Fables of The Self

Lines on the Mirror

She had left when I returned from the office,
it was so agreed upon; a less painful device.

The house, home no more, neat and tidy
she'd kept, as was her wont, though in hurry.

Like a fool I stared at the vacant space,
unable anymore to select a cozy place.

The mirror laughed, made grotesque faces,
reflecting complicated circles of dark laces.

Thoughts left impressions in subconscious,
like lines grooved around the circle of eyes.
--

Shiva's Dance

In death and destruction, in terror and fear,
dance Shiva, dance in splendour.

Volcanic eruptions of suppressed anger,
earth sheared with quaking tremble;
running for protection as I stumble,
trying to reach You in confused stupor;
dance Shiva, dance in splendour.

Deceptive logic and dissecting debates,
ruinous to my emotional castles;
dilapidated heaps of forlorn desires,
as they become historical blunders;
dance Shiva, dance in splendour.

Inherited load of genetic files,
lies after lies added to list of lies
futile effort to churn truth from the lies;
in silence tears wet my eyes tender,
dance Shiva, dance in splendour.

The blue collar you wear around your neck
of the poison that you drank in our favour,
still we remain ignorant of your nature;
help O effulgent saviour, as I surrender;
dance Shiva, dance your Tandav.
--

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The Birds and the Lanterns

At twilight crows gather together
like students in a school at sunrise.

They shout "caw, caw" and occupy
boughs and twigs in perfect disorder.
I stand below, and smile knowingly:
"Keep quiet, behave at least for a while,"
as my teacher would mechanically insist.

In the nearby village lanterns flame
and flash their dim yellow light,
and provide semblance of culture;
they stand there in perfect silence
as a hymn is sung to Goddess Nature.

Wind blows with vengeance but
cannot devour the flames - no blackout
in my tiny hut where hearth is home;
and here crows are welcome.
--

Contemplation

Cushioned interior
in the vastness of heart
where effulgence hangs
like chandeliers from
the roof of space, and
the clock of eternity
ticks on unseen wall.

The light is your own;
you willingly lend it to the sun,
the moon, and the stars,
and gratefully they borrow.

On the wings of silence
mind soars high - sky is no limit -
and listens to the Word
that is with God - nay, that is God.
--

all poems by c s shah
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