Monday, May 11, 2009

Sunil Sharma

Finding Meaning
---Dr. Sunil Sharma

Finding meaning
In the crowded metro is
Like searching for pure love
In the busy and garishly-painted
Whore- houses of Bangkok.

It is like waiting eagerly
For an empty local train
In Mumbai.
The disciplined Blue-line buses
In Delhi,
Searching for fresh tomatoes
In the dim vegetable markets
In the evenings,
If you get them,
Then it is really
A big miracle!

A Sufi found one
In unusual places.
Finding meaning,
Said the venerable figure
From Turkey to me,
Is easy job and I did that
By giving a rose
Covered with the dew drops,
To an ailing old mother,
Abandoned in a bleak parking lot.
It is feeding the street kids,
Saying gentle words
To a man out of job,
And holding hands of a
Grieving father
In Gaza,
On a blazing, missile-lit stormy night.
The dawn poems
---Dr. Sunil Sharma

The little poems seize
Wake you up
From the deep slumber---
A bit before dawn,
And compel you to
Compose them as it is,
On your silent PC/ blank papers,
The words forcefully dictating
The sleepy poet
Like a stubborn don.

Quite often,
They are like
Precocious restive children, returning from a romp,
Waking you up
With their sweet laughter
And loud merry voices,
Erupting around,
And an overworked you
Do not mind
Attending to this happy bunch
Of pure, blessed sounds.

The words
Sometimes are---
Like a wandering old Jew,
With a white flowing mane,
Finding his precious resting home.
Silence of the urban spaces
---Dr. Sunil Sharma

Silence is---
Sending an e-mail
Not getting any reply
From a dear friend.

Silence is---
Not getting even a plastic smile
From a stiff colleague,
Who smiles at others routinely
Becomes temporarily very grim,
As if in deep mourning,
After seeing you
In the narrow office corridor.

Silence is---
In a family function,
Relatives bypass you,
And serve the corporate types
Because they are getting
What you are not.

Silence is---
When you expect a short visit
From an estranged brother or sister,
On your 45th birthday,
Even after a year,
Do not even get a brief telephonic call.

Silence is---
When close neighbours,
Switch on their imported mobiles
In the
Discussing business
While you become a dark phantom---
Watching it all.

Silence is---
When your spouse deserts you
For a better-looking person,
With a better-paying job.

It is---
Being judged by your clothes,
But not by
What you are.

Inner Void
---Dr. Sunil Sharma

Inner void is---
The dust-laden acacia tree,
In a nook of
The dry forest
Ranthambore tiger sanctuary
Of Rajasthan.

It is a hot warm June evening,
When you---
And lonely---
Leaning on the parapet,
Watch the throbbing street,
From the unlit terrace
Of your 13th-floor tiny flat.

It is most poignant,
When your young
Pre-teen soft hand holds
The strong hand of your
Beloved dad,
Now strapped to a support system in a costly
Private bed,
Of a pricey small hospital,
The oxygen mask slapped
On his wide, once-smiling, gentle and radiant face,
Your impotent tears mingling with
The graying hairs of his
Unfeeling broad hand.

The inner void is---
Coming back from work,
Expecting boisterous kids
But surprisingly
Finding the house completely empty,
As the summer holiday has begun
And realizing that they all left two days’ ago
For the far-off native land
Then, at that moment,
You feel like your aged parents,
Who always cry,
When you leave a small cozy childhood home.