Poetry: Pramila Khadun

Pramila Khadun

Dear Buddha

Dear Buddha, there is a widespread gloom
And sullenness across the globe.
The reflective capacity of man is clouded
And focusing on the self is rampant,
For man has forgotten since a long time.
The inner – connectivity of mankind.

‘What lies behind us
And what lies in front of us
Pales in comparison
To what lies within us,’ says Emerson.
We are forgetting the rich History
That our ancestors left behind
And competing to grab all
That lies in front of us.
Consequently, we are left
With no time to ponder
Over what lies within us.

Buddha, you left the comforts of the world,
To embrace hardships for within it
Lay buried the riddles of existence.
We are responsible for our own deeds, you said
And no one escapes the law of karma
By self, one is defiled,
Be self, one is purified
Says the Dhammapada
We have all the powers in our hands
And yet, why does man think
That he is weak?

It is the same Avatara who
Having plunged in the Ocean of life,
Rises up in one place
And is known as Krishna,
And driving again rises in another place
And is known as Christ.
Again he dives, emerges as Prophet Mohammed
And one more diving,
Beautifully and gloriously, like lotus
Emerges Buddha.

Buddha said,
Behold, O monks,
All compounded things, all experiences,
By their very nature decay and die,
It is through not being infatuated
With objects of the senses that you will succeed
In awakening and obtain liberation.
Buddha, if we follow this single teaching,
All problems of the universe
Will be solved.
Man will look within himself
And listen to the singing of the constellations
And the harmony of spheres. 

Slowly, slowly

Slowly, slowly, the wind will sweep the fields,
Slowly, slowly, the sun will rise.
Slowly, slowly, man will forge his path
While the hot air balloon will
Give a ride to joyous children
Filled with the mirth of innocent smiles.
Slowly, slowly, mothers will cope up
With the empty-nest syndrome
While fathers will go on doggedly
Digging furrows in the volcanic terrains.
Slowly, slowly, the two-humped camel
Will walk diligently with its load
While the windmill radiating
A gentlemanly demeanor will smile.
Slowly, slowly, the couple make love
While the infant slumbers peacefully.
With relentless passion, the poet
Writes a poem by the evocative
Waters of the lake while the woman
He loves comes slowly, slowly to meet him.

I came not

I came not to compete with others,
I came to complete.
I came not to laugh
At others’ faults,
I came to laugh at my own.
I came not to hurt others,
I came to lick my own wounds.
I came not to praise others
For my own gains,
I came to say plain truth.
I came not to crucify,
I came to demystify.
I came not to kill,
I came to nurse.
And last but not the least,
I came not to talk,
I came to listen to silence

The wanderer

He was a great thinker and philosopher
Of exceptional sensitivity.
He believed not in new age mystic gurus
Nor in the gossip, glitz and glamour
Of our everyday world
That has been sinking slowly but surely.
His poems were a witty tour-de-force
With pleasing, pithy and mordant undertones.
It was the fine confection
Of brilliant writing with moving themes.
He loved the idyllic landscapes of Kashmir,
The clusters of bamboo,
The tree-lined avenues,
The seaweed-strewn beach,
The captivating aurora borealis
And the open plains of Tibet.
Poised and savvy, with consummate skill,
He wrote poem, geet and gazal
Serendipitous, thought-provoking
That would never wilt and wither
While fashioning the drama of existence.
And one fine day, he becomes a wanderer,
A harbinger of peace, feisty and free.
She met him once and with a single meeting,
He changed the course of her whole life.
How could she forget that day
When his luminous eyes
Had fleetingly held hers.

What next?

It is mandatory to know what will happen
To good planet earth in coming years.
The earth is reacting to the accumulated
Sins of mankind cropping up like mushrooms.
Man is forgetting that the universe
Operates by law, sacred in nature.
This is the time,
Neither to hate, nor to judge.
This is the time to love.
This is the time to forgive.
When will the idea dawn
In man’s vagabond mind
That we are supernaturally natural
And lots of powers are in our hands.
Open your hands, open your mouth,
Open your heart and open your eyes,
O man!
Repent, forgive and love.
Then only the holy spirit
Will be poured in you.
Then only, you will experience
True faith, true compassion
And true love.

1 comment :

  1. sane words poetically spread by a great heart. no grudge, no anger or anxiety she demonstrates through her lovely choice of words. congrats


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