Time's doings Radhamani sarma

  Time's doings

Adjusting my pillow cover

Viewed  my surroundings,

my sofa and entrance

with a strange look;

curiosity enters now

for I  entered the house

after a long gap;

when I was with mother,

a togetherness strange

struck both of us;

partial imagination,

 partial real;

I loved the house

in the shape of a cake,

which imitated my mother’s

art and handicraft;

anything past like that

of Charles Lamb,

clock ticks mechanically

doing its duty;

we  all do our  doings

in a  mechanical way;

Time is a   big chasm

Carving our future,

We have to wait

For  a  turn

 

 

 

A rumination, now JANUARY 2024 POEM BY Radhamani sarma

 

A rumination

 

A nonagenarian, me,

Sitting in my village hut now,

recalls the  small home;

not merely four walls,

but heavenly full of love

and every moment, of mutual

share and smile .

occasional bickering

ended in mutual compromise.

upbringing was such

my grandmother starting

her day with epic and puranic tales.

Ingrained the necessity of  give and take;

Generations of children reared,

treaded the path of dharmic codes.

Whom does the age spare;

With the passage of time,

dwindled the strength

and home became a  space empty;

I am the loner, sitting

and counting my days;

home is missing, lost

only in next birth,

hope to see again the past home,

quite optimistic  and optimism

only my tonic now.

 

 

 

 

The way my being Radhamani sarma

 

 

The way my being…

 

My interesting, day, noon – all

merge with traffic, flow and immense;

you plan one thing, land up elsewhere;

expectations are high, but results lead nowhere;

 

I come across, my interactions are variegated

Doctors, lawyers, conversationalists,

Clerks and woman office goers,

Some giving me a helping hand.

 

In a  high pitch some body calls,

Pitcher some, intend to travel

Far off place and enjoy as if in  party.

The world is a  vast theatre,

 

View many actors on different stages,

Come across many stories and plots,

Many a  hidden villain behind the stage,

All going for a long time beyond time.

 

 

I get stranded where I am

My avowed plan , to move on

For the time being nullified,

World is a  stage certain.

 

 

 

 

Poem of the week: The Jailbird by Maurice Riordan The puruit of philosophy radhamani sarma

 

Poem of the week: The Jailbird by Maurice Riordan

 

  In pursuit of a philosophy:

  Often a  persistent feeling rouses in me

  An awareness, of something new, strange,

  unusual, requires my visits, my scrutiny,

   Break from routine, from shell;

  but from sometime, it was in isolate ward,

  within the corner of my heart, soul’s room,

  in its own ward, overcoming all temptations,

 at times, yields no doubt some small tempts, harmless,

  yet, an awareness taps it, for  the soul to break

 away, from the   little  show, to higher realm;

 now is the time to rise skywards,

 soar higher in pursuit of  a philosophy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

poem of the week, " just a musing" Radhamani sarma

 

 

poem of the week: 1963 by Meg  Cox

 

 

Just  a musing ….

 

 Walls with colored   tapestry,

 Curtains cute  and   quite a few drawings,

Soft with a smell invitatory for devoted

to the house from morn  till evening,

I was just sewing with a keen watch

Over  television news, amidst jostling

music and  intermediate silence;

 

sparrows  and crows

twitter about my window,

 a smooth voyage for my mood,

but sudden shift from here

leads  me where, where, I know not;

my mind rests a while,

I know not how long;

 

 

 Many a  happening through

My window, it is getting dark,

In the slow darkening hour,

Getting back home, inside,

My mind comfortable with a  lamp;

Always pray for the best,

Pray  until,  your prayers are heeded.

 

 

A stay of long endurance Radhamani sarma

 

 

A stay of long endurance

 

A new shift, new abode,

sudden with a wakeful coin

and apparel, the child, cute

and tender with a blissful smile,

kicking its tender, sponge legs;

autumnal child craving for spring bloom,

it is  a silent shift for a  salient abode,

from a tree hardbound to a feather bed,

the child unawares of new shift,

happily rolling into its world

of dream and sleep in turns.

Shift is a miracle envisaged

Shaped for a    future of bliss.

its stay in new arms,

the bright lamp and glitter,

all for a  stay of long endurance.