knows that I am seeking alms of tear-drops carrying the heart in my two palms in the midst of stone families?
The heart that sheds all sorrows is filled with sorrows again. Shedding the self, even as I wanted to merge with someone, there is no one who would take my being, shedding his self.

Who knows, this day when my soul jumps into flames assuming crimson colour, this day when my sounds are spitting the temperature of sensations, having lost everyone here, I am traveling to another country, another time.
Who knows in the ascent of the peak of life-tapas man is always a lonely being.
Who knows his unexpressed word is his cross—

The one who chases my feeling should run into the tunnels of my inner recesses. There, he will see everything filled with water — Ocean in my word, ocean in my muscle, ocean in my heart, I am a water-flow in entirety! My body is a flower blooming with its constituents in that ocean. Even years roll by me like waves.
Only an ocean can understand another ocean—am I not the ocean that nibbles distant horizon-edges constantly? Perhaps that's why the rain drops that came from the ocean-worlds are gazing at me today with inexpressible satisfaction even as they press their shining bodies against mango branches.

Since my childhood I have been watching this ocean - Since my childhood days when I ran away from the chasing demons that attempted to capture the azure crimsons of the colourful sky I have been studying its life... It's a serene language! How do yon understand its grammar, its meter, and the secrets of its magic?
Even as many magnificent structures submerged in its long life, ocean has remained as ocean; no one can tell the ocean to remove its fearsome, overwhelming tides and mould itself into quietly flowing waters; no one can command it to give up its reverberating voice and adopt a polite and courteous tone — that is ocean!
The men who are on the run in the life' race heeding to the commands of clock-hands are not sages, they are the opinionated ones in slumber; they do not realize that time, even if it is imprisoned in golden clock will bite them - can they teach their mean habits and manners to the restless, ever flowing water confluence of ocean? But for these roads, if a dog steps on them, it is a matter of pride for them.
The cruel life-truths sauntering and roaring on the highways of frightening cities will run away at the sight of soul-mane of lions…

An enemy must be the target of your arrow, but for my arrow, it is some heart; you are a bird gliding effortlessly where the wind is blowing, whereas I am a bird blazing towards a destination that even the wind is afraid of—
I too have the wish to sing like birds, take the shelter of leaves, but how do I know that I would fall in life's paw?
Now, don't utter the name of spring, I cannot come again becoming a koel—Arey! Is it the sky today, or a treasure trove shining stars? Come, let us sing, let us make time limp before our eyes.
I've scattered my voice in blossoming buds. Until they become fruits my life is a continuous wait… apparent sky, whose fortune it must be? My lines are only four rays emanating from time-clouds, they should advance like whirlwind and protect us—
I know you will not pardon if the offense of talent is committed, but who told me before birth that I should be born an exonerated one? How virtuous you are pocketing the available four seconds, how wicked I am breathing still as a sword and wishing to change the time - don't inform you are a lonely being, nobody will offer a tear-drop for your sake;search for gandharva worlds where sharp axes are available, at least you will be able to offer a yuga—
Amidst these misfortunes who will take up the hazardous risk of taking bath in my depths, search for my truths? If taken, how can he become a contemporary?
Wherever I am in your lists, I always hang in between earth and the sky, always extending arms without resting on a branch or on a mountain-peak like Garutmanta—without reaching ashore, constantly on a journey becoming the immensely large ocean of a human…
Stepping down on the milky way, wash your face with stars taking them into your hands, in the lotus-groves the morning-ray is flickering.

Ocean Is My Name - 1
Thursday, March 12, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: inner world,spiritual
Ocean is My Name, a long poem is gift to poetry lovers and Seshendra's admirersSeshendra, right from the beginning had an unique prowess in writing Long poems. It reached its peak in My Country - My People (Modern Indian Epic) . In ‘Ocean is My Name' he gave new hue and grandeur to the genre of Long poem.

This long poem was translated into English by Mr. K. Damodar Rao. The original Telugu poem titled "Samudram Naa Peru" was published in May 1978 and appears as "Samudra Parvam" in "Adhunika Maha Bharatham".

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Ocean is not a confluence of tides. Ocean is a language, ocean is my name!
Unable to carry the burden of rainy season's clouds winds generate revolts of cyclones -they teach the art of revolts…

- Seshendra
Seshendra Sharma

Seshendra Sharma

Nagaraajupaadu/Nellore district/AP/India
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