Though long retired from the grind
Of chores and tasks that bound
The routine of my workday life,
I seek a different way, some change
From things established in the mind,
The tedium and odium of sand grains
Sliding silently down into the lower bowl
Of the hour-glass of ruthless Time.
I learnt to see the sameness of routine
Not as a compulsive habit that must be followed
As a self-accepted dharma, but as a chance to
The evoke a spirit of novelty
And provoke the savour of variety.
That proverbial "spice of life" is fine,
But it is often staled by repetition.
Even a new telecast or story
Turns antique or hoary,
Something déjà vu, what one can surmise.
I reach for the remote and vote
For some new surprise
Or switch off for silence.
At such times I crave for Otherness, alterity.
In our familiar park I find it in the tracery
Of bare and verdant branches, the changing sky,
The dusking light, the orange-scarlet,
With shades whose names I cannot tell, the tots
Wanting to play a little longer, who look at you
And read you instantly with utter candour,
Your past, your nature, friend or foe.
We may be pre-ordained, but we can enjoy
The joy of seeing things anew, afresh.
- - - -
November 2015, Mysuru, India
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem