Seshendra Sharma Poems

The brute in Gorilla is the brute of compassion. The pure brute directing itself solely to raising the architecture of humanity. Only when treachery comes in his way, the brute shows his other face, the pure hatred unmixed with evil. The sacred outrage today my brother, the brute has possessed me to resurrect you from the geological depths of inertia, come -
All are slaves to light, since one cannot go into darkness. Come in my direction, we shall mix the blood of my heart, and blood of your heart and share the same storm together. I am searching for your footsteps - Like a lone tear in the paths of life.
I am not bear in the hands of a juggler. The great wave which never knows being humbled comes out of only the heart of an ocean; its birth place is the birthplace of storms. I will not budge from the place I love, even if earthquakes come. Is light afraid of darkness? Even in death, I stay the tempestuous wind and enjoy the flavour of life in offering myself as a sacrifice to ideals.
I am loath to invest with my own hands on the heads of those scoundrels, crowns of halos woven of charity and mercy. I cannot assume the eternal roe of a mean being living on the alms of others. I will achieve my place in history by the muzzle of my own right. Else, I shall quit leaving my rivers of blood to flow like floods tormenting the souls of earth eternally.
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Canto - V.....
Yes, this is the land where millions of stones live,

forlorn by their families of hills.
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Time in the Clock

All of the sky is there
with lots of blue pasted all over the face,
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Canto VI

You called me; but I would have any how come in search
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Birds are drinking waters of sorrow, sleeping in the dawns of my memories -
Naked children, sitting on shores of green grass are playing Shehnai with Lotus stumps,
Drunk with dreams of spring, brooks are calling brooks
Trees are calling trees
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My Country - My People: Modern Indian Epic
Canto - - V1.....
- - - - - - - -
why should you have a heart if you cannot fill it with pains?
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Orchestra in the Forests

Darkness tramples my throat— For my soul, radiance-tanks are needed to take bath. Colossal wind-circles are needed for me to take water with two arms - Green forests, meadows, birds and animals are needed for my eye - my soul surges forward toward them breaking all barriers; the verge of a wet green grass-stalk is enough, a thousand-petalled lotus blooms in my mind.
The voices of the birds that sound like orchestra in the forests are enough, my dreams rush forth; birds are the first poets in the world.
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I sat down one morning
Tanking shelter beneath the shade of a Jacaranda tree which flared up into millions of blue flowers
My mind a winged animal flew into the blue shadows which enveloped the city of Madagascar -
The blue, blue colours, dropped along the dreamy streets by the old wounds of its opulent body, led the mind into the mysterious lands of Malaya, into elementary labyrinths of the African soil, into the subterranean psychic depths of those dark continents populated by black dances of the mystic gods, filled with ravishing clouds of smoke, spat out by growling incense of oriental censers; Phantoms of all hideous forms and faces leaping out in multitudes from the hoary throats of native drums -
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I fled away into the forests of books escaping from the clutches of howling winds that came gathering wild shouts of raw humanity from towns and cities.
I lost my head in the leaves that they dropped in heaps and heaps all around me
Now even the flood that is flowing away wants to rob me of my shadow
O fields of peace
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Thinking it is spring if you stretch your hand for alms at the door step of this country, instead of a fistful of flowers a tear will be dropped into your bowl
Our day here is not a mango fruit cut into two and offered on a platter. People here offer their neck to the descending yoke. Crowds of poets, crowds of saints are crushed like insects between political pages, life moves on as before without a difference
They worship adulterous gods and crucify virtuous men, divide air into countries, water into districts and provinces, while royalties pledge their crowns to exist, they measure every yard of land like cloth and enclose it in iron safes. The fools do not know that the last hour has arrived; they are deaf to the rumblings of the gorilla in the horizons all around
Friend, remove those idols carved of stone from your temples and install idols carved out of virtue in their place, I give you a chance of two springs; if you have the strength gather your honey, or lese time will overtake you brutally
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