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Ravi Panamanna

A faint whiff of my childhood.

A COUPLET OF PABLO NERUDA HAD INSPIRED ME TO COMPOSE THIS POEM. COMPOSED ON 8TH OCTOBER 1980.
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Oh beauty! Thy face is
Slumber and pale so deep
In the smalt of night,
In this silent hour.

Oh dreams! Thy rainbow feathers
I saw in my bed
Void of that golden hue
That once my years filled.

Oh song! So echoing thy strings-
Was so enchanting once.
Now with tears engrave on thy grave
An ode in this silhouette.

Oh sweet days! Why now weep
Fondling in silence with candid feelings?
That quiet little brook whispers unto me

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To a migrating bird

Oh! migrating bird,
In this branch
Thy hours are limited.

Far from thy nesting place,
It is a sojourn
In search of springs and copse.

Across the plains,
And into the windy dales,
It is a long flight.

And here and there,
Where the streams meet and depart,
A few nights are spent.

And thee leave the taverns,
Thy acquaintances, sprawling meadows,
To meet thy destiny yonder hills.

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A London trip

(One day during the wee hours of the morning I had the following dream and what happened at the end of it? Read. Date of composition 25/08/1987) .
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Busy streets fled past me
Busy roads ran towards me.
As the thirsty eyes of a tourist
I was enjoying the scenes.

I was on the roads of London,
My heart danced upon my chest.
I was flying along the avenues
My white car was as swift as a glider.

Thames flowed gently,
London Bridge brought me the call of centuries.
A lone nightingale sat at Hampstead Heath
And Russell Park brought me memories of London Notebook*.

And Avon flowed carrying Shakespeare
Piccadilly Circus brought me soft memories.

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The winning move.

Life is not a Tempest
Nor a Mid Summer Night's Dream.
It is not A Winter's Tale
Nor a drama to play As You Like It.

All's Well that Ends Well,
Life is a Comedy of Errors.
We have Great Expectations
We do dream of Paradise Regained.

We move our pieces Measure for Measure.
Alas! In the process Love's Labour's Lost.
We eat the Grapes of Wrath
And life seems to be War and Peace.

Sitting Under the Greenwood Tree
It is all An Enchanted Kiss
It is all A Tempered Wind,
And we forget The Elegy Written in a country church-yard.

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I am driven to silence

Once again a political war,
Life is getting marred.
Bombs are often blast
Shops by overnight are holocaust.

Flags are flying high
Man is but making sighs!
Soft winds are now gone
Human mind is torn!

I was in that place,
Decades reel in grace!
A beautiful country side,
Gentle hearted people, no chide.

Before my going there
A similar storm was over.
I was in a love dale
Life was a happy sail.

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Upon the lap of Nature

A lonesome bird
A whispering wind
A solitary cloud,
Nature is a singular scene.

A running brook
Gushing falls
Breathing woods,
Nature is a singular voice.

Endless meads
Dancing shades
A grazing cow
Nature is a singular vision.

A ploughman’s call
A melodious song
A barking dog,
Nature is a singular pulse.

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A tale of our times.

(The life of Howard R Hughes is phenomenal. He was born in Houston, US on 24/12/1905 and expired on 05/04/1976. He owned a number of companies and was the Chairman of Hughes Aircrafts. But his richness did not give him a peaceful life towards the end. Life is afterall not a question of material richness but a measure of richness of mind and heart. His life naturally compels everybody to reflect on the moral and spiritual values of life. Hence this poem has a purpose unto mankind. I haven't tried to shorten this long, narrative poem for the fact that the reader should get to the whole issue of how a man could dig his own foundations to ruin himself. Let us take a lession out of his life) .


On board an air ambulance,
On way to The Methodist Hospital,
Unknown and unsung
He breathed his last.

His billions were a waste,
Richness could not save his life.
From the springs of yore
It was a wreckless wander unto a recluse and beyond.

Once upon a time
The winds were blowing soft.
Long long ago
His seasons were normal and perfect.

During his prime life
He was an archetype.

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