Skip to main content

God’s Love Song


 
I willed my being into an extension
And the cosmos was born in a Bang:
Every birth is a terror and a joy,
Every creation an extension of a core.
I live, move, and have my being
In all that is, and that shall be,
Much as in the core that sits here.

Hypothesis is what the creation was
When I let myself go in a bang:
An overflow of love infinite.
Experiment is what the creation is
When I add patterns in the mosaic:
A sporting game of love unremitting.
Abel was I, much as Cain was.

I am the turbulence of the rolling waters,
The rage of blasting bombs and fleeting bullets,
The hunger in the eyes of widows and babies,
The roar of the clouds, and the grace of the rainbow.
And the nailed wail on the crucifix.
Evolution is what the creation is, of
The hell and the heaven that I am.


Afterword

I wrote the above poem about 15 years ago.  It was a time when I wrote many poems of this type: apparently religious.  Psychologically I had hit the bottom and was looking for something to cling to, “a crutch” as the person who played certain Machiavellian games in my life called it.  I even had a few dalliances with an organised religion and its magical rituals (“crutches”) hoping to find some meaning, some way out of the mess that my life had become.  It didn’t take me much time to realise that meaning in life is something that each one of us has to create even as God would have created his world.

I went through those old ‘religious’ poems of mine once again as Good Friday and Easter (magical rituals) are approaching.  I put this up here now with a smile, the smile of someone who did make an arduous journey through certain sterile paths created partly by himself and mostly by a society that is ever eager to volunteer with such assistance.
The poem is not an exposition of any philosophy or theology.  It is an expression of emotions (as are most poems), and alo an attempt to transcend certain painful emotions.  In another two days' time the Christian world will be dramatising the "nailed wail on the crucifix" in the form of certain rituals.  This blog post is my way of commemorating the same nailed wail...

 #ztAhotzmNP#
Labels:

Comments

  1. BlogBeeMarch 26, 2013 at 5:34 PM

    Nice Piece..
    I enjoyed every piece of your writings..
    Praise the lord.


    Visit my blog http://blog.blogbee.in and

    Register and Promote your blog at blogbee to increase blogtraffic.

    Here is the link

    http://www.blogbee.in/index.php?option=com_users&view=registration

    Thanks & Regards
    Blogbee Team.

    ReplyDelete
  2. ArnieMarch 27, 2013 at 7:14 PM

    Wonderful lines! Felt like the 'Son of God' himself read these out into my ears!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Tomichan MatheikalMarch 27, 2013 at 7:52 PM

      Thanks, Arnab. The lines did mean much to me in those days when they were written. And I think they do even now. Your words vindicate my thinking.

      Delete
  3. Vishal RathodMarch 27, 2013 at 10:08 PM

    Wonderfully started and classy ending . 15 years before and posting now ?

    ReplyDelete
  4. UnknownMarch 28, 2013 at 3:32 PM

    I loved the lines and narration.
    Beauty of poems is you can change your point of view and derive new meanings from the same verses.
    Before it might give you a spiritual peace, now it will give you a more spiritual, realistic one :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Tomichan MatheikalMarch 28, 2013 at 7:57 PM

      Can real spirituality be real, Aram?

      Delete
    2. UnknownMarch 31, 2013 at 12:55 PM

      now that leads to many levels of loops leading to where the arguement starts :)

      Delete
  5. cityMay 16, 2013 at 9:22 AM

    thanks for share.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

  'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below.  Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl
47 comments
Read more

Urban Naxal

Fiction “We have to guard against the urban Naxals who are the biggest threat to the nation’s unity today,” the Prime Minister was saying on the TV. He was addressing an audience that stood a hundred metres away for security reasons. It was the birth anniversary of Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel which the Prime Minister had sanctified as National Unity Day. “In order to usurp the Sardar from the Congress,” Mathew said. The clarification was meant for Alice, his niece who had landed from London a couple of days back.    Mathew had retired a few months back as a lecturer in sociology from the University of Kerala. He was known for his radical leftist views. He would be what the PM calls an urban Naxal. Alice knew that. Her mother, Mathew’s sister, had told her all about her learned uncle’s “leftist perversions.” “Your uncle thinks that he is a Messiah of the masses,” Alice’s mother had warned her before she left for India on a short holiday. “Don’t let him infiltrate your brai...
14 comments
Read more

Bihar Election

Satish Acharya's Cartoon on how votes were bought in Bihar My wife has been stripped of her voting rights in the revised electoral roll. She has always been a conscientious voter unlike me. I refused to vote in the last Lok Sabha election though I stood outside the polling booth for Maggie to perform what she claimed was her duty as a citizen. The irony now is that she, the dutiful citizen, has been stripped of the right, while I, the ostensible renegade gets the right that I don’t care for. Since the Booth Level Officer [BLO] was my neighbour, he went out of his way to ring up some higher officer, sitting in my house, to enquire about Maggie’s exclusion. As a result, I was given the assurance that he, the BLO, would do whatever was in his power to get my wife her voting right. More than the voting right, what really bothered me was whether the Modi government was going to strip my wife of her Indian citizenship. Anything is possible in Modi’s India: Modi hai to Mumkin hai .   ...
14 comments
Read more

Nehru’s Secularism

Jawaharlal Nehru, India’s first Prime Minister, and Narendra Modi, the present one, are diametrically opposite to each other. Take any parameter, from boorishness to sophistication or religious views, and these two men would remain poles apart. Is it Nehru’s towering presence in history that intimidates Modi into hurling ceaseless allegations against him? Today, 14 Nov, is Nehru’s birth anniversary and Modi’s tweet was uncharacteristically terse. It said, “Tributes to former Prime Minister, Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru Ji on the occasion of his birth anniversary.” Somebody posted a trenchant cartoon in the comments section.  Nehru had his flaws, no doubt. He was as human as Modi. But what made him a giant while Modi remains a dwarf – as in the cartoon above – is the way they viewed human beings. For Nehru, all human beings mattered, irrespective of their caste, creed, language, etc. His concept of secularism stands a billion notches above Modi’s Hindutva-nationalism. Nehru’s ide...
12 comments
Read more

The Little Girl

The Little Girl is a short story by Katherine Mansfield given in the class 9 English course of NCERT. Maggie gave an assignment to her students based on the story and one of her students, Athena Baby Sabu, presented a brilliant job. She converted the story into a delightful comic strip. Mansfield tells the story of Kezia who is the eponymous little girl. Kezia is scared of her father who wields a lot of control on the entire family. She is punished severely for an unwitting mistake which makes her even more scared of her father. Her grandmother is fond of her and is her emotional succour. The grandmother is away from home one day with Kezia's mother who is hospitalised. Kezia gets her usual nightmare and is terrified. There is no one at home to console her except her father from whom she does not expect any consolation. But the father rises to the occasion and lets the little girl sleep beside him that night. She rests her head on her father's chest and can feel his heart...
19 comments
Read more