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Balamani Amma Poems
|12.||Kooppukai (Folded Hands)|
|14.||Kudumbini (The Home-Maker)|
|15.||Dharma margathil (In the Path of Dharma)|
|16.||Prabhankuram (The Bud of Light)|
|17.||Bhavanayil (In Imagination)|
|18.||Sthreehrdayam (A Woman’s Heart)|
|19.||Oonjalil (On the Swing)|
|20.||Kalikkotta (The Toy Basket)|
|21.||Velichathil (In the Light)|
|22.||Avar Padunnu (They Sing)|
|24.||Lokantarangalil (In Many Worlds)|
|26.||Ambalathil (In the Temple)|
|27.||Nagarathil (In the City)|
Balamani Amma Poems
Your grandmother knows
Nothing is destroyed
Everything exists in human forever
In my old heart there are
so much of riches ,still
for your hands too
to play with
and throw away…
And divine art
Into our hearts
In 1966 came the poem To a daughter. In 1959 came the poem Again. For a boat, to do repairs, it has to stop its journeys over water and rest on a sandy beach. The sickbed for the poet is such a resting place, and the Karmadevatha(Goddess of karma) has given us this opportunity to increase our praanasakthi (power of life)from time to time. The boat travels over water. Human life over the ocean of samsaara. How is this rest period a saadhana for wisdom for the poet? In several ways.
- To understand the truth that the world runs not by the power of our little toy boats
- To enjoy the rhythm of life as an observer, not as a participant
- To gather the white soft flowers of life in our small handcups
- To keep the pragna without any coverings, in front of the perfect energy
- To understand the knower/the soul as truth and the real I separate from the body with pains and pleasures.
To a daughter was written when Madhavikutty was on a sickbed. In 1975 when I was on sickbed she had given me Arshagnaana, an angel of repose to read, and also a note about sickbed and its experiences in her life(which is added at the end of this chapter).
But the poet knows that just like the moments of the quest for wisdom, busy practical life also is lovable for each individual. There are no duties for a sick woman. The blue arch of beauty in front. The divine moments covered in golden sunlight, the murmer of breeze searching for the end of spacetime, the sweet dreams of the wishes of the loving people, only one is missing. The silly (as everyone always complains)household duties. But the sick woman is crying for just that. The things she had been complaining about throughout her life….
My tears are for those
Did my sadhana became
How beautifully the psychology of human mind is picturised?
Like pollen-grains like broken threads…like pearls ..the new raindrops. The poems of Balamani Amma are also like that. There are raindrops that come with a power of a whirlwind, as stones were thrown, with rebellion, with desires etc…But both bring life. When the horizon was darkening, some unknown desire, some unknown light, and heat has breathed these raindrops into the breast of the earth. The greatness behind them is eternally present in our life.
When summer comes
When light spreads
When peace of silence fills
When changing bliss’ wings
Spread in atmosphere
,in my soul ,waveless
Deep,pure with time
In the medical college
With every step
Your growth internal
Is watched with delight
Who knew the five elements
Who don’t need a help
to move forward
who are never worried
who moves in homes,inside
who can kindle and light off
the starry heavens
those who keeps your path
whether you know it
or not.Therefor,my son,
The poem of Mother(Ammayude kavitha)
You have separated from me
As a moonray from a grassblade
With bright mountaintops
In your eyes ,as goal
And inky pen
Stands in the path of eternity
Immobile and sad….
In your heart’s storms
Will my small boat
Sink or move?
The Creator’s sthithapragna.
The white flower of universe
As if bloomed in eternity
In far off times.
And who am I?
A pollendust within its petals?
Or a small bee enjoying its honey?
Why should the trees of thapovana
Rooted in my jeeva shake heads
Why should my mind cry for
The new worlds where their shadows
Doesn’t reach and give peace?
Kaamadhenu for new generations
When the day ends and worlds of stars open
When the airy mandala makes silky beds
When the tired bees disappear
The song of peace spreads around..Soham soham..
And the endless consciousness of the poet ,clings on to the eternity’s sari as a child.
Without a bird’s song
Without colours of green leaves
Without taste of honey
Without the touch of a child
Can one remember a life!!
|No. of Pages||27|
|PDF Size||0.3 MB|
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