सोमवार, 30 अप्रैल 2012


This pang of birth,
The memory of life
As it suffused in you
A breath that came
An aura that flowed
The impressionable child,
Opened eyes into this world
A repository of others desires,
A vision of its creator
Did he have a choice?
Can it follow its heart?
What’s a creation of mine?
If I can’t carve and chisel
Its thoughts and its mind
Into the form I want
And I a sculptor
A baby my wet mud
From the formless I create
And then look back.
Is that a reflection of me?
So elated to see
He looks and behaves
A mirror image
A clone of my desires
A wealth of my needs
Trapped in a prison
Of my creation

The power of creation
Should give him wings
You are my creation
Why am I scared?
Come, Soar high
The world as your stage
And power in your hands
Don’t be a reflected figment
Of my jaded imagination
Go, sculpt a new yourself
Be your own creation 

- Sadhana .

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