Poems by Sethi Krishan Chand

Poems by Sethi Krishan Chand
 
 
But How!
 
When asked,
If I could touch
your soul without
touching your body?
 
Silently she speaks,
Just close your eyes,
hold your breath deep,
dive into my heart;
 
Cross fathoms
of its depth to reach
bedrock of my life
soil of my peace;
 
Where there you find
an invisible spirit,
an enchanting feel,
known to be my soul;
 
that beats without breath
that waits without waiting
to merge into yours
before I Leave for ever.
 
 
 
I Can’t!
 
I get excited when
you visit me,
Relax in my arms
Sleep in my heart;
 
Sometimes,
I feel as if you were
writing something
in my heart;
 
I can’t understand
what you write?,
what you want to say?
what you like to have?
 
Perhaps,
I will have to learn
the language of love,
the sighs of heart,
 
So that I may
feel your feelings,
read your emotions,
understand your soul;
 
And surrender totally
to your desires,
to your needs,
to your wishes.
 
 
 
Purposeful!
 
In this world,on this earth
everything, every creature,
every subject or object
originates with an
unknown purpose ,
unpredicted utility,
unforeseen aim ,
 
It is we who make them
purposeful, needful,
useful and resourceful.
according to
our necessity,
our utility
our creativity;
 
For what I was born?
nobody knows
except my parents;
Since they had a motive
to produce a child,
for their purpose
I came into this world.
 
Every little thing,
born or originated
on this earth,
ever used, ever utilized
for a cause, for a motive ,
for a purpose
and a utility;
 
To make a staircase,
we use simple logs on
both sides with sticks
fixed between each other;
But it will be purposeful
only when its steps are kept at required distance.
 
Every living or non living
thing on this globe, has
its own importance,
its own characteristics,
its own value, if it is made
purposeful and useful.
 
 
 
May Be?
 
My trembling hands
hold the brush firmly
to sketch my glories ,
to paint my sorrows upon
the walls of my heart,
on canvas of my life ;
 
I mix the desired colours
with oils of my sweat,
with blood of my tears to
keep them shinning ever
make them long lasting
in its soulful shades;
 
Colours of one’s deed
describe its stories ,
tales on different themes,
speak in many sketches,
telling the way one lived,
acted and survived;
 
My wavering hands paint
some unwanted sketches,
untold stories of my life;
may be are of my failure,
may be of my vice secrets,
not been high lighted ever;
 
Unable to understand
few more impressions;
as if indicate my future,
signs of my new or rebirth,
but not too sure, perhaps
have to die to experience it
 
KC Sethi,(c)

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