Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Balasinor




BALASINOR

Poem by Eisha Sarkar


The high walls
The lush greens
A white palace
Built in 1883.

Nawabs and Begums
Those tales of the yore
Framed and preserved
Garden Palace, Balasinor.

A mounted leopard
Louis XIV chairs
Gold threads
Antique brasswares.

Collections, collectibles
Crystals, curios
Cutlery, cupboards
Cut-glass, candle-bras.

A diner’s delight
A Begum’s talent
A hearty meal:
Seekh and mutton.

The four-poster bed
Beckons me to rest
The AC’s cool air
Puts summer to test.

Then comes Aliya
The Princess Babi
Of Afghan heritage
And knowledge a-plenty.

In her hand
She holds an egg
No ordinary one
A dinosaur’s egg!

I watch her hold
Time in her hands
The Jurassic past
In stone and sand.

Starlings in the sky
As  gold turns red
The hourglass turns
I whisper, “Goodbye!”


Monday, September 28, 2015

Gran in Colour

This is the next in the series of my works in oil pastels on paper, with granny-in-law, 'Ba' in a colour full colour. 

  

Sunday, September 27, 2015

Dad-in-law gets younger

It's my father-in-law's birthday so I decided to make him look like he was when he was 35 years younger. This is oil pastels on paper.


Thursday, September 24, 2015

At a party

A room full of laughter
Many faces with voices
Pitched high and low
A crowd of jesters,
chatterers, whisperers
Conversation-starters,
Gossip-mongers
A round of drinks
A plate of appetisers
Bow-tied waiters
A party in full swing.
And there I stand
In the left corner
Smiling shyly
At passers-by.
A phone in my hand
I wish for a beep
A message, a picture
From a faraway land.
The ladies in chiffons
Beckon me to join
I stare at the screen
“Damn! This phone!”
A circle of chairs
Is where I sit
A disenchanted spirit
Longing to go home.

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Shrine gets the paint

My granny-in-law complained about her shrine blackened by soot from oil lamps so I gave the brown wooden structure a lick of paint.

Friday, September 18, 2015

Monday, September 14, 2015

Men

Men, of valour and victory

Men, of colour and white

Men, of freedom and slavery

Men, creative and bright.


Men, of hair and stubble

Men, of back-slaps, huddles

Men, of withheld tears

Men, of suppressed fears.


Men, of want and greed

Men, of compassion and deeds

Men, old and young

Men, merry and drunk.


Men, meticulously precise

Men, intelligent and wise

Men, of brotherhood and bands

Men, of shyness and reserve.


Men, of callused old hands

Men, breadwinners in pants

Men, of silence and monks

Men, of love and songs.


Men, of praise and prayer

Men, supporters and slayers

Men, of war and peace

Men, of judgment and justice.


Men, friends and foes

Men, lives of woes

Men, uneasy minds

Men, rarely of a kind.


Men, of drive and ambition

Men, fathers of nations

Men, of beauty and perfection

Men, of skills and innovation.


Men, of honour and worth

Men, of blood and sword

Men, of sex and semen

Men, of many relations.


Men, of words and wisdom

Men, of marriage, for women

Men, Nature nurtured

Men, these men. Ah Men!

Sunday, September 6, 2015

Mahabali

There once was a king


Benevolent and caring


Mighty and brave


So must he be praised.


The words of courtiers,


Well-wishers, soothsayers


Fell on the king's ears


Turned pride into vanity.


So the Lord came to see


In the form of a dwarf


Asked the king for a gift


Just three paces of land.


Laughed the king in court


"Is that all thee wants?"


He granted the dwarf's wish;


Praises on the courtiers' lips.


The dwarf started growing


Became the Mighty Lord


A step from heaven to earth


Another to netherworld.


"Oh, where dear king


shall I step for the third?"


The mighty king bowed


"Put it on my vain head."


Such a ruler's humility!


Said the Great Lord,


"With this third step I take,


I grant thee immortality."


And so we remember


On the day of harvests


In God's own country


This story of King Mahabali.