KAVITANJALI

 

Life

With its many faces

Any myriad images

Beckons of hope

And qualms of despair

Despondency and uncertainty

Life beware.

For it might

Look at you in your face

And hold your eyes

It might even look through you

Regardless of disguise

It admonishes you

And praises

It makes love to you

Or one day discards you

Like

A torn shred

Broken glass

Incomplete circle

Unfinished symphony.

A story

Untold,

A song

Unsung,

You may look

But wouldn’t see

You may listen

But mightn’t hear

For would you

Then life would be

Kavitanjali.

A poem

Each line a whole unto itself

Its rhythm upon your beating heart

Thoughts like a garment round your self

Emotions swimming in your blood

The air breathing within you

Its pulse a measuring meter

Of pain.

For the beauty lies in the pain of thought

In the Ifs and Buts

And Perhaps

Of what might

But wasn’t

Of what could

But didn’t

Poetry paints upon a canvas

Called

Life.

Vivid colours

Twilight blue

Pastel shades

And a mellow hue

A dab here

A dot there

Thick brushes in one

Lines in the other

Together

A complete picture.

An image which dances upon your mind

When you falter holds you from behind

The wind which lets you breathe

The solid ground beneath your feet

And there is no limit

Save the sky

Poetry is not rationed

For it asks not why.

Neither does life ask of you

We all buckle under supposition

We feel we must all give and give

Funny none of us know how to take

For no one can  that which is yours

Life welcomes with open doors

As does a poem which lets you be

Each to his or her fantasy.

There is never a single interpretation

Poems never warrant trepidation

They are but a part of you

Which hitherto was uncaged – So true

Is the belief that poetry is

But a reflection of life.

Your mirror image

No inversion

Life is part us, you and me

Say Amen or Kavitanjali.

Vikram C

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