Shankar.Hemmady.com

It’s 5am.
Quite quiet.

All I hear –
the clock ticking.

A reminder
of time
of life
of death.

Time, life, death:
so ephemeral
so precious.

I stop talking.
My heart quickly
starts talking
in sublime serenity!

Why do i talk
to myself:
so much,
for so long?

May be I will
simply stay silent,
and watch me
as i start to talk.

May be I will
quietly listen
to my heart
to your heart
and feel the love.

Daddy Comes Home

S.O.S.

I need help.

I can’t think of a poem.

I attempt to write a page on books

But I can never concoct a satisfying ending.

I dedicate a poem to music

But I can’t create a creative creation.

I try to incorporate rhymes

Although angry, arrogant words will refuse to rhyme with each other.

Thinking of a poem’s title

Takes me ten total tumultuous tiring hours.

I pen literature of magic and swords

Only to realize how pathetic the plot is.

Help! Help! Help! Help!

I need aid!

Wait a minute….

In writing this, I’ve created a poem!

 
-Anand Hemmady

in love with the universe

loving every bit of it:

the god and the goddess

in an eternal embrace!

-shankar

Carefully I control

Every morsel in my mouth.

But when it’s time to shit

It’s simply what is!

Is it time to surrender?

-shankar

I once looked

through a window.

I saw a family playing

and working

at the other end of the court.

That look

through the window

at my house

taught me

so much and

made me realize

the little aspects of life

that are so subtle

that we don’t

understand their impact.

I saw there was

about two streets’ space

between us,

and that window.

The space wouldn’t have mattered,

I could have seen them

and known that

they were real.

It was the window

that stopped me.

Through the window,

everything was unclear.

The window separated me

from their world.

I began to look at

a movie, or short clip,

not

real people in

a real world.

I questioned myself,

“Why does that window

make the difference?”

And I realized that

I look at my own life

through a window

sometimes.

Unsure of the boundary

between imagination

and reality.

I am insensitive to anything

sometimes,

and sometimes intimately aware

of everything around me.

This whole existence sometimes

gets thrown into question.

“Why are we here?”

“Who am I?”

and other questions like that.

At other times, I don’t even think about

such ridiculous questions,

my life too busy

for me.

But mostly,

I wish the window,

physical or not,

wasn’t so blurry,

wasn’t hiding anything,

didn’t separate people.

Everywhere we are,

we see little, tiny,

invisible windows

into the lives of

so many people.

We get a glimpse

of their entire lives

like seeing into a

window of a house.

Yet, we,

being who we are,

judge people based

on that little window.

The screen and glass

must never be dirty,

or blurry,

or stained,

they must be on their

best behavior at all times

or they will be made fun of,

or teased,

or just looked at as

different because of

that window.

Windows are

an everyday part of life.

You learn to deal

with them and move on.

No one really realizes

how important

these windows are.

They just are

what they are.

-Shona Hemmady