Weaves of Time: poems by Sangeeta Gupta

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   With you Time

          dramatizes into diamonds

          into pearly moments.

          Nay, I do not ‘spend time’,

with you, I weave it

          into a poem, a painting.


          Time? – – time

          Is an abstract notion

          you can almost do

          what you like with it

          you can even recreate it

          so flexible it

          you can make time timeless – –

          waste it too – –

          it changes with your each mood

          it can be sad,

          be cheerful

          not it your master

          it is your obedient slave, you can

          tame it.

          a powerful tool – –

          to you given as gift,

          to be used as you wish.

          you it is, who it perceives

          you who decide its fate.

          you who,

it has got to serve.


          In this post-noon solitude

          a playful sun

          kisses your eyes

          but softly so

          and then instead

          of weaving dreams

          you weave silence

The inner fire is ready

          as though to explode

          like a playful butterfly

The rebel is reborn

          as if looking for a new horizon

          to grow in – – for

          an awareness near total,

          for not else

but reconnect

          to re-bond

          to be sheerly,

          so you are

          alive each moment

          alive here and now

          and for as long

          as ever is.


          Love is so abstract

          it is of no guaranteed definition

          Each one defines it differently

          You can feel

          its there somewhere

          between earth and space

          may be all over

          words fail

          it can be understood

          only in the completest of silence

          indeed it is hid in the innermost core

          of an elusive existence

          Touch core

          and it you will know.


          In this

          sunkissed afternoon

          I realize

          you are often

          in my thoughts

the warmth of the

          soft velvet sun

          also has

          the warmth

          of your deep recall


          evening —

          filled with your laughter – –

          suddenly makes me realize

          I am alive, that I am talking to myself

          that life itself is

          the key poem.


In an utter silence

          I hear you

          hear the unsaid

          hear that

          which never touched

          your lips

          I hear feelings

          which are hidden

          secreted with utmost care

          in the in-most

          bole of your being

          the pure, the raw truth

          is not spoilt,

          nor expressed

          in words

          which have lost

          their meanings

          in this, so utter a silence

          sans communication, sans connection

          yet see

how still I hear you

          understand you completely.


It is now I can grasp

          the silence – –


          the steep beauty,

          the bliss of what is not

          The sound and fury inside


          and the void is replate

          with the gong of silence

          each moment of this same supreme quiet

          making you grounded

          in the here and now – –

          of no sound

only song.


As artist

          I wish to paint nought else

          but pin-drop silence

          wish to weave

          the texture of that special sound

          that is unheard

          wish to share with you

          this, an element out of ear-shot,

          on the blank of a canvas


          so abstract

          well, you may feel it

          but not define it

          for words just cannot express

          what is rare


that one can sense,

it, that is simply unsaid.


When is silence, when speechlessness

          a poem’s kin?

          I know it in my bones

          its really the roll back

          of the tide of times

          we spent together,

          times that seemed timeless

          those so secretly stored

          in the invisible most pore

          of ones being

          the joy of knowing without being told – –

          bliss of understanding,

          the satisfaction

          of being understood without strain

          minus speech

          and once more one is aware,

          of a Presence

          during when the molten silver of silence

          flows like a poem,

          like a flowing pen.


Read also: Solo Exhibition of Paintings by Sangeeta Gupta