“through the act of living, the discovery of oneself is made concurrently with the discovery of the world around us. . ."

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Cleansing



The forest stream grumbles as the big rock

Makes it swerve sharply to the right

But is relieved that around the bend

It can flow freely again.

It swirls; over the sand bed the stream made

Where I lie in total stupor

The stream gurgles happily over the little stones and rocks

That cradles me like a foetus in its womb.

I lie, floating, watching my toes peeking out of the water

And my nose, like a periscope

This bloated corpulence slapped

Gently by the ripples of the water.

 

The sun is clouded out for the moment

I close my eyes in bliss

All I hear are the chuckle of the stream

And the chirping of the Wagtail.

 

It was the time of goodbyes to the past

And all the pain is taken away by the stream.

I realize I will never again write poems

On love and the pain of losing it

Because the current has taken all that away

As little fish nibble at my heart

Cleansing it of pus and blood.

 

The sun turns up again

I turn over, and holding breath

Look at the pebbles beneath.

Though the water is clear

The river bed is blurred

I am unable to see

But I will, I will

I will see it sharply, clearly, one day.

*******************  Balachandran, Kallar, 10.03.2009

4 comments:

  1. Superb. You are on the way, really on the way. Happy journey, Balan... It is more thrilling than you can imagine now. Here is where poetry begins.

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  2. Thanks! Hope the euphoria stays! :D

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  3. the riverbed wud fail the flowing water in clarity..u see..

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  4. Beautiful.I was seeing me,an inner me there in whatever you wrote.You made me bit emotional,wet my cheeks,taken me back to far away place,the place I lost forever,the river that defined my feelings.

    She was my best friend.My love.I used to share everything sitting near her.Caressing and tickling her.We had many things in common.The shift in moods,the silent lonely moments.She gave me lots of memories to cherish..She was beauty,she was substance.Even today I can experience when I shut my eyes,that she is there,living life of a victim,ente swantham puzha.

    It was the time of goodbyes to the past
    And all the pain is taken away by the stream.
    I realize I will never again write poems
    On love and the pain of losing it
    Because the current has taken all that away
    As little fish nibble at my heart
    Cleansing it of pus and blood.
    I have virtually swallowed all the letters you spread here.I am the child ,the teenager,the youngster today,who used to enjoy with a mysterious smile the jiggling of my river on being caressed by breeze,a long-travelled one from Palakkad..

    ReplyDelete

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