Casually
Casually

Casually
Without importance
Into this world arrive

Without splitting
Or choosing

As if the breeze should steal
Into the garden without a flutter
Of leaves

Arrive unannounced and leave
Just as soon
Without a ruffle

As a wave should rise in a still pool
And melt in the quietude
Ever so lightly

Depart even
As you arrive

Pariksith Singh

Pariksith Singh is, first of all, a poet and a philosopher, though not of any academic mould. He has evolved, and is still evolving, his own philosophy of life and work which he has been articulating in terms of his very personalized poetry and equally personalized medical practice.

Whether healing a patient, running a business or writing a poem, Pariksith Singh is always looking for that “perfect expression of the spirit in matter” – and this is P. Singh’s unique and consistent signature in all his works.

P. Singh’s literature is the articulation of this “inner quest” for the spirit’s perfection in matter, and therefore an expression of the eternal struggle of form (matter) to attain the supreme fluidity of content (spirit) and content to attain the perfect expression in form.

Ouevre

The Ghazal: A Poorly Adapted Form in English

Prose by Pariksith Singh

The ghazal is perhaps one of the most exotic forms of poetry. Steeped in oriental traditions and imagery, it stands unique in being a major non-narrative lyrical form of poetry...
read more

Dreaming Einstein

Prose by Pariksith Singh

Last night, Einstein came to me in a dream. He was very happy. “I have finally discovered the Unified Field Theory,” he said. “Show me, “I said, ever the skeptic....
read more

The Future of Indian Poetry

Prose by Pariksith Singh

Indian poetry in English is flat. There is no depth. This was my impression when I read some anthologies edited by Pritish Nandy few decades ago. This remains my impression...
read more

Anthology

Ink

Poetry by Simran

Speak, sing, write, act Till your voice can no more And your face can’t twitch a muscle And your hand cramps and becomes sore With blisters and splotches of ink...
read more

How do you make green?

Poetry by Bettina

In school they threw her out of painting class. She was useless at colours, she says. Her face is wrinkled now. Her frame has shrunk to the size of a...
read more

This Time

Poetry by Frank Golden

My father would come this time of year the hawthorn needled into flower the sycamore and elder in full leaf to relish a call that ravelled him back in time....
read more

Previous Next
Close
Test Caption
Test Description goes like this