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 Anuradha Majumdar

 

 

 

 

Who am I?  This is an excellent question. It certainly merits serious reflection.  A clear discernment of self, few identifying marks, achievements if any, blood group and so on.. For the moment it can be safe to say:  Site Under Construction.

 

 

Happy reading!

 

see also:

Anu's dance page

Anu's article on Art in AV
on RITAM August 05

 
 

Fire / Mobile Hour

 

Cast these dreams

Inside the fire,

Watch them burn.

Then rise,

Not toward resurrection

But such perfection

Death cannot touch.

 

 

 

FREL 8 / Mobile Hour

(Fire Reaches Edge of Light)

 

At eagle top flight is serene

The wing holds wind and skims

Through blue acres of quiet sky

 

Everything is visible, the body wide

In speed glide, witnesses the frel.

Light spills over and enters air.

 

A tenderness is inside the storm

That only the eagle knows how to love

As rampant winds shatter the air –

 

The sky holds even and the bird obeys.

Folding its wing into the silence

It plunges through the grains of light.

 

Light Matter 2.1

 

A MILLION TERMINALS INSIDE THE MIND

HAVE GATES THAT COME OPEN

IN A SUDDEN RHYTHM OF LIGHT –

A WINDRUSH OF SKY,

CLEAR BRILLIANCE, SILENCE –

CLIMBING, DESCENDING,

APPEARING FROM EVERYWHERE.

PALACES OF FREE KINGS,

PALACES MADE WITH LIGHT –

KINGDOMS THAT GROW VISIBLE

WHEN THE BODY AT LAST HAS SIGHT –

GATES LEAD TO GATES

PASSAGES BREEZE OUT EXCESS –

THE QUICK DECEIT OF DARKNESS

FADES, BURNT TRANSPARENT.

THE TERMINALS OF THE MIND

BREATHE IN QUIET DELIGHT

IN THE OPENING PLACES OF DEEP LUCENCY.

 

Light Matter 3.36

FLECKS OF BLUE TRANSLUCENCE,

BREEZE SLIPS INTO THE SPEED-LIGHT,

SPACES

STRETCH OUT THE MIND GAMES

TO FREE EXPANSE –

SWING IN FRESH LILT

CADENCES OF OCEAN FILL

THE HEART DEEP-DIVING IN THE SUN.


Still  Dreaming……

a fable in verse

 The song of sunrise wakes the blue wave at dawn

And the palmyras that waited for a hundred years,

By bare canyon cliffs,

From where they saw them all, arriving..

Arrogant, crazy, full of good will,

Dreaming to build a new world.

 

The frogs in the red ditch saw them pass,

And said, “Look at those fancy little hearts.

Tight as jackfruit, how about some elasticity?

Watch those brains work overtime, on surplus!”

Just then a mongoose flashed up in a streak,

“I’m telling you, they are hopelessly lazy.

They’ll talk about change, but end up counting money,

We’ll have to do something about it.”

“You are cynical,” said the frogs, “look how they plant trees,

Raise wind-mills, work in Matrimandir.

They have schools, business meetings and solar cells,

They work hard and disagree on every detail.”

“Don’t waste my time,” said the mongoose unimpressed,

“Please go and talk to someone else.”

And so, thirty pairs of frog-eyes slowly turned

And waited impatiently for the Dawn.

 

She came at last, rising softly,

The Queen of the Splendid Morning,

“Let it shift now,” she said, “ten degrees within…

Change has many latitudes of influence in the being.”

“But,” said the sun-bird who had just woken up

“What about unity, what about trust?”

Then the Dawn laughed through the banyan leaves,

“Unity without change is a bit unrealistic -

The dream shifts, ten degrees within.”

So saying She sang out Her golden song

And the morning awoke with a hundred tea-pots…

And a faint memory of thirty little frogs

Staring ardently at the sun.
                                      

 


                                                                                               

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