Forgotten loves

Forgotten loves- 
An aging mother 
A father long lost.

Forgotten loves -
Sweet childhood days
The smell of fresh blossoms 

Forgotten loves-
Simpler joys
A little less convoluted 
World.

Forgotten loves - 
A contented heart 
A careless laugh 
A merry hop in the wind.
.
Anant Dhavale

Relinquishing - En Masse

The train stands still 
As if it doesn't want to move

Dust-laden tracks 

lack empathy

by design

But people are either stoic
or they've given up,
on a large number of things

Themselves, society, governments
things a watcher cannot discern

 

A lack of will omnivailes

Hiding truths that matter, histories 
accumulated on their own

A mist of hopelessness floats
around the monoliths, fallusing up 
from the barren, sun-burned ground

Bared by the feet of millions, 

the unknown builders of  
magnificent tombs 

their hands calloused from the harshness 

of circumstance 

An act of relinquishing happens en masse 
a collective unhappiness is embraced

I could have called it ignorance 

had I been haughty and judgmental

and not a wayward rivulet of the same

great river

This ever-present need to not know —
this flat-out refusal to question things

But now, in this
solipsistical rant

I am trying to emulate the stoicity 
of generations, to
explore its roots in the fickle strands of protein

We fondly term DNAs.

-

Anant Dhavale

Let

 Let then proclivities rule the day

Till the shadows hit the waters

And winds change in ways

Unmeasured and abrupt 

This cumbersome-ness of breath, etched 

Upon windowpanes 

Aggravated by the coolness of air 

Is a burden far too great 

To carry all the way

Seasons will hunt for inlets

To get inside our heads

Flooding fragile senses 

With a perfunctory dimness

Of thought and desire 

How then will we refuse ourselves the little 

Respites of exultation along the waves of 

Life, rushing through the rivulets of time.

..

Anant Dhavale

Nehru’s ghost

It lurks - in the corridors of schools and colleges 
In the yellowing pages of history books.

Its presence can be felt in the brand new swanky
buildings of the Sansad Bhavan.

It bothers people, reminding them of their 
constitutional duties, and the set of behaviors that keep sense and sensibility alive.

It crouches on steely chests of proud
politicians and rulers.

It is said that Lincoln’s ghost haunts the white house - possibly to warn people of the dangers that come from mobocracy. 
We can say the same of Nehru’s ghost.

It lingers and hovers around the hallowed halls of
India’s democracy, maybe like a guardian angel - 
or an angry spirit.

But who is to say? 
. 

Anant Dhavale

One

hardboiled eggs
unsweetened black tea
morn-time shenanigans 
.

Anant Dhavale 

Wordshed NYC poetry reading event.

I am one of the featured readers at the Wordshed poetry reading in Bowery (lower Manhattan) this month. I might read some of my newer stuff, let's see.

Haiku

in a surreal world 
dance is a state of mind 
a phase of being

.

Anant Dhavale