UTSAV: Solemn Celebration (Marathi Poem)

Solemn Celebration

Now, from here on
Live moment to moment
Add on every moment
On time eternal.

© Remigius de Souza., All rights reserves.



Human skeleton of male and female


To relieve an entangled life in modern web
There aren’t varsities to teach this art-science.

For it needs unhampered quietude of leisure
And boundless celebrations of life often;

To get out of the bazaar-city’s beatings
A body needs a break to breath free often;

Needs constant bating inside as outside
For a life lost in workaholic rituals often;

Just as the body goes on skin shedding,
For the arrival of Spring, a leaf shedding.

Never knew it; if ever heard, ignored.
When realised would it be too late?

Only one varsity that belongs, our very Self,
In a whirlwind forever – the forgotten Body-Dharma.

Note: The illustration above shows the interior of a human body.
'Body', a word, when even mentioned, we recall mirror images or pretty photos on glossy mags. The images remain skin deep wrapped in visual aesthetics of hedonism.

I had a stint with formal education of architecture as a teacher. I would say, 'Think imagine of actually living inside your designed building. Suppose we take a cross of a Miss World, what would we notice inside?' Someone in the group would screech- 'Eeeee'!

Isn't it time we look at Nature – Srishti – that begins from us, not only our mind that chatters all the time, but also our body that operates round the clock silently. We treat body like an ugly slave, treating with cosmetics. But Srishti doesn't spare anyone, heroes or hoaxes, prince or popper.
Srishti is not kind like branded gods.

Remigius de Souza
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
© Remigius de Souza, All rights reserves


Collective Existance (Marathi Poem)


Collective Existence

To ensure existence of one
Place other colours too.
Then it receives
the support to-be
In the illusion of not-to-be.


© Remigius de Souza., All rights reserves.


Holi Night
The swinging palms
Full Moon
In the blanket of light
Song on a flute.

(Falgun Full Moon night, 1976)

© Remigius de Souza., All rights reserves.


Bees of bees of Paradise

Bees of bees of Paradise
I remember a folk song I read some years ago.

Bees of bees of Paradise
Do the work of Jesus Christ,
Do the work which no man can.

God made man,
And man made money,
God made bees,
And bees made honey.

A song sung by peasants in the south of England for gathering of honey (quoted by Hilair Bellock, ‘The best of all trades’, Fourth World Review, Issue 36, 1889 UK, p. 6).

© Remigius de Souza., All rights reserves.


यात्रा: Pilgrimage (Marathi Poem)

पृथ्वी माझी सुरू होते
पायाखालच्या जमिनीपासून
जेव्हा जेथे असेन मी तेथे।
वर वर चढणारया नजरेत
गोल गोल क्षितिजे सामावत
उंच उंच हिमाद्रीच्या कड्यावर।
इथे अहंकराचे अस्थिर कड़े - सागर
वितळतात वाफारातात हरघडी
विरतात मातीत - अवकाशात
काळजातली उब पुरेशी
कवेत घ्यायला नविन क्षितिजे
हरघडी विस्तारते स्वत्व माझे
बंध मातीचा अटूट सामावत
सारी पृथ्वी भाकरीच्या चतकोरात
ओळख उरते धरतीच्या चतकोरात

(I take fantasy flights to the higher world of planets and stars and the lower world of bacteria in the virtual reality of print and electronic media, and return now and then to Mother Earth and ask, “Give me fistful grains of sanity for my survival”. — Remi)

by Remigius de Souza

My Earth begins here
From the soil below my feet
Wherever when I’m there.

Up ‘n up the vision ascending
Round ‘n round horizons holding
High ‘n high on Himalayas’ cliff.

Here, the ego of rumbling cliff – ocean
Dissolve – evaporate now and then
Vanish in the soil – in the air.

Enough is the warmth in heart
To embrace new horizons;
Expands my selfhood now and then.

Sound bond with the soil assimilates
Whole Earth in a quarter of a ‘roti’;
Recognition retained in a square foot

Soil below my feet.

* * *
(Translation from the original in Marathi by the author)
1. “Fistful of grain”: In my native village until fifty years ago there were no beggars. Only the mendicants, ascetics, sadhus came to the households asking for alms. They were offered at least a fistful of grains, no coins. There was not much of currency. Now, with the currency, there are rich as well as poor beggars everywhere.
2. ‘Roti’ is Indian flat bread baked on burnt clay or iron plate, usually concave in shape.
Remigius de Souza
May 1, 2007
© Remigius de Souza., All rights reserves.

Jungle (Marathi Poem)

Words lost
Tones lost
Expressions lost
Meanings lost
Only here
In this jungle.

(Translation from original Marathi by the author)

© Remigius de Souza., All rights reserves.


Political Geography

Political Geography

One word: many meanings;
One meaning: many words.

How do I hold on

this paradox,

the criss-cross
of an altitude and longitude

where I stand on
here and Now?

© Remigius de Souza., All rights reserves.