[ultimate_heading main_heading=”Poems by Jim Saroj Winston – Issue.XXII : November 2016 ” main_heading_color=”#1e73be” sub_heading_color=”#8224e3″ spacer=”line_with_icon” spacer_position=”bottom” line_style=”dotted” line_height=”1″ line_color=”#1e73be” icon_type=”custom” icon_img=”id^48|url^http://ashvamegh.net/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/Ashvamegh-ICO.jpg|caption^null|alt^Ashvamegh Journal Icon|title^Ashvamegh ICO|description^null” img_width=”48″ main_heading_style=”font-weight:bold;” main_heading_font_size=”desktop:34px;” line_width=”3″ margin_design_tab_text=””]the poet… and the poetry[/ultimate_heading]

Introduction to the Poet:

Jim Saroj Winston from Trivandrum, Kerala works as an Audiologist by profession, a travel freak and musician by love.

 

Two World Collide!

 

A vibrant evening in a rail station,

Where man and machines meet for journey,

Amid the crowd and yet from them,

Sits two families by the root of an iron pillar,

Two worlds, two world orders.

 

One, as their attires speak from a lowly world,

A mother and child, few summers hardly seen.

Hails from the other world, a mother and child,

Brought up with a silver spoon and factory food,

Two worlds, two world orders.

 

As the mothers sit munching and quenching,

Near yet their souls so far apart,

Habitants of a spherical earth where ends meet never,

Drenched in own world, as if others don’t exist,

Two worlds, two world orders.

 

Ice started breaking at infant’s end,

First just stares, progressed to childish plays,

Little explorers unnoticed first,

Exploring each other, exploring around,

Their Little pony’s to their moms’ bags,

Two worlds, two world orders.

 

Joyful sight their childish plays,

Oh innocence rare in grown up world,

Strangers, yet as if they know from long,

Ignorant of caste, creed and bank balance,

Co-existence how it’s meant to be,

Two worlds, two world orders.

 

Just as they were getting along,

The rich Mother driven by the rules,

Dragged her child back to the silver world,

Wiped him clean of the worldly dust,

The child still clueless of his crime,

Two worlds, two world orders.

 

Though he paused for a second, the lowly child,

Crawled to his mom’s arms and hugged her tight,

Perplexed, where and what went wrong,

Staring at the worldly child,

Beginners lesson always hurts,

The lesson of two worlds and two world orders.

 

An Ode to the Newborn

Little did he think,

That night when he was born,

That life is just a journey

From one womb to another.

 

From joy of solo journeying,

To the wilderness of look alikes.

From protection of four walls,

To being restricted by four walls.

 

A shift from being the wanted one,

To a world that cares him not.

From being bound by nourishing umblica,

To being chained from all his dreams.

 

Suspended in mothers smooth fluid,

To being sunk in his own self.

Dependent will he be ,

In this womb and wombs to come.

 

Then one day he’ll be ripe,

And trance into another womb.

Singing travellers tale,

Inspired by his last stay.

 

But little will he think,

That night when he’ll be born,

That life is just a journey,

From one womb to another.