Philosophy born in the field CPC Radhamani sarma

 CPC AUGUST 22

Philosophy born in the field                 

 

After   the sickle’s bent

 crude straw  and dried haystack

strewn all over the field,

some evil spell cast much ahead;

brooding all efforts outside

the court with wounded flow on,

wounded palm  and hands

mockery of your seasoned

endeavor  rigor of your training,

something akin to the writing,

crude image to spoil beauty

of writing’s show and tell;

soon, grip of awareness catches,

 not merely worshipping  The Blue,

offering to gods, but A qualm,

a Forth right  seeing in adage like

accept things as they are given.

 

that was a special morn.. Radhamani sarma

  A take after the following 

poem of the week: Sonnet on Reading Burns’ To a Mountain Daisy by Helen Maria Williams

 

That  was a special  morn..

**

A lovely garden of fragrance,

lovely flowers, and buds blossoming

like the angelic assurance of gods

from  heaven some special nod

on this mundane earth and struggles.

That one special daisy on  morn,

That was  a special  morn with  charm

Assurance from  God’s succor,

Only source of inspiration .

Every storm that was blown,

Every moment of aggressive blow

her/ his/ whispering counsel from  within,

his/her,  common for the  agonized;

in the bitter morn, some  sweet  augury

a  console throughout for  the  agonized.

 

His flute- his time and mood… poem by Radhamani sarma

 

Radhamani sarma

 

 His flute- his time  and mood…

*******

He earnestly worships the Greeks,

Yet no recitals despite his  eager wait

For long, how long we don’t know.

 

He is so divinely attached to flute,

Ever in his active rhythmic mouth

Fingers tuned well  to notes  of melody.

 

All by himself, all recollecting name

Of his birthplace,   musical composers

He records, composes anew fresh and melodic.

 

Age  and weariness, take their times and toll

Mild impact on my lips and hands

Laying aside my flute in a corner now.

After GUARDIAN (Until His Mindset within a new frame..)

 

Poem of the week: Legend by Hart Crane

 

Until His  Mindset within a  new frame..

 

“In front of my mirror,

Confronting myself, looking

for honesty, candid frame,

Mirror silent, provokes my curiosity.

 

Recalling those days of venture,

My loitering, my bold decisions,

All kisses wet in frame of white skin,

Now  makes me loud ,louder than before.

 

This coil burning within, slow  and steady,

Nurtured by a will of  yielding desire,

Burns, burns, till time  and reminder

Of warning from within   stems in.”

 

My lips, my chat, my chanting

All my mirror bore silent and steady.”

 

Above is  the cry   of  a man

Whom I watched for two years

Until his mindset fell

Within a frame work new.

 

despite much cautions and signals….. a poem by Radhamani sarma

 

Despite much cautions and signals…..

**

I see in him a  balanced walk

heading towards  the surf  and waves,

singing a song all by himself,

aloofness with a  stick measuring his gait;

 

what if waves surging and empty pebbles

hit him with  a  question of uncertainty?

his inward calm, trained by birth and   nature

carries him further beyond his den of bewilderment;

 

this is only  a transient move,

not faltering all the time,

he steers ahead with a gauntlet

of bold move, further and further ahead.

 

Way back home, I learn a  lot

From his self awareness his  guiding star