Ocean Is My Name - 2 Poem by Seshendra Sharma

Time in the Clock

All of the sky is there
with lots of blue pasted all over the face,
with a fistful of impish cloud slices,
with the moon,
with star-population—
that's an infinite ocean of splendour!
that's a mobile liquid-flow the edges of which
my eyes cannot reach...

The sky-sliceentangled to my window is only one;
the only guest that entered the threshold
of my senses
In my inner worlds, crores of desires
teeming skies are hurtling forth;
But the thing caught in my tasteful relish
is imbibed in my soul's bonds;
The lack of difference between meaning
and experience is known only to my soul
What does the human sound know?

My legs are afflicted with wanderlust
Even as I visited many places, the thirst
is not quenched—So I flapped my wings to fly
I rekindled my voice to sing,
Stakingmy life, I earned my word
to convey something.

But in this great journey
the inexpressible ismore pronounced
Exhausted, crossing the boundaries
of the ability to utter,
I am carried away
into indefinable depths…

****

All are asleep
leaving the clock alone…
Its heartbeats with fear—
The arc of horizon,
barking like a dog in the distance,
is kneeling down
offering prayers in the plains of night.

The scenes of the earth and the ocean
are performing penance,
seeking the whereabouts of the one
who offered his full life
for the sake of one song.
They are waiting for the one
who will lend voices to them
who will build temples for them in word-countries.

Revolts are taking place in the worlds of
consciousness
In the mines of silence my soul
is digging tunnels
searching for precious stones—
Unfurling its wings
my window is looking
unto the sky...

For the one who shoulders boats
nets are needed to plough the ocean
For the one who carries strife
dreams are needed to plough life.
As I lost my dreams
I am struggling like a fish out of water—

By the time it is night
animate beings assume silence
Inanimate beings begin to speak
In sleep, silence lits up
the pathways of my dreams:

A spider built its house
connecting the flower and the statue.
Converting it into a bridge
the spider journeys from flower to statue
and from there to the flower again!
Isn't the spider a sage!
That small insect could build a mega city of
my soul!
The people who inhabit the place
are the countless silence-communities!
Peace always treads along
over the step marks of silence...
For the civilization,
caught and mauled in the midst of sounds,
that craves for silence
I alone can provide succour.
I am the scientist of silence
who received training near the feet of the spider—
That's why
I made a habit of going to the forest
that does not have the trace of man's slush...