Best Ghat Poems
Chanting of hymns
filling this sweet evening air
chanting of hymns
takes me nearer to God it seems
I pray to God with my heart bare
relishing each moment so rare
chanting of hymns.
Wick lamps floating
on the sacred Ganges river
wick lamps floating
with wishes of people praying
in evening breeze flames quiver
and chanting of hymns filling air
wick lamps floating.
© kashinath karmakar 2012
==========================
Placement: 1st; (Feb. 2012)
contest:Alphabets of Rondelet
word chosen:Chant
Sponsor:Nette Onclaud.
*an evening scene at Har ki pauri
ghat,Haridwar,India.Google it to know more.
O grandma *Gomati, was born on thy bank
And born of a mother bearing your name
On all the yesterdays your water I drank
Am still the part of your pattern and frame.
My blood flows in thy stream meandering
It’s a kind of earthly immortality,
I stand by you and feel kinship endearing
Know not much about gods but your affinity
I learnt to strive, to sink and to seek depth ever
Simply Hydrogen and Oxygen doesn’t make water
Something third is needed to make you what you’re
Nobody knows except you Ma and your Creator.
*******
Dr. Ram Mehta
June29, 2011
Twelwth Place win in
Contest: best dedication poem by P.D.
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*Gomati is the name of the river in Gujarat State of India. My home town Dwarka
where Lord Krishna ruled once, is on the bank of River Gomati.
My mother too was born there and she was christened as Gomati after the name of the river.
Please click on the links below to see the pictures of River Gomati and the town Dwarka
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Copy and paste the links below to see pictures:( Please share it on my blog if this doesn't work)
http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--
mnJsfgKoNc/TgpR_pUcaGI/AAAAAAAAAWY/r3OxvDhVhlU/s1600/Gomti+River+for+PS.jp
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http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-
urY7xEhqWe4/TgpSDtfX4OI/AAAAAAAAAWc/g63z_gsliPA/s1600/Dwarka+with+Gomati+
Ghat.jpg
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last journey---
dead bodies draped in white
waiting in a queue
*Scene from a burning ghat (crematorium)
Even if the clouds give you darkness
Always know that the sun shines above
Giving hope and desire to live
Don't let those moments make you leave your dreams
It's always a step a day
Don't break your leg ghat early
The wind blows dust in your eyes
Know that it's temporary. It ain't meant to last
U'll only close your eyes for a moment
Life is like that, don't stress yourself
As it passes you'll wipe your eyes again
Wanting to see what lies in-front of you
The pain we pass through is meant to open our eyes
No joy lasts in this world without pain
It's ironical that most jokes come from pain
Hope you see what I listen to
Learn to treat all, none is greater than the other
Who you hate today might be the person U'll love tomorrow
Ghat road made me vomit .
My husband said damn it.
MY daughter said stop it.
Delhi seems closer than it was last time.
After a tea with GST,
on to a backstreet of Varanasi,
Untouched by authority;
ignored more by memory
than darkened by amnesia.
A huge black cow lazes about,
like a Moghul monarch blocking
half the street. It won’t let the OLA pass.
At the hoary-holy sanctum,
my poor drops of milk from a paper cup
pour on to the Lord’s cosmic crown.
Ganga, here, is a very old Benares
fraying at the edges, laid out in the open.
So still, like samana, the balancing prana.
From a boat I watch how human flesh fuels
the firewood at the Harichandra ghat..
Benares eyes Harichandra rather darkly.
Then, the Ganga Arati at 6.30
Their off-white attire. The huge lamps they hold
and draw patterns with, in the air.
Lines with the solemn predictability
of a Ravi varma . Ganga is a new Miss world by now.
At the Manikarnika ghat too, bodies dutifully burn.
In the dark, Death sparkles like huge fireflies;
pampered by pundits and Sanskrit
I lie in an OYO at Godowlia so ill.
So close to mukti. A godsend of a doctor
At Matha Anandamayi hospital queers my pitch..
One of a tribe long extinct in Serpent town,
his fees: ‘whatever you please’.
I remember hospitals back in Kerala.
Thank god, I was not in one there.
Else, I would have hit hell by now, looking for money.
Sure, the ‘path to hell is paved with good intentions’
( of corporates and false swamis)
Notes:
Varanasi: It is also called Benares and Kashi, One of the holiest of cities in India, known for its temple, by the Ganges, dedicated to Lord Shiva.
OLA : The taxi cab app, OYO : An app to find hotel rooms.
Serpent town : Trivandrum, Samana : One of the five pranas(breaths), the equalizing prana.
On the golden quilt of alasi*
Long stretched and
Kissing the horizon
I nap
Cushioned on malleable azure clouds
A stainless heaven kissing the earth I dream
On the savage land
Atop the hill and hillocks
From the bushes come
The clings of wooden harness bells
With ease
Multiple birds’ twitter brings.
The half-clad damsels
With floral ornamented locks
And garlanded plenteous
Driving the goats and sheep
Among them one with
A newborn lamb
Fixed to the bosom carry
Makes me feel of beauty sleep.
Music of brooks and falls
In my veins flows, it seems
To my mind only solace gives.
