Poetry in Auroville: 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.
Books of poetry published by Anu Majumdar:
"Light Matter", 1998
For more information, please visit Anu's website: http://www.anumajumdar.com/poetry-other.html
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
Fire / Mobile Hour
Cast these dreams
Inside the fire,
Watch them burn.
Not toward resurrection
But such perfection
Death cannot touch.
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 –
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,
STRETCH OUT THE MIND GAMES
TO FREE EXPANSE –
SWING IN FRESH LILT
CADENCES OF OCEAN FILL
THE HEART DEEP-DIVING IN THE SUN.