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Poetry by
Seshendra Sharma
FLOWERS AND SILENCES
The dim darkness-the diffused light-dimness of one merging into the other-
imparting more length to the long trees that are standing like stretched
out
shadows wearing stars in their hair- silence is imparting more depth to
the darkness
in this advaita where darkness is merged into silence, my mind wakes up,
now not only sound but even a ray of light is a violent disturbance to the
proundness
of peace- in such moments deep truths unveil themselves-
now I realize it is not sound but in silence melody lives-
I am born out of flowers and silences- while passing my hand brushed
against a flower,
I asked 'are you bruised?' "Me or you" smiling, the flower questioned
back- the heart
of my pen broke and split blood;- I do not know which paper can bear this
pen-
In the gigantic silences of forests, which touch the blue skies, the
carpenter bird pecks
at the trunks of great trees which echo, far reaching sounds-
what can he do among the tiny crotons?
I ate days like fruits-now I eat drops of tears like grapes-frightened by
the sun
took refuge under shades-sitting on the pavement eating dreams from eyes
like ice cream
with spoons- measuring my life with dark evenings- I distributed my
wealth
once with metres, now I scatter with handfuls my future
letting it fly in all directions-
I washed my heart in tears and dried it over poetry- walked past
wearing people on my body like shawls-
in the assemblies of flames; in countries abroad I raised my gypsy voice
and sang mixing earth and sky-
this country is the graveyard of my genius- however fast I walk
the distance remains the same. This land is thirsty for my blood,
it is snoring in the little shades of pigmy trees-
I picked my pen and dipped it in the sun
to write a summer song for my nation-
Seshendra Sharma
Me
I come out of sleep only to return into dream
I am that pain which cannot see the world
The dreams that I dream in the night
Are bridges that I build across the days;
I am that note which could not become a song.
My language filled itself with pain
I am that range of mountains
Which has inflicted silence on its lips.
I am that last night whose stars
Breaking their slavery to darkness,
become my sentences,
run and merge themselves with the sun
Each day I rise on the peaks
of horizons of the mornings;
I am that circle of song
Which scatters scarlet light all round-
-Seshendra Sharma
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Seshendra Sharma
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Poet of the Millennium
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