Monday, April 17, 2006


Welcome to my world of poetry.


vinaya said...

Dear Girija,
The Gita has a tree, with its braches below and roots above;
and it's to be cut down;
so we need shade, Thanal, and
am so happy that poems and thoughts can be shared like this, will get into it myself one of these days, till then all love and blessings; glad of your piece on Ami Oppu, she's much too much misunderstood;

vinaya said...


Devadevan said...

The Wilderness

I came too late to the hills: they were swept bare
Winters before I was born of song and story,
Of spell or speech with power of oracle or invocation,

The great ash long dead by a roofless house, its branches rotten,
The voice of the crows an inarticulate cry,
And from the wells and springs the holy water ebbed away.

A child I ran in the wind on a withered moor
Crying out after those great presences who were not there,
Long lost in the forgetfulness of the forgotten.

Only the archaic forms themselves could tell!
In sacred speech of hoodie on gray stone, or hawk in air,
Of Eden where the lonely rowan bends over the dark pool.

Yet I have glimpsed the bright mountain behind the mountain,
Knowledge under the leaves, tasted the bitter berries red,
Drunk water cold and clear from an inexhaustible hidden fountain.

Kathleen Raine