December 1 – Two Poems

Nota Bene: For proper scansion, hold the phone horizontally (rather than vertically)! Or, better still, read it on a tablet or a computer.

December 1, 2020

It is the evening of the first day
of the last month of the year –
and it is cold; almost as if the month
wanted us to know that it was here.

A little past twelve a.m. last night
(for once remembering), I flipped
the pages of the calendar that hangs
upon the stout, paint-covered nail –
November’s picture-lights fell back;
in their place, the jewellery of December.

It will get colder as the night goes on,
the water from the tap will chill rather
than wet the fingers and the hand. (I can
almost feel the icy water as I type.) But
I will huddle within my jacket’s wool
and the gooseflesh will be a cosy thrill.

Somewhere outside, not far from here,
others will huddle too – in corners of the
house they work to build; the mongrel strays
will curl up too – let’s hope that there’s a fire.

(I came back home with plumeria in my hand;
fallen flowers, I’d picked them off the ground.
Picking up these flowers has turned routine;
stooping’s become part of my evening rounds.)

My wish is that this December’ll bring
a wealth – of writing, goodness, discipline.
Winter is not the time that earth-trees fruit –
perhaps the mind-tree Bendre sang of will.

‘It is the first day of the last month of the year’ –
this phrase occurred to me sometime before;
I hoped then I could make something of it –
though at the time the cold had not yet bit.

For December 1, 2021

It’ll be a year tomorrow, to the day,
since I wrote ‘December 1, 2020’.
January 1 is New Year’s Day,
but a new year’s starting all the time:
each second’s newer than the last,
each minute’s the future – present – past.

My mind’s somewhat awry today;
it’s been like this for a few days;
is mind enough to mind the mind?
The Gita says ‘to mind the mind is like to bind
the wind’. I do not wish to bind the wind or mind.
Let the mind-kite roam its endless skies;
let me have a hand upon its strings.

The sky is toggling between blue and white;
some blue means sun, all white just cloudy sight,
though the white is not a white that’s loud:
it’s like the quiet of someone when they’re sad.

(‘A good day for coffee and a book’ some think,
slouched behind a computer in their house.
Outside, the labourer bends his back –
he cannot afford thoughts like that –
his form holds up both house and sack.)

I try to think back on the year that’s gone;
I have not kept a diary track.
But days are slippery; like river-stones
they smoothly slide out from the grasp.
Most stones have slid but some remain –
rem(a)inders of the year’s variety …

… and one year older now, I see
that it is discipline begets variety;
and so I pray to things I believe in –
for variety’s richness and sober discipline.


A few years ago, I attended a session conducted by Christ College’s ‘Kannada Sangha‘. I believe the occasion was their annual celebration of ‘kavi dina‘ (~ poet’s day), Da Ra Bendre‘s birthday. The details of the session esape me, but I do remember something one of the speakers said, in the context of the unprecedented volume of writing that is being published today. The chief editor of a now-defunct Kannada literary magazine, he spoke about the necessity of “letting a piece of writing dry” – ಒಣಗು (oṇagu) was the word he used, which in Kannada means “to dry” – and the advantages of doing so. (I think he compared it to the drying that needed to be done to develop non-digital photographs…and if he didn’t, well, I’m doing it now.) What he said struck me – and has stuck with me – not simply because of the interesting metaphor but because it resonated: I too have mostly been cautious about sharing a piece of (serious) writing no sooner than it’s been written; of making it public without returning to it (after having put some space-time between us) and possibly revising it; of presenting it without “letting it dry”.
Why is this relevant? Because the second of these two poems was written yesterday (November 30, 2021) and, being less than a day old, has had hardly any time to dry. But, as I’m sure you see, today’s date is the reason I am sharing it.

4 thoughts on “December 1 – Two Poems

  1. the act of mentally processing the time of the year we are in and reflecting on what it means has always been a strange experience for me. Kalidasa probably did it for all seasons and produced “Ritusamhara”. ;P

    Liked by 2 people

    • Hahaha! “Reflection” in general isn’t easy, even if one’s memory is very retentive. If it isn’t, well then – best to just remember it by its “stand out” events.

      I haven’t really read Kalidasa’s “ऋतुसंहार​” properly, but I think it’s a reflection on each season as much as it is a description of each one. And even then, I reckon he must have notes, perhaps over several years. 😀

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Amazing! Liked both the poems… but the second one catched my attention more. They are very well dried and makes the rasikas mind and heart light! Congratulations and all the best… keep going…👍😀

    Liked by 2 people

    • Dear Suma ಅವರೆ,

      Thank you very much for taking the time to read both poems and for your very generous response. Your words about how the poems affect the rasika are especially nice to hear, coming as they do from a true rasika such as yourself. 😊🙏🏽😇

      Liked by 1 person

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