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A Tribute To Blake

When I behold the works of Blake, his visions to unfold,
I see the journey I must take to sift out all that gold.
I see the sun, the moon and stars, the tiger and the lamb,
I see Man's sin that often bars from God, the great I AM.
I look at Adam and at Eve, once holy in God's sight,
Until the day they had to leave God's Garden of Delight.
When Satan's subtle serpent's hiss shared whispers soft and low.
Such that nigh Eve, truths went amiss and sins they, too, would know.

When Adam found poor Abel dead, what thoughts ran through his mind?
For Cain, his angry thoughts had fed and rocks weren't hard to find.
And while times past, not even kings were free from sin's embrace,
And were not slaves their underlings, to favour or erase?
To think, that Blake could weave his spell, depict the good and bad
And with his visions, tales to tell, the wondrous and the sad.
And even now, his art survives the centuries untamed,
With verses scrawled, till truth arrives, anointed and enflamed!

What righteous thoughts the prophet shared, recalling Bethlehem,
A thousand angels Heaven spared near to Jerusalem.

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poem by Denis Martindale
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Spotless object

Spotless object

I saw spotless emerging object
Very much silvery and natural act
Slowly rising from the bottom of the sky
With full size and feeling very shy

Beauty can seldom be narrated
Now with any of the object equated
Such a beautiful scene with no blockade
Whole of sky illuminated with no sign of shade

I saw spotless character
As if highly integrated as lady actor
What a beautiful show altogether!
In fine atmosphere with cool weather

Not a single person can resist temptation
Few words in praise with so much elation
How come an object rise with so much of elegance?

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Do I Care That You Are Hurting?

Do I care that you are hurting?
Did you ever care...
Period!

You have not been the one,
Exclusively in pain!
And I am not immune to empathy one bit!
Now that you are ready to express 'your' feelings,
Those of others are not diminished.
Nor did they announce they have left them to quit!

What you are experiencing now...
Has no ending to it to finish.
You once could afford to ignore
The sorrows of others.
Do you believe,
The grief you have recently received...
Brings cheers to those in contant struggle?
And you are on their minds,
As if you occupy their thoughts...

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Indian Dances

The Indian culture is most diverse,
So are the Indian dances to traverse;
There are many Indian Classical dances,
And so are the many regional Folk dances.

A physical and visual form is dance,
It appropriates the spectator to a trance;
The colourful attire enchants the audience,
And the different ornaments amuse their sense.

The Natya Sastra by Sage Bharata was propounded,
And the Indian Classical dance on a grammar founded;
Indian culture with four Vedas itself prides,
And with Natya Sastra known as the fifth Veda, it strides.

Dances were originally performed in a temple,
Mainly to entertain Gods and Godesses and people;
Accompanying were the drums, flute and other instruments,
To synchronize with the music and the dancers ‘ movements.

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poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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How Pitiful Can a Pitiful People Get

How pitiful can a pitiful people get?
Not only those subjected to media empathy.
Observed and followed by those in sympathetic guilt.
But also those who deny a people of human rights.
Then fight to come to their aid...
When cameras are in sight!

'And...
ACTION!
Don't distort the getting down with the boogey.
Tears people.
Put those tears in those eyes.
Comeon...
We don't have that kind of a budget.'

'Re-activites' rush to scenes to show their concerns,
For those who have been depicted as historically needy.
Yet...
Those who are and have been pro-active,
Are usually given bureaucratic distance...

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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If It Is Peace

With imagination...
Free we are to deliver,
Our best creations.
Only we restrict them to limits!
Sometimes selfishly we decide,
To explore or hide.
Within those limits.
And satisfied we are,
When they've been reached.

Snuggle some do...
In moods of fictionalized attitudes.
Set and draped upon landscapes,
Author made.
To invite escapes.
For the mind traveling to other times.
To visit while watching a movie.
And hypnotized to feel...
Live and breathe,
The experience.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Tale of Bhimbetka

Bhim-bait-ka
Bheem sat on these rocks
the name is derived from
Sanskrit epic Mahabharata

largest collection of prehistoric art
discovered and explored
by Dr.V.S.Wakankar
a great archaeologist

from train he noticed caves
dotting the hills in distance
he cut through deep forest
climbed up to the caves

surrounded by northern fringe
of the Vindhyan ranges
lies 46 km south of Bhopal
in State of Madhya Pradesh

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poem by Ahmad Shiddiqi
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Racial abuse

When dead night descends on earth,
It is for sure someone is picked from his berth,
To travel safely to heavenly abode and reside,
Seek permanent refuge with all worries to subside,

Night depict horror, terror in colour black,
No chance to recover and report back,
But when it largely looms over the big horizon,
Big dark forests may feel shame in Amazons,

Nature’s discrimination is well defined,
It has message and meaning well refined,
Never it has narrow aim and not confined,
Always kind to mankind and not fined,

If nature resorts to some kid of discrimination,
The place left is only ground cremation,
It needs no signal for confirmation,
Its impact is always yes in affirmation,

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Unaware of the fact

I am totally unaware of the fact
As why it has deserted me to act
Why no words are pouring in as it used to be?
Why do I feel so helpless and not free?

Yes it is God gift to have grip on writing
No reason can be advanced for sighting
Everything is just before the eyes
One may not depict correctly even if he tries

Of course they may be deeply lying in corner
It has to come out later or sooner
But it has got no use if untimely composed
It will be simply rejected and totally disposed

Words can’t flow until it has free message
Water can not flow in river until has the passage
The well has enough of water in the belt below
It will remain there as it is and not allow

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Clay Feet

“D’you think God knows what He is doing? ”
a few bold angels dared to ask
when He created Man. At their first viewing,
they saw that He had botched this task,
because He’d left Man’s legs unfinished,
and though his brilliant brain held sway,
his human stature was diminished
because he stood on feet of clay.

A golden oldie now, Man’s not
improved in time, and every gate
of paradise is closed, and what
the angels said explains his fate.
God made his brain more brilliant than
the apes from which he had descended,
but giving feet of clay to Man
made him than angels far less splendid.
Roberta Smith (“Golden Oldies with a New Sparkle, ” NYT, October 30,2007) writes about an exhibition of three of “The Gates of Paradise” by Lorenzo Ghiberti at the Metropolitan Museum:
Most of the historic sculptures, frescoes and edifices of early-15th-century Florence are not the least bit portable. It’s simple: You want to see them, you go to Florence. But right now nearly a third of one of the city’s greatest glories can be seen without leaving town, by visiting “The Gates of Paradise: Lorenzo Ghiberti’s Renaissance Masterpiece” at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. This show presents 3 of the 10 gilded bronze reliefs that decorate the doors created by Ghiberti from 1425 to 1452 for the 12th- to 13th-century Baptistery of San Giovanni. Newly cleaned, they have never looked more golden or less oldie. One of the treasures of the early Renaissance, the 17-foot-high doors depict Old Testament scenes in a radically new fusion of physical action, emotional intensity and narrative complexity. Especially the three reliefs at the Met. Their subjects are Adam and Eve, Jacob and Esau, and David and Goliath. Each is pictorially unified and yet, in a different way, almost cinematic in effect… Ghiberti’s feeling for physical detail and emotional nuance keeps his surfaces alive, edge to edge. As Adam and Eve’s story unfolds, for example, angels register everything from joy to skepticism to alarm. (An angel watching God awaken Adam seems to be asking, “Does he know what he’s doing? ”)

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poem by Gershon Hepner
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