I look forward:
Not to death, my death.
But to my shelter.
Here on the Earth.
This Mother,
Who bears
All the burden
Of evil, I am sure,
Will bear me, too.
Death, I abhor.
To die I have
To kill myself,
That I can't.
I must live on.
Show what I can.
Challenge betrayers.
I can survive.
Not a non-entity.
But, a celebrity.
Space I need,
So, I seek you,
Oh, Cewa!
Grant me asylum,
To establish my-self!
I begin thus. On the verge of retirement. Debts, aplenty; sources none. How I wish the ground under me caved in! Sita of the Ramayana sank into the lap of her Mother, and, doing so, she proved the majority wrong. In this world, where money alone matters, I just can't go on. I have no mask to hide my face. My face is part of me:
A face
A mirror
Not false;
Genuine
Reflects
Truth;
Only truth.
An unfit, a pretender, so the world labels me. At home or abroad, this label sticks to me.
Bothers me not,
Care I not!
Glory to Thee!
Oh, the Mighty!
Mammon deserts not Thee.
The devious paths
To Him, Thou know well.
Minerva has vanished.
No devotees she has.
Carnivals, feasts and parties bohemian, I attend not. Strange, then, is it to be quarantined?
Hard iron
Walls, I've built
Around me.
Mine is
A closed self.
A self unselfing
Itself.
The othered self
Doesn't sell well.
This gadget I am typing on, and plenty of books, I own. Wonder who will care for them? The thought mortifies me! Death, wait a while! Let me find their inheritors.
To put to auction,
I like not.
No bra of a holly lady,
No tie of Rambo, these.
Bidders scarce
For mine, I know.
All silence now! Distractions none. Machine neighborhood still to stir. Ideal time for contemplation and composition. At three am, this eccentric does find outlet for his deeply buried sensitivity to be metamorphosed into letters black carved on the white thin, tenuous marble.
A crow caws,
Others pick up.
The chorus
Disentangles
Twined clasps.
Pleasures of the night-
Set in aphrodisiac motion-
Now herald pains of the day!
Life has to be lived, hasn't it?
In the latter half of the fifties, I can afford to ruminate thus! Haven't I been the same in my youth?
Drunken nights,
Hazy mornings,
Depleting days,
And again,
Replenished nights?
Having travelled a long way, secured positions for mine, now I seek shelter, nay, escape from my debtors into yet-to-be-known nooks.
That's being human, isn't that?
