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Fragile Artwork

Two porous cakes of charcoal,
a putty eraser, a graphite lead—
white paper, soiled and torn,
a sturdy plyboard—
is all he has,
and all he needs.

The night is woven
from unfurled shadows—
blotches of white
on a stricken tree.
The house clings to a crumbling rock,
harbouring the half-torn lives it breeds.

Lord, I am the house.
I am the lead,
the frayed lives,
the stricken tree—
a fragile artwork of Your being.
Complete me. Complete me.

The Dream of the Ordinary

After reading a million tomes,
the man said, “Worthless! I’d rather go home —
earn my bread like an ordinary man.
Toiling, struggling, but never again
falling for a vivid, unreal dream.”

He forged a kiln from wet earth bricks,
playing with countless stones and sticks,
and built a city of golden towers,
with avenues lined by crimson trees,
lost in its enchanting maze.

Then he paused and softly said,
“I see now — the real is unreal, too.”

If I Could Be with a Good Man

If I could be with a good man,

I’d have found salvation.

Yet here I stand, unable to be —

It’s good to be with a good man,

But still, I couldn’t be.

If I could find such a man,

I’d have run away with him,

Mingling in his heavenly hues,

I’d have become vibrant and free.

But alas, I couldn’t be.

I chant the name of God,

Yet in truth, I’m lost in thievery.

Gazing at others’ women,

My lustful eyes refuse to blink —

I couldn’t be, couldn’t be.

Boron in gold

Melts the metal’s hardness.

The words of a good man soften the stone.

My heart of stone remains unmelted —

I couldn’t be.

Lalon says, “My heart, the hours slip away

While you pinch the beads of a rosary

Without chanting His name.

Why not wear the garland of heartfulness and chant?

For you couldn’t be, couldn’t be.”

(This is my translation of a Bengali song, “সাধুসঙ্গ ভালো সঙ্গ, সঙ্গ আমার হইলো কই?”, by Fakir Lalon Shah.)