Hi, I'm Mahesh Ramakrishnan đ
đ Entrepreneur and Engineer
đ» Passionate about building innovative software products and tools
đ Mentored/incubated startups, and crafted cool projects
đ My blog is a poetic journey, migrated from Medium
đ Explore the Rasas page
đ§ââïž Dive into the world of Yoga and Hindu Spirituality through my poems
Featured Posts
On Parvati, Shivaâs Consort
February 24, 2017
On Parvati, Shivaâs Consort
Parvati &Â Shiva
From the haze of Life she stood above;
Putting herself to the test of fire
She arose to conquer His heart
And claim her half of His being.
She emerged from an immense sigh
Of the desireless Eternity.
The nobleness of heavens were hers
Fair as fire, a living golden dream.
Her words were a hymn of love
Wafting thruâ endless space
To end their journey at His feet
Like flowers dropped in a prayer.
In the sole, contented, moveless Vast
She was a single quiver of ecstasy
A gendered Eternity, The She-Shiva.
4th April, 1995.
Painting Credit: http://www.abhishekartstore.com/products/parvati-pataye
Sculptor, Sculptor
October 11, 2020
Sculptor, Sculptor
Poem
A chisel is upon me chipping chipping, tiny tiny strokes on my periphery,
It gauged my mettle for anything brittle, In body and feeling and ranges of mind.Â
Oh but little taps like tickle tickle thought I; Wither this chisel upon me I wondered,
But who would question an unasked boon, so I let it proceed upon me uninterrupted.
Then I saw the hammer behind insistent, increasing its rhythmic strokes of force,
It grew and grew to a pitch of pain, woe woe cried I but allowed passage
And the hammer went at me as a Titan. But I saw after long years myself
In my musingâs mirror as a stranger with old traits worn and new ones born.
Ah, so the hammer did have a method, who wielded this I then wondered.Â
Then I glimpsed a hand light-formed and to it I appealed night and morn,
âWielder, wielder reveal to me now to what purpose am I shaped to?â
Only a silence was the answer ever to my pleadings and beseechings though.
After long years of hammerings where each day was as a lifetime
I glimpsed in high trance the outline of a great Shape, a mystic Form
That said all without uttering a word, so I understood I was indeed heard.
Now I donât murmur much to the ways through desert and throughfare,
I walk in balance through daily roads with sight set on a hidden compass.Â
But at every dusk I leave a note at my beingâs doors now left open,
âSculptor, Sculptor, O Fashioner-Force, too high Thou art, a creative Might,
But little as I am and if I should shy from Thy hands of grace and light,
Only bind me to some will of Thine so I may reach the end of Thy plan.Â
And seated by Thy feet both of us may say, âYes, this is the Life Divine!ââ