Bee

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Chickpea to Cook

Chickpea to Cook
~Jalaluddin Rumi
(translated by Coleman Barks)


A chickpea leaps almost over the rim of the pot
where it's being boiled.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

The cook knocks him down with the ladle.

"Don't you try to jump out.
You think I'm torturing you.
I'm giving you flavor,
so you can mix with spices and rice
and be the lovely vitality of a human being.

Remember when you drank rain in the garden.
That was for this."

Grace first. Sexual pleasure,
then a boiling new life begins,
and the Friend has something good to eat.

Eventually the chickpea
will say to the cook,
"Boil me some more.
Hit me with the skimming spoon.
I can't do this by myself.

I'm like an elephant that dreams of gardens
back in Hindustan and doesn't pay attention
to his driver. You're my cook, my driver,
my way into existence. I love your cooking."

The cook says,
"I was once like you,
fresh from the ground. Then I boiled in time,
and boiled in the body, two fierce boilings.

My animal soul grew powerful.
I controlled it with practices,
and boiled some more, and boiled
once beyond that,
and became your teacher."

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

A Live Poetry Bomb

A Live Poetry Bomb


All people, fearfully calls him a live poetry bomb,
because his rhymes are deadlier than bullet’s storms.
When he rapidly shots stanzas from his mouth’s barrel,
hapless minds feels naked, in their wisdom’s apparel.
He often emails unsuspecting people to read his poetry
and coax and beseech them to post their commentaries.
Many victims who had fell to fatal gunshots of his poetry,
are still smarting from his deadly epitaphs in cemeteries.

He assembles vague paragraph and slices it into two half,
so to fire it as a poem, and soar up his statistical graph.
Whenever he is short of ammunitions for poetic fights,
he searches for explosives on rhyming dictionary’s sites.
Then he fuses combustive lines for his lethal mission,
so to blow up all the literature with atomic poetry fission.
Then he ruthlessly bombs his poem on all poetry websites,
wherein community of poets gathers to taste literary delight.
Then he selfishly comments on other’s poems with fervour,
knowing well that others would gladly reciprocate his favours.

Everyone in the society dreads his nuclear poetic blast,
as it could push a poetic world into a literary holocaust.
People calls him a poetic blitzkrieg of worst kind,
as he shamelessly shatters a fragile peace of their minds.
Even God the bard, duck downs bombardment from him,
for he mercilessly mutilates his inspiration’s streams.
Lo! all the wounded minds prays on mangled poem’s tomb
for God to descend and diffuse the ticking poetry bomb.
______________________________
Dr Hitesh C Sheth