Monday, October 17, 2011


I like to sit among trees and cogitate.
Being with them, I become one of them;
For a brief moment, eternal like them.
Humbly, I look up, listen, and wait.
The clouds above give only hope of rain;
The sun, I trust, will shower me with light.
I find myself alive, tranquil, sane,
Even though I’ve one and a hundred blight.
My roots suck moisture from the mother, earth;
My arms, a home for birds of diverse feather.
I consider life from naught to birth,
Study contentment in good or foul weather.
Thank Goodness for trees which don’t ask for much;
They’re great natural tutors, in wisdom rich.

(1995; slightly revised, 2011)


I wake, perturbed, to the chatter of birds
Twittering their silly songs to the sun.
Silly birds, thus wasting their breath in vain,
Serving a servant devoid of sense.
Yet their fervent, impassioned prayers soon
Awaken in me a great urge to pray,
And I sing my Hallelujahs to Him
Who is the Master of the Universe.
I welcome, with open arms, the new day,
Breathe in the morning air without a curse.
Good creatures, birds! Got some pretty good sense
In their teeny-weeny heads. They surely set
An example, even for people with fame;
Could put Leibniz and Spinoza to shame.
As sea waves yearn to embrace dry land,
Now turbulent, now calm, always changing,
So do we yearn for God's protective hand,
Seeking clues to satisfy our questioning.
We toil morning to evening -- for what?
Our life, surely, is a weird experiment
Wherein our base body goes down to rot;
But will the soul rise as finer element?
The eternal question to be or not, --
A futile one, since we're here in the flesh.
Our instinct intimates a divine plan,
But science suspects an empty plot.
Yet a still small voice always yearns for God,
Though some folks dismiss this as rather odd.


Bliss is his who can read God's signs well
And, like a good motorist, track life's path
Without a hitch. He reaches higher peaks,
Gets a glimpse of heaven while still on earth.
As faith guides his hands on the steering wheel,
He will not stray into treacherous roads,
Nor will he fear the rumblings of the clouds;
His peace of mind he reckons as his wealth.
But those who choose these signs not to heed --
Their fancy on worldly assets must feed --
Lose sense of direction and face dead-ends,
Where securities may yield no dividends.
O grant Thy road signs are ever before me,
That I may secure my right way to Thee.