From the coffee orchard
Around habitation
Comes aroma of intoxication
Mixed with tipsy but delicate savour
Of lichi orchard in delicate flavour.
Of the cobweb’s deception
In twisted thoughts
Are trapped the development,
As insects
In lizard’s mouth.
The silvery gracious look
A shocking wave of mystery gives
Atop the hill at a little distant
Leading to the dead end
The hollow point
To the heart gives a feel-poignant
Lovers’ longing for a glance
At hand
Giving a sight of puppet to buses and trams
In serpentine zigzag ghat road Singari
Through the cliff hillocks
Though rugged, eye-catching
Captivating yards beside
If peeped the other side
Of stone wall
Mere bushes seem the trees tall
Hill simply hillocks
And rivers mere brooks.
it is circulated deep into the soil
that you’ve wore the dress of paraffin
in the multidimensional wind of the winter
the cash-memo of the recently purchased
gold-bangles
would reside for some time more
then all the pregnant women
would assemble in the river-ghat
to meditate on the paddy-blossoms
all diamonds and clubs
would overcome their insomnia
through this arrangements
the crushing-news of fostering
flows
this dilution is well-known
the river-ripple of the air
after reading the sun
would keep some extension of dahlia
on its palms
in an unwritten evening
the demi-god-birth of the fire-flies
would break
their easy dead bodies
by the instigation of the surges
would ring … and ring… and ring
and spread cheerfulness
the elderly rain-tree comes to spray anti-biotic
on the spoilt top-branch of the young lad
covered with citronella
Sta soda qutab minaar
Gat size ready tayar
Sta soda qutab minaar
Dair ghat mota hathyar
Sta soda qutab minaar
Mata honey moon pkaar
Sta soda qutab minaar
Please yao franchise darkaar
Sta soda qutab minaar..
When terror strikes,
fear inside you
makes a hissing sound,
breaks the vessel.
Pain spurts out.
Your limbs swell like sapphires
in a naked suffering.
You were searching the face
of your dead brother on burning ghat.
And then on, it pours.
Babies were burning in incubators.
Blasts devouring the eyes,
ears and noses.
But the dredging will continue.
Irrespective of ocean of death
leaping to fragile shores
till the waves send back the relics.
Whom shall I call for condolence
in the thick of fog?
I was closing the weeping chapter.
SATISH VERMA
Gardener
Jinnatul Hossain Tanim
Do I know the goal of the flower garden?
The thorn forest flowers are torn and the blame is pressed.
Goalini of Kanur Ghat is in the hands of the soil, I dream of her in the middle of the night.
I am a thoughtful boy sitting on the shore, Goalini is more precious to me than gold.
In the palace of the great master, I cut a piece, I am present every morning, I am his gardener.
A beautiful lady used to come to give milk, she could see the gardener's arteries trembling.
Once upon a time there was the humming of an ornamental dawn bird, the ringing of an anklet.
I looked with curved eyes and saw the footsteps of that lady, the love poem of Mali-Goalini started from that day.
Draw silent love with the touch of the brush that is matching the eyes.
Holy love is overshadowed by the evil black shadow, the name of the shadow is Bara Babu.
Just as the hunter's eyes fall on the prey, so does Goalini. The beautiful lady did not get relief from the evil shadows.
Big Babu is thinking deeply, he is a trickster, how can he make a pair of birds a prisoner.
Every morning the gardener sat down thinking that he would give Gowalini a fresh drop of flowers, who knew that thought would be a big mistake.
He said goodbye to me for leaving flowers, today I am helpless, so I took the blame.
Goalini has never been seen again, tell me where to go to find the Lord.
After a long time I am calling you, I am your gardener, if you want to enter the palace, you hear insults.
You have given love to be the queen of Jalanjali, if not, if you remain queen, then you are the product of grandparents.
Sitting in front of the palace house waiting for your arrival, the love of Mali-Goalini blended with the dust.
When terror strikes,
fear inside you
makes a hissing sound,
breaks the vessel.
Pain spurts out.
Your limbs swell like sapphires
in a naked suffering.
You were searching the face
of your dead brother on burning ghat.
And then on, it pours.
Babies were burning in incubators.
Blasts devouring the eyes,
ears and noses.
But the dredging will continue.
Irrespective of ocean of death
leaping to fragile shores
till the waves send back the relics.
Whom shall I call for condolence
in the thick of fog?
I was closing the weeping chapter.
SATISH VERMA
The grace of the silence, the trace of the moon is,
The flames of the soul , shows what a ruin is.
On the threshold of heart , where the treasure resides,
There in aromatic air blow , in which infant dreams glide,
Free, clueless of outside world, seems in only ghat of world,
Not knowing they will be throttled if they not cost gold,
Not the rain outpours and dream contrast with profession,
Now the dream began to diminish , as the setting sun,
For reprieve the mind asked heart - what a ruin is?
Heart smiled and said-"traces of tears on the cheak of eternity.
Basically I am making a sundae
out of my vajina hahahahahaha.
Yeah, this is the normal recipe..
We need to spice up things Don.
(kithay masala ghat kithay bohta)
Note.Suk Suk Suk sehnil Kohleen.