A mirror that ponders ere it reflects
On images gathered on facts,
Is it what we call consciousness?
All-alive human awareness?
A bit afraid I’m jealous,
And I won’t confess, but quite nervous.
Prajnyanam Brahmn, Upanishads said,
Knowledge for nirvana, what a handy maid!
Universal in nature and for all,
Not a thing proprietorial,
Not a gift given to humans alone,
A wave is wave and a part of mighty ocean
So is rising from well within
Consciousness how so thin--
One that wakes up all of a sudden
When everything that be known is known,
Like a poet absorbs it all
And poetry is born like a natural fall,
There’s nothing from it to recoil,
Seeds sown, watered well, sprout from soil.
________________________________
Happenings | 11.05.2026 | man, mirror, poet, free verse
Note: Continuation from ‘AI that poses who I am’.
A squirrel sits on a branch
Pondering the Cosmos
Of the acorns
A hawk slices the cosmos
Rippling its surface
With outstretched wings
The hum of the bee hive
Tickles the cosmos
The cosmos wonders
What’s all the fuss
You can’t see it, touch it, feel it
Yet seek to unveil it
The Cosmos sits on a branch
Pondering the Cosmos
Of the acorns
Age can’t carry its carriage when,
No more gets born new courage then.
Age ponders, pen a new page when,
Life gets peeved of post-passage then.
New dares are hard to hail in when,
Past quests get sung in new rage then.
Mundane move ways of marriage when,
No room romance to restage then.
Tired, living long life of rage when,
The old man turns unto sage then.
__________________________
Ghazal | 10.09.2025 | carriage, courage, marriage, rage, sage, stage
A black bird ponders. Wind suddenly blows.
Below on the ground, autumn leaves swirl.
She gave him a letter. He gave a rose.
A raven has all the time in the world.
No sailor of seas on a long journey,
Nor gold coffers, just words of poetry,
Yet, precious nuggets from the depths of sea.
Gone to explore as a graying old man,
O rudderless with no more than a pen,
And ready to return with empty can.
Ye have explored single minded till now,
And find it fruitless to take stock of wow
Bare of brickbats—a rule somehow to bow.
Shallow praises, if not hollow, of pen,
On a dunghill as if crackles stray hen,
Shrill, vague voices that few care to listen.
Cheer up, ye chase no goal-pointed measure,
Passing an idle time, nor tame leisure,
Let your pen toil for spirit’s sole pleasure.
_____________________________________
Tercet |01.05.2024| poet, introspection
Poet’s note: In an age when scores of things vie for people’s attention, when nothing succeeds unless promoted and marketed well, a pen ponders. The poem is classified as ‘Other’, but it should be called a ‘Tercet’.
I like to think of Leonardo da Vinci
Staring at his unfinished painting
visualizing butterflies for they represent transformation
depicting her as disheveled, thus more human
it was bold of da Vinci to select a woman as his subject
suggesting there is more to femininity than most men realize
what would he have added if he had finished?
would it be the same or better? It is fun to ponde
Nevertheless, we hold one another accountable, every fertile, confluence, pre-term,
Me and mine, you and yours, words in, rhymes and reasons, and every Dum-De-Dum
Blue in tranquil blue
Clear and pristine clue
None but the eternal one, standing in witnessing time,
seven verses, in recitation, long
Prestressed condition is not something enjoyable in life,
if the reinforcement is not strong.
Yet, time will heal all,
through tests and trials, to mean more,
for a better world, better song,
And , the sky will ponder there too,
in the coming morn,
as this serene moment will prolong.
Picture courtesy : A relative of mine.
Address: Blue Lake, Purbachal, Bangladesh
The gnome wizard is proud of his transmogrifying hat.
Through telepathy he can cajole it to turn into a cat.
Or a dragon, an anaconda, a worm, a mealy mouse or rat.
The only thing he does not ask is that it turns into a bat.
A bat gets stuck in his hair and makes him sneeze.
Disentangling a bat is not easy, not any kind of breeze.
He might consider it if it is below zero, and a freeze.
For if he wore a hat he might get rid of him with ease.
I find it fascinating how the human mind ponders
the origin and shape of ideas
and how everyone
wanders.
I wonder why I
can’t help but think
in terms of rhythm and rhyme
when oftentimes others
prefer a more subtle approach
to how their thoughts are imperceptibly
dreamed, derived, or discovered.
They say everyone's chemistry is a mixed bag
of good and bad, sour, sweet, sad, mad and
lugubrious to laughably glad.
And I confess I don't know much
about psychology, psychiatry, or the brain
but this I know like the moon that glows:
the mind is a wondrous, thunderous thing.
So, if you're anything like me and
hope to see
the intricacies and mysteries
of the human mind,
better
take a step back
as a matter of fact, finding
answers may be lying
still,
undefined.
Mind-boggling, heart-wrenching, eye-opening -
Covid imposed mixed feelings about all -
Established comfort zone I’ve been living
Crashed down to pieces in a spiral fall.
Precautionary measures, now in place,
Took a hard toll on close-knit family,
Shattered warm welcome aura of home base -
Away, apart and distant it must be.
On many fronts life turned into a ghost -
Dining out, travel, or a theater night-
And a reminder of what matters most,
The value of our social ties that bind.
May 09, 2021
I love, love to write poetry, period!
I can find tons of inspiration, myriads!
A Muse? I have none, and no dappled unicorn either.
Poets might declare, oh my, she has a fever?
Both Muse and unicorn~ as helpful as egg beaters.
Or lovers who are just plain cheaters!
Just get strong coffee, my pen, great music and paper.
Add a lifetime of experiences and my time in theater.
Drama, joy, comedy, sorrow, what more do I need?
I start writing, it foments a grand ocean of speed.
Ah, yes to learn that divine art of true classical poetry.
You see, my friends, my poetic road is carved out for me!
2/20/2021
~2~
When the sun has shut his sleepy-sun eyes,
And the moon in its silvered glory rises to watch over us.
When the Creator in His wisdom, makes us tired and worn,
It's so miraculously glorious!
Our hearts travel to be in His loving care each night.
So that at sunrise, we arise to do His will.
It's so divinely and poetically right!
September 30, 2020
7:30pm PST
A Simple Poet Ponders..
Along a lane of glowing orange
trees, I leisurely sauntered.
Reminiscing of my lovers in the past
Then,suddenly, a strong wind blew them
all away in a one, refreshing gasp!
Instead, I pondered my virtues and failings,
in the stillness of the autumn morning dew.
Hugged by loving trees on either side.
Knowing that in God's hands, I did abide.
The crunch of His leaves beneath my feet.
I longed for the day, the face of my God to meet.
11/2/2019
12:30am
*An addenda. Thanks to Line for correcting me
via Soupmail re: a typo! In appreciation and
love, Panagiota ***
A Poetess Ponders
When the sun has fallen asleep and
the moon chooses to care for us.
When the Creator, makes us sleepy,
it's so divinely glorious.
Our hearts travel to be in His warm,
loving care each night.
So that at sunrise we arise to do His will.
It's so joyfully and clearly right!
August 23, 2019
The shadow dreaming of having a shadow
sifting sunlight through fingers as it falls to earth
soiled under trampled underfoot
search the oceans for a single drop of rain
and wind and grass dance endlessly
but never lie together
seconds lost
minutes misplaced
as time ponders endings
that never seem to come
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