While watching the carvings of Konark Sun Temple.
.
It was a rare occasion,
I was revisiting the Surya temple (Konark Odisha) and its beautiful carvings on stone,
After a gape of many decades.
I found that the sweeping waves of time
had left nothing here without touching and mildly eroding.
.
The shine and luster which used to enchant,
every visitor here was slowly declining.
Even I too was not the same as I used to be.
Then I realized that nothing in this mortal world is forever and forever.
The only thing, which last is the beauty of our mind and soul,
which grow and grow more,
When we do good things for others and not everything for ourselves only,
But it is a very difficult practice and it comes only,
When we have love and kindness In our hears then jealousy and cunningness.
Ravindra K Kapoor
Raipur/ Kanpur India
17th Oct. 2025
NOTE : On the Photos I took on 02nd Oct. 2025 at Konark
giants and monsters
walking the Earth
in rock art
dogs
jaguars
turtle
frogs
and probably a butterfly
snakes
feared
worshiped
revered
carved geometry
an oracle
a long lost ancient culture
the fabled gold of El Dorado
legendary
discovering treasure
a thousand rock art carvings
artistic heritage
from antiquity
Gray wings
at the edge of a threadbare blue.
A feathering that attenuates
and denatures.
Beneath somber clouds
stone angels watch
green granite deathbeds
crumble
in darkening dens.
October slips
through our eyes leaving no footsteps.
We are unaware of its coming
until we close those eyes tight,
then under squeezed lids
they glint starbright.
Sea-deep into a restless night
we may apprehend
the faces of the bloodless
as they seek
some last verdant masks to cover
their ice-sculptured features.
I looked at the heart-encased initials on the table,
a couple's lifelong promise turned employee's weeklong cleanup project,
I wonder if it's gone yet,
Love is set in minds not etched in someone's regret
Mind Carvings
Mind relies on carvings to create what it thinks
How tensile this airless life
like a sponge submerged again and again
its weight becomes its intake from all around
seeks relief by disgorging
First a sprinkle
the droplets imagined
spurring cups to runneth over
to flood the pavement of fingers and hand
to float the point of pen
to glide this simple tool
on water ever floating
ice never melting
carving its language signposts
purging its past
welcoming thought's future
So it goes
This mind shaped by what it holds or makes
words but one tool of its amorphous lexicon
ever faithful to be drawn on surface
sung on air
painted on hearts in want
From letters to words
Becoming that which
refuses to be forgotten
patiently lingering in the shadows
anticipating its own discovery
Ancient carvings
from a mythic age
where children
played in everyway.
Now they scream
lost in a dusky dream
crying: “Help – save us”
from this polluted stream.
The blade.
The pain.
The blood.
My wrist.
Slowly and carefully
carving my sorrow and inner-most
anger;
leaving reminders of my pain
on my soft flesh;
watching dark crimson beads blossom on my arms
and flow down my finger tips
numbness of my senses sets in
and my limbs become light as air
blurring vision and vertigo
standing upright, it is no longer possible.
I fall to the floor
as the blood drops begin to pool beside me
the cold floor becomes warm
as my body heat disperses
I know I've gone to deep
yet, the sick sadistic side of me
finds the strength to smirk
and I die there
with the essence of insanity
forever frozen across my face.
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