P. Seshadri.
RAKSHA BANDHAN
A piece of silken tassel tipped with gold,
Tied round the hand by loving sister’s hands,
A sacred day in Sravan, when the lands
Are bathed in welcome rain, is said to hold
A potent charm for good. From days of old
This pretty faith has come and happy bands
Of brothers still pay heed to its commands
One day each year. Who will be rashly bold
And flout this festival as void of worth—
An ancient mummery—to which man shows
His slavish piety? Let him, who knows
Of beings more devoted than the fair,
Of wishes purer than a sister’s care,
And stronger powers than woman’s love on earth.
LONGINGS
Were I a mighty Master swaying Art
In all her lovely forms surpassing fair
And robed in magic mystery, aware
Of cunning artist-craft, a mind and heart
Aglow with Beauty’s sacred spark, a part
Of God’s creative light! If I could share
The gift of breathing life-infusing air
In canvas, draw thy rapturous sweetness, start
The portrait beaming, bright in loveliness;
The sculptor’s skill—to shape thy limbs divine
In living marble, show thy beauty’s prime!
Shall I encrowned with laurel, sing for Time,
Eternity, and Universe, enshrine
Thy name for ages, scorning storm and stress?
P. Seshadri.
THOUGHTS
When midnight hours know not the peace of sleep
But drudge in trembling hope for envied fame,
In ghostly solitude before a flame
Of glimmering light, whose sombre rays out-peep
To view the city wrapped in silence deep,
Midst weird and darkly waving groves of palm;
When wizard clocks ring out and rend the calm
With strides of Time—their thrilling voices creep
Along the soul; my mind with labour worn,
Or grappling with a knot, delights to stand
In stillness, yearning forth to clasp with love
Thy beauteous form—and then, Spring opes above!
With blossom’d flow’r and chirping bird, the land
Smiles ’neath the sunlit hues the heavens adorn!
P. Seshadri.