Featured Poetry Pariksith Singh Such total giving

Such total giving

Such total giving
Back to you, the world
Down to the marrow, the bones

Such complete shedding of me
Purge of will
Adoration so deep it becomes surrender

Submission such as roses or stones
As a leaf in the wind
I give up my mind

To the waves of silence
In the still pool

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...

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....

A Crack in Time

Prose by Pariksith Singh

Call me Roxie. I am the rock that can see. It seems I am unlike other rocks. I am the only one who can speak. But it almost appears to...

View all Works by this Author

Anthology

जो रो ना सके वो जवानी क्या

Poetry by Omendra Ratnu

जो रो ना सके वो जवानी क्या ! जो हंस ना सके वो बुढ़ापा क्या ! जो चल ना सके वो हौसला क्या ! जो मिट ही जाए वो फासला...

The Cow

Poetry by Knute Skinner

There’s a white cow standing upon the hill, surely the whitest cow I shall ever see. As usual with cows she is eating grass. Nothing strange about that, except that...

What Trudy Knows

Poetry by Knute Skinner

I find myself mourning but not for anyone we have buried and not for the old neighbourhood or my lost youth or any of that crap. To make no bones...