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Madan G. Gandhi


New Delhi, Delhi, India

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Madan G. Gandhi

Om, the first emanation,
Om, the object of all meditation,
Om, the tongue of every revelation,
Om, the truth beyond contemplation.

Om, the mystic flame
pervading the whole creation,
every word and chant,
the resonance that forever haunts.

Om, the celestial eyed,
the all-creating Spirit,
the ear of every psalm
the eye of every vision.

In every swell heave Om,
in every sound hear Om,
in every speck see Om
in every breath breathe Om,

Om, the fire,
Om, the fuel,
Om, the flesh,
Om, the cross.

Om, the wick, Om the oil, Om the light,
Om, the soul of everything bright,
Om, the yearning of the ocean-tide,
Om, the love-longing of the bride.

Om, the night of nihil,
Om, the dawn eternal,
Om, the deathless flame,
Om, the all-redeeming pain.

Om, the golden egg of origin,
Om, the dream of creation,
Om, the dance of dissolution,
Om, the beginning, Om the termination.

Om, the root, Om, the fruit,
Om, the seed and sprout,
Om, the all-creating Light,
Om, the morning star of night.

Om, the lonely tread of the lone,
Om, the pilgrim of the unknown,
Om, the triumphal march of time,
Om, the Song of Song sublime.

Om, the Truth of Truth for ye all to know
beyond suffering, beyond every human woe,
Om, whence come all beings and things,
Om, where do they go borne on the swing.

Om, the formless first,
Om, the causeless cause,
Om, the wordless word
whence have flowed the entire.

In Memoriam: To Rajiv Gandhi


Madan G. Gandhi

In Memoriam: To Rajiv Gandhi (May 21, 1991)

Time casts ominous shadows,
lurid clouds of grief,
presaging many a shipwreck
in its tempestuous swirls.

Puzzled, I stand aghast
seeing my dear ones
being swallowed by engulfing gloom.

Gosh! my mirror is splintered:
the tallest member of our constellation,
halloed in grandeur,

In his hour of glory,
cheered heartily by multitudes,
blown away by the blast
to circumambulate in space.

How many blood stains have I borne,
I have no count of;
yet I smile
at my wounds, at my burns,
as I enter a treacherous trajectory.

I see many a noose hung in space,
many a moony face in wait,
many a tree and star in ambush.

The garland quivers,
the hand shivers,
utter blackout,
utter confusion.

The hero who rode lie a colossus
with a bang leaves the stage,
the curtain rung down.

My tongue dry and cold,
all defences gone;
I lose my hold
and mingle my voice in wails.

Mother stands in heaven in tears,
beloved spouse a picture of grief,
progeny fatherless, forlorn.

O son, come to me, come to my lap,
you had enough share of trials,
enough tribulations, enough calumny.

In bliss abide,
call a day to your Herculean labours;
these augean stables shall never be cleansed.

The hand that rocked the cradle,
the eyes that fondled from dusk to dawn,
the voice that soothing lullabies sang,
all consigned to EWAFE.

Search his childhood there, his sports,
his love-play, his exploits, his guts,
search all these in a handful of earth.



Madan G. Gandhi

Kick stones
and lick dust,
mines all the way.

Gallop on steely steed
on acres of hate,
kick up smoke
to choke the aged and infirm.

Slit throat of valiant sons,
bombard habitats
and hovels of the poor,
maim and kill children,
strike at the motherís womb
in the never-ending war.

Explode all dreams,
shatter all plans,
create hell,
burn and be burnt.



Madan G. Gandhi

This brittle sound,
these sorties in the air,
this din and roar,
these martial columns.

Crystal lake,
placid calm,
now, a boiling cauldron.

Chemical waste corrodes
the veins and arteries
of the earth-mother.

The smoking guns
fly past the coffins,
lay waste the Eden.

Snakelike hiss,
lurid light,
of the cemetery.

Gray sticky clouds
raise an iron shroud
around the dying sun.