Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Cliché soup sans vermicelli


Not quite ready for rhyme time
two samosas shy of a picnic
lacking a certain I-don't-know-but...
absence makes the heart brew fondue


Sunday, August 25, 2013

"In view of what crime?" (a poem after "Noor")


Life itself comprises    the greatest castigation
in view of what crime    no belated information!
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I've been divvied & diced    into so many portions
which part is for myself    I find no indication!

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Whereas truth qua truth    allows no variation
a lie is so docile    knowing no such limitation!

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No matter if you frame it    in silver or in gold
a mirror's a mirror    holding no confabulation!

========
Life itself comprises    the greatest castigation
in view of what crime    no belated information!

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Zindagi say badi saza hi nahin,
Aur kya jurm hai pata hi nahin!

Itnay hison mein bat gaya hoon main,
Meray hisay mein kuch bacha hi nahin!

Sach ghatay ya badey to sach na rahey,
Jhooth ki koi intehaa hi nahin!

Jad do chaandi mein chahey sonay mein,
Aaiana jhooth bolta hi nahin!

Zindagi say badi saza hi nahin,
Aur kya jurm hai pata hi nahin!

- Krishan Bihari `Noor'

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With thanks to Max Babi for his rendering ("transcreation"), which allowed my own riff on same.

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Smart Fon Not Quite Smart Enough? [sorta sonnet]



My fon displays the moon-phase
  & instructs me where to drive
how manifold this boon! praise
  it earns each day I'm alive

My fon brings me my friends' news
   & the global news as well
it can sound out Johnson's blues
   & GPS Dante's hell

My fon spans seven planes &
   fathoms Brahma-Vishna-Shiv
it submits to Allah's plan
   in its heart (I so believe)


Yet it dumbly refuses to spiel
Baba's silence-breaking! what's the deal?



Saturday, August 10, 2013

Certain Late Questions For Margaret Miller
(a sonnet)


Is it only because we use words   to get at meaning
that our words may become   the medium of our tale?
what if grief is a kind of inverted awe?   is keening
laughter inside-out? whereas when we allow   words fail

do we mean   our feelings exceed   our frame of reference?
or do we but vaguely confess   verbal inability?
words of saints & masters   stealthily win our deference
do they hold   a secret of subtlety   & fragility?

or a thing more weighty than gold   more shining than flame?
and what of the Silent Master?   who will explain how
even he packs words?   there's gunpowder in that name!
if an A-bomb blasts   does one-fourth really remain   while

in a trice   three-fourths of a never-was world   are gone?
could a novel horizon   limn  unambiguous dawn?