Enacting transience on a pleasure boat
Transience echoes  branch upon branch,
In the peepal tree when you look up in its spaces
The tree had been there before you started existing:
Only the squirrel knows when and how it began
After several secrets it shares with the wind.
Actually there are no secrets, only knowing light
In its deep-set eyes which stare at the hills
There is no hint of dissolution in its fixed stare
Nor a logical incoherence in its ponderous shadow.
As it stands the earth knows it and understands.
It is you who think of dissolution, its earth-to felling
The dry leaves on the ground, rotting twigs
Animals leaving traces of their decaying smells
That is what you think and become, all the while
Carrying the cloud-shred of transience above you.
This spiritual stuff is warm, boosting selfness
The arrogance of understanding, purported eminence
You then pan your self-deluding energy, by the hand
Suffer death and birth pangs, cells overgrowing.
Here, on the boat music flows in drum-beats
The lake is resonant with the city’s vulgarity
And shadowy figures enact transience in its night
Their beauty-dance flows in absurd movements
Their arms and feet are hurled in the air helplessly
Their shadows crouch in flesh and blood transience.

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writing nisheedhi
Poetry based upon actual experiences, not one thought up in the intellectual aridness of a pseudo-thinker. Words as they mean in the specific context of recollected thought or image , not meaning several things at a time but that which re-creates an aura or a haze of an earlier experience.
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