Creation and Criticism

Dr. P.G. Rama Rao (1935) retired from the P.G. Dept. of English, Utkal University, Bhubaneswar, in 1995, after a long and distinguished innings as a teacher of English and American Literature. Among his publications are The Poetic Rapture (1963), Ernest Hemingway: A Study in Narrative Technique (1980), Narrative Technique in British and American Fiction (1986), The Critic’s Eye (1993), Scapes (1993), The Wave and the Hill (1993), My Days in Tulasi Kshetra (2009 & 2014), On the Other Side of the Globe (2013 & 2017), An Enduring Picture and Other Poems (2014), My Divine Hippocrene (2015), Aesthetic Ecstasy (2016), Whispers of Immortality (2016) It Is a Beautiful World (2017) and The Garden of Eden and Other Poems (2017). He can be contacted at pgramarao@yahoo.com.

1. My Magic Tree

I live on this magic tree;

Here the air is pure and free,

And fancy untrammelled,

Not unlike Salvador Dali

On his eccentric tree.

I had always wanted to

Live on a mountain peak

Or a tall tree top,

Like a great condor

Conscious of its power.

Sensing my silent wish,

The supreme Master of

The creative impulse,

Here, aloft, has put me,

Quickening my creativity.

Fancy me culling the stars

As if they were glow worms,

And brushing aside asteroids

As if they were rocks

Hurled by mischievous urchins.

Incredible things happen when

Creativity is at its white heat;

Starry flowers adorn my magic tree,

The fruit of which is immortality,

And I call this tree POETREE.

2. The Lotus and the Water-drop

Visualize a fully

Blown lotus,

The divine flower,

Multipetalled seat of

gods and goddesses.

Mud is the base

Though it is base;

Above is the leaf

Nurturing life,

And large as the earth;

On top blooms the lotus

Staying afloat,

Held aloft

By a sustaining stem.

The stem seems to

Stand for ‘sushumna’

With ‘kundalini’,

Going up from ‘muladhara’,

The base muddy base,

To ‘sahasrara’, the acme

Of spiritual attainment,

The icon of which is

The lotus in bloom.

Between the base

And the top is

The leaf on which

Wobbles a water-drop,

In a spiritual dilemma,

Whether to strive up

To join the blossom or

Fall down to the base.

Dramatic is

This indecision;

For the lotus is

Lovely and sublime,

But the mud below

Has the power of gravity.

O water-drop, use all your

Spiritual strength and rise;

Take your seat on a lotus petal.

3. A Very Loving Couple

A very loving couple are

Our Father Sky and Mother Earth;

They not only please each other

But ensure that we have no dearth.

Father mostly wears a blue robe

But, to please Mother, He wears

An upper cloth of rose and pink

With a gold border morn and eve.

Sometimes, He dons a great coat, grey

Or deep dark in colour and, at

His instance, She wears a brocade,

With pictures of flora and fauna.

Stories of heroes of yore are

Skillfully wrought in images on

This rich magic garment to the

Great delight of the great Father.

With loud exclamations of joy,

He flashes dazzling smiles brightening

The lovely face of the Mother.

Invisible angels act fast now;

They let down liquid curtains

Behind which our Parents meet;

Erelong Mother Earth gives birth to

Numerous forms of life anew.

4. His Look

He looked at me;

I looked away.

It is a sharp

Penetrating

Look reaching

My inner self.

His look cleanses

My mind of trash;

I don't know why

I resist it;

Maybe I love

All that rubbish.

Knowing full well

That it's garbage,

My mind clings to

It, and hence my

Aversion to

His loving look.

His look of love

Is the agent

That purifies

The air within

And around me;

Still I'm helpless.

He smiled at me

A kind gentle smile,

Which says He knows

What hides behind

The veils of my

Thoughts and feelings.

I keep looking

Away, averse

To his 'x ray'

Eye spying on

My Inner self

And its distress.

Who are you-- friend

Or foe or spy

Trying to pry

Into my 'self'?

Or are you just

An onlooker?

You are only

A presence but

Not a person

Of flesh and blood;

Your look and smile

Make up for that.

Compassionate,

Kind, and loving,

They touch me with

A rare power;

Are you, Spirit

Divine, my guide?

5. Thoughts of a Lesser Flower

I am a lesser flower

Of the middle order,

With a dull, drab colour,

And devoid of glamour.

I am not like the rose,

A feast for eye and nose;

You get my scent faint just

When your mind's nose is close.

I keep wondering how

Winged angels above

Have known of my treasure,

And take it in good measure.

My treasure is nectar,

Which they drink and treasure,

But the bipeds plunder

It sooner or later.

They may relish nectar,

But can they live fore'er,

Poor winged creature or

The cruel biped robber?

Sometimes I hear

As a breeze blows near

That on a plane higher

Lives immortal treasure.