Uday Prakash : Taught at Jawaharlal Nehru University for two years; journey from academics to journalism and film-making; his works widely translated into major Indian and foreign languages and included in international anthologies; more than eight books to his credit. Honoured with SAARC Literary Award, 2009.

Otherwise I’ll Lose the Way

The scarlet ball even now
Rolls behind the bushes;
From the plate
That’s just been served
The steam still rises
Across the years someone calls me
To come home and wash my face and hands
The light is not yet gone
The game of sevem tiles isn’t finished
The evening lanterns have not yet been lit
As soon as I hear the whistle
I will run and find everyone, one by one
No matter where so cleverly hid
My kite flutters in the smoke of the train
I’ve cut my finger on the glassed string
And blood drips into the future like dew
I’ll go home now
Wash my face and hands and eat
Finish my arithmetic, memorize multiplication tables, practise writing
Spill the ink bottle on my clothes;
Even now my notebook is a collection of stamps
Of all sizes and colors from all over the world
On the far side of the hills
A herd of sheep is being driven to pasture
That one there is me
The last one, neglected, unsteady on its feet
The smallest, whitest lamb
Don’t forget me
Otherwise I’ll lose the way.

– Translated by Robert A. Heuckstedt

Tibet

Having come from Tibet,
Lamas keep wandering around
These days, mumbling mantras
Their herds of mules
Go down into the gardens

UMESH CHANDRA VARMA (India)

Umesh Chandra Varma, born in 1935, is an unconventional painter, philosopher, poet. He drifted from bio-sciences to Art and Art has kept him alive through his 74 years.He studied folk pottery as a Monhusho Research Scholar in Japan. Umesh Varma was awarded Lalit Kala Akademi Award, 2004. Life, he believes, is bigger than all else. He lives and paints and writes in Delhi.

Organic Shadow

I am an organic shadow
Of the dead banyon trunk

Cast by the sun in the morning
Attached to the tree
Born in the west devoid of any volume or mass
Only an area…..
An organic shadow

Destined I am
To remain attached to the
Banyon tree trunk
Moving on the ground
From west to east,
In my half elliptical orbit
Longing to meet the sun
And, failing
Must keep on moving
Gradually reducing
Almost vanishing
Enlarging again
Only to die in the evening

Everyday the morning comes
And I am brought back
The cycle goes on
Yes,…..I am….
No mass, nor volume
The organic shadow of the
Dead banyon tree.