The earth is a natural museum into which generations of flora and fauna set;
And our children, the wingless birds set, like rays of evening sun-
And sons of new generations rise from new
Wombs and new seeds, with new faces, surrounded
By new orbs of light only to weave new civilizations, for the pages of history,
Which keep bulging, until the axe of time descends on it mercilessly.
Sweat flows as an eternal under-current of history, the sinews of human machine work, to
Make this glittering superstructure remain,
constantly creaking like gigantic wooden wheel, never at rest and never fed with grease-
History, the stupid woman, works up her hoary voice in tremulous tones, to narrate the
Epic tales of man from graying reason, men listen to her in all times-
The museum is filled and emptied; crowds pass in, and pass out through the halls, like moving winds restless for an unbounded journey, for peaks unseen, unknown but dreamt of generation after generation by the eyes of trees, animals, Men and molecules: while the drums of armies, governments, judicatures, dictators and demagogues continue sounding their empty fanfares-
O each age hungers for a passion, each age invites the rule of stupid theory, willingly; subjects itself to its sovereignty, while the intellect remains critical, watching and hatching the eggs of a new age-
* * * *
CANTO 1V
Poetry is coming like a red red horse,
like a an arrow from my blood, like the life
of a martyr! It is not letting me breathe!
From across the vast glass-pane are coming
turning into words, all those trees, all
those roads that run through the trees all those
people that the roads carry, all those loads of skies
that people bear, and all those horizons that hang
from the skies; helplessly-
Every moment of mine, comes and goes,
chistling itself into a sculptured piece,
One time as my nation, another time as
my song. Yet another time as my poem, and then
as my blazing sun.
With new faces, wearing new halos of light
my poems come, jumping and dancing
on the new line of my eyes.
On my roads are written letters of
welcome; on my footsteps are rained colours
by roadside trees.
Some children are playing marble, out there.
those very marble which they play today, will
ascend the guns of tomorrow and destroy these
gigantic edifices of oppression.
They shall raise new buildings and new
sunrises will be born in the hills.
Can ranges of mountains stop the dawn?
Sun will any how jump forward, cutting
across with a thousand swords; he will plant
red flags of light on the hills-
The shining roads, which today are
bearing on their backs rolling motor cars, will flee
away through these crowds of trees..
I may go and I my not return; but there
is no escape from my memories; they shall sing
forever becoming birds in the air, they shall become
a million rays of light and spread a net on my
people.
Don't I know my child
What sea is roaring in that tiny drop of your tear,
and that is why I shout my appeals
to the trees, "you must bear weapons and not
leaves on your branches"-
* * *
rocks along my way, entreat me for voices,
voices, voices.
Chariots of experience roll over my chest:
though the flesh of my body is crushed under
the weight of their wheels, I stand staring at the
clouds of thoughtful dust left behind.
I dropped everything as a tree drops its flower.
I cannot explain how powerful is the
beauty which comes out of renunciation!
It is only when I can change my age from
youth to childhood, or from childhood to old age,
from one to another, and summon at will, the
spirit of the years of any part of the life given
tome, only then I become unconquerable, before
that, I was only a ship, sinking between
the peaks of birth and death.
My desires are temples erected on the
peaks of hills, I, a traveler, trekking my way on earth.
I am longing to vanish into the womb of
midnight silence, to pray, into the temple where
there are none, not even god disturb my solitude.
Earth : A Natural Museum
Seshendra Sharma
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 03/26/2020
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Poem topics: away, beauty, birth, change, child, death, epic, flower, god, horse, journey, passion, poetry, sea, silence, solitude, song, tree, woman, work, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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