Tess looked up, away from being,
Saw the sun as she used to do,
She knew she’d to touch it today,
Make from her old life something new.

The magic of the sun in sparks,
That dissolves the purple to blue,
And transforms weeping red golden,
Made her tears disappear, too.

Her eyes were wide; her tears were still,
For she knew she would soon be free:
Touch the warmth of the rising sun,
Be fused within the cool, blue sea.

She stepped into the liquid sky,
Her feet carrying her through the air;
She tried to reach out to the sun,
In trying, reached into his lair.

Her fingers moved close to his heat,
But she knew she’d to cross the sea,
So her feet now touched the water,
So now how far could the sun be?

The sea felt cool upon her feet,
She could feel its lapping form,
Higher, higher, deeper, deeper,
And she moved on and on and on.

Fingers reaching out to her sun,
The sea now carried her above,
The waves caressed her and, rushing
Into her mouth made quiet love.

For moments, there was darkness,
For moments, she lost her sun,
And, then, she saw it once again,
For now, the sea, the sun were one.

That was Love! In wonder, Tess thought.
And she smiled and she touched the sea,
And dissolved when she touched the sun,
And was essentially free.


The Fall

He embraced the heart. He kissed it.
He lifted it high and said he loved it.
So it blossomed. It shined sublime.
It learnt (unwisely) to disregard Time.

He caressed it with his love-song.
It vainly chose not to judge Right from Wrong.
It throbbed wildly on hearing just his name.
So, then, it had none but itself to blame.

When he hurled it up in the air,
It preened under Love’s uncorrupted stare.
But relevant needs consume Love –
A fact it forgot in the glare above.

His hand beneath left to hold Life,
And the heart made its descent into strife.
Like a damned soul condemned to Hell,
Seeing no Saviour, sobbed, as it fell.

But Hell has fire to break a fall;
The place where it fell had nothing at all:
Just a chaotic world of Art,
Which now has pieces of a broken heart.


The sky has so many stars that its face
E’en in the dark of night appears bright!
Each ribbony ray seems inclined to race
Toward earth, as though it requires the light.

It does not.

Man as aged long, to the time
He can’t see himself as part of the sky,
Of the dust, or anything sublime,
He has answered the “how?” (But failed the “why?”).

If he could, for a while, shun the glory,
The power, the wealth, the pride, the fame,
And but hear the stars’ lighted, bright story,
He shall be of Nature and need no name.

But the mind of man has evolved to think,
While his idle heart to nothingness does sink.

15th March.