Hi Friends,

Even as I launch this today ( my 80th Birthday ), I realize that there is yet so much to say and do.

There is just no time to look back, no time to wonder,"Will anyone read these pages?"

With regards,
Hemen Parekh
27 June 2013

Friday, 6 September 1985

On the Shores of Time

A life has ebbed away;

One by one
each precious year
got washed away
on the shores of Time ;

Like foot prints in the sands,
while I was searching
your foot prints to kiss.

I am afraid of the logic

It is so harsh and painful
so uncompromising
so unaccommodating;

I have no courage to look at
reality in the eyes.

run away like a doomed man,

And knowing that death stalks you
and there is no running away,
think of the other life
beyond death ;

And think of your beloved
who has promised you her life -
the next ,

And all the rest to follow ,
but not this one
here and now !

Because flesh and blood are unreal 
and soul is immortal ,
it does not commit foul ;

It is not bound by " Karma ",
neither acquires , " Pap " , nor " Punya " ,

So , if you love with soul ,
it is no sin  !

But darling ,
I was born without a soul !

All I had was me ,
my body --
and what soul I have acquired 
thru these short years ,
I will leave behind ;

When the flames envelope,
it is the body which will be gone
with all its pains and pleasures --

And the soul will find 
another body
to perpetuate ,

and another
and another ;

The sneaky soul
finding one body after another,
riding many conscience together -
like Entropy
forever growing ;

Consuming all flesh and blood;

Like a black-hole
devouring space , matter , antimatter
sound and light
and darkness
and form ;

No one has recognized this soul
this eternity
this immortality
Param-Chaitnya ;

My Love ,

all that I recognize is my body
which can
see and listen and smell
and touch your body ,

and feel hungry about you
here and now 
in this life ,
which is ebbing away  !


Friday, 26 April 1985

The Song of Cuckoo

And suddenly there is spring ,
So you tell me :
But how can I believe ,
When the winter is
And the tall trees
Are still dark
With the shadow of
This recurring death ;

The song of Cuckoo
Is no more real
Then the long lost memories
Of some yesteryears .

And this is our Shangrila ,
So you tell me ;
How too soon to believe ,
When the wind is still warm
Though the journey thru
The desert

Is over .


Friday, 19 April 1985


Tomorrow I will not be around
Nor those who I loved
Or who loves me.

And the world would have changed
There would be more concrete
And less trees ;

I wonder if birds will still chirp
And whether there will be windows
To let the sun light come thru !

Whereas I sympathize with you
My son,
I can only pity your son
( I cannot grieve his fate
  Because I may not live
  Long enough to love him )
Who must carry the 21st century
On his weak shoulders
And falter at every step,
And whose life will be one long hurdle ;

Even you may not be able
To protect him
Against all the ill-winds that will blow.

I can only pray in silence
Not to be re-born in Beirut.