Skip to main content

Gypsies

This poem is based as a descriptive account of the oil painting 'Gypsies' (1893) by the famous 18th Century Indian Painter - Raja Ravi Varma. My first poem of this kind, here it goes...

By the temple,
under the glistening sun,
sat a family of wanderers, wondering...
their thoughts incoherrent with those
of the sleeping son

The mother seemed indulgent,
playing her old Veena,
while her son was lost in dreams
upon her lap
Gypsies - by Raja Ravi Varma
and lost seemed her daughter Reena.

Reena was neither listening to the rhythm,
nor was she at peace like her sleeping brother,
'When will this wandering end?'
-was the question in her mind,
a question she had oft asked her mother

Detached from his mother's Veena,
was Mahesh who just wanted some food,
the heat of the sun rising unconditionally,
and no water in the empty pots,
certainly did him no good.

Albeit in different mindsets,
they all seemed to be at peace,
grateful for the break in the wandering,
grateful for some time to spare,
grateful for the rest even if not under the shady trees.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Candle in the Dark

The white burning candle, Standing in the dark.. on its own, trying to illuminate everything around, albeit the darkness has persistently grown. It is aware that it is alone, while the darkness around it is vast It is devoted to being lit, even as its existence melts fast But is it really a candle? Or is it the flame of hope? That tries to hang on in times of despair, and tries to cling on to that last bit of rope. It keeps burning still, battling the known and the unknown, all hidden in the darkness around. It shrinks in size, with its head held high, still believing that it is glory abound. 
2 comments
Read more

The world and fools.

The world speaks, much more than it listens, O how it speaks, on things beyond its mind - a gathering, mostly the enlightened, but a few fools,  who care to listen, fools, who still dream, of making the world listen, more than it speaks... of changing it for the better, of taking it beyond the bickering, of not letting it sink in the shallow. O world listen thou shall, O world listen thou must, To these fools with dreams, some broken but all pure, pure as the new dawn they seek. O world give them hope to feed from while all's unjust. Let them fuel from it all, so that when they speak, it matters.
Post a Comment
Read more

मैं, कल और आज

इस फाल्गुन मास में, उन अदृश्य उँगलियों की गुद-गुदाहट है, जो यादों को भी टटोलती है, लबों को भी।  मैं आज में चलता हूँ, और कल में खो जाता हूँ , आज में सोकर मैं कल में जग जाता हूँ।  और मुझे दिखता हूँ मैं, दुनिया से अपिरिचित हूँ थोड़ा-सा मैं , स्वयं में ही व्यस्त हूँ थोड़ा-सा मैं।   पलटकर भी मैं स्वयं को ही खड़ा पाता हूँ, मैं जो कि  अब उसी अनजान दुनिया का हिस्सा हूँ, मैं जो कि  थोडा सा खोया हुआ किस्सा हूँ।  फिर मैं खुद का हाथ थामकर, दिखलाता हूँ खुद को ये दुनिया खुद की नज़रों से, थोड़ी बातें फिर से सीखता हूँ, जानता हूँ।  तभी किसी आवाज़ से आखें खुलती हैं, और मैं सच्चाइयों से घिर जाता हूँ, बीते हुए कल के कल को मैं आज पाता हूँ। 
Post a Comment
Read more