Dharmpal Mahendra Jain |
Sky Dive
Close your eyes
tightly,
so tightly
that no one could
open them,
not even you.
Always remember:
you have to wear
your safety jacket
properly.
Having jumped
through the emergency door,
immediately pull
the strings with
full force
so that the
parachute opens perfectly
and you start
gliding down.
Don’t be afraid,
strong winds will
get in the way.
The temperature
could well be far below zero.
You will feel as if
by the time you
reach the earth
you’ve become frozen
and hard like wood.
Do not consider
that on the way
the birds of prey
will eat you;
or that you might
bump
into the sharp
rocks of a mountain;
or fall into the
sea.
Nothing like that
will happen to you.
If there is an
explosion in the sky,
you must make the
jump quickly
before the plane,
falling into
pieces,
catches fire.
The escape routes
are difficult
when sudden
troubles loom large.
***
Love
An invisible
string,
so tensile and
strong,
vibrates with your
touch.
The wave weaves a
subtle tune.
The mind is subdued
as the heart
listens.
***
GRANDMA'S TALES
You must have woven
hundreds of stories,
without any excuses, Grandma.
You used to fall asleep on your own,
narrating many a time
and we kids continued the tale
the way we imagined.
This trick still works today.
I have learned to tell such a story
which never ends.
With the morning alarm at six o'clock
a new twist arrives.
The story moves, growing again.
The sun is not credible,
many cloudlets are
scattered to cover it
in the sky.
The horse within me runs at his own
pace.
It is not interested in remembering
history.
As I step into my shoes
the date changes; so, too, the
storyline.
Princesses begin to substitute.
The narrative changes geography,
waterfalls, and flowers.
Grandma, you used to call
the princess at your will.
My princess comes at her own time.
There is so much pulling down
in the day that
the tired horse
rolls down in the stable.
There is no lesson in my tale, Grandma.
This prince so distempered
can't even sleep.
You used to tell a terrific story,
Grandma.
Tell me please,
I desperately want to sleep.
***
About the author: Dharmpal Mahendra Jain
Born (1952) and raised in tribal reserve of Jhabua, India, Dharm is
a Toronto based Author first generation Diasporic writer of Indian Diaspora. He
writes in Hindi and has seven published books- five collections of satirical
essays and two collections of Poetry. He is a columnist for three prestigious
journals Chankya Varta, Vishwa gatha and Setu. His works have
appeared in prestigious Hindi journals across the world. He is currently working on a full-length collection in English.
His poetry in English has been previously published in Poetry Pause, Leap, Fresh Voices, Harbinger Asylum, Akshara, Impspired, Piker Press, Scarlet Leaf Review, Dissident Voice, and Setu.
e-mail: dharmtoronto@gmail.com
Phone: + 416 225 2415
Address: 22 Farrell Avenue,
Toronto M2R1C8, Canada
No comments :
Post a Comment
We welcome your comments related to the article and the topic being discussed. We expect the comments to be courteous, and respectful of the author and other commenters. Setu reserves the right to moderate, remove or reject comments that contain foul language, insult, hatred, personal information or indicate bad intention. The views expressed in comments reflect those of the commenter, not the official views of the Setu editorial board. рдк्рд░рдХाрд╢िрдд рд░рдЪрдиा рд╕े рд╕рдо्рдмंрдзिрдд рд╢ाрд▓ीрди рд╕рдо्рд╡ाрдж рдХा рд╕्рд╡ाрдЧрдд рд╣ै।