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Image by Joshua Earle

Beyond the Horizon

The poet wonders what lies beyond the horizon. The birds, the sea and the sky tell him the secrets of nature

I ask the sky that seems

To stretch beyond it:

I ask the sea that seems

To slip under it:

I ask the bird that seems

To fly over it:


What—just what lies beyond the horizon?


“Beyond the horizon,” the bird sings,

“I see lands which are still green,

Rivers which flow unobstructed,

Fresh air, fresh springs of life, and hope—

I see things within your grasp.”


“Beyond the horizon,” the sea sighs,

“I hear the great music of time,

The strides of life unimpeded,

The untrained depths of love, loss and light—

I see things within your reach.”


“Beyond the horizon,” the sky signals,

“I am…the water in every river,

The source of light on the darkest night,

The players, the dice and their destiny—

I am… you, but never…yours.”

Image by Quentin Lagache

Three Summers

For an open heart summer is full of beauty and serenity. 

Theirs is the summer of nothing,

Of less than nothing.

Their voices stick to their dried throats.

They have no time for beaches or birdsongs;

Their children have no coins for an ice-cream.

Even evening rain,

That scarce relief from hell on earth,

Is to them only as welcome as the sturdiness

Of their mud walls and bamboo roofs.


Mine is the summer of something,

Of more than nothing.

I speak from a throat, sore from too many sherbets.

Discontent brings me to the beach, but mutes

The waves and the boy selling groundnuts.

Even evening rain,

That rare respite from hell on earth,

Is to me only as welcome as the sensitivity

Of my heart’s fences and mind’s ceiling.


Yours seems the summer of everything,

Or, at least, of anything.

Your silence is as eloquent as the sea.

You listen to the ebb and flow of waves,

And hear in them life’s joys and sorrows, passing.

Even evening rain,

That little glimpse of heaven on earth,

Seems to you always welcome,

For your house, made home by breezes…


Has open doors for a heart,

And a skylight for a mind.

Srinivas S_Photo.jpg

An English teacher by accident, Srinivas S divides his free time between watching cricket and dabbling in poetry. His poetry records his observations about life.

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