The recently released, This Summer and That Summer, (Bloomsbury) is Sanjeev Sethi’s third book of poems. His work also includes well-received volumes, Nine Summers Later and Suddenly For Someone. He has, at various phases of his career, written for newspapers, magazines, and journals. He has produced radio and television programs.
We usually take turns leading us to happiness
though the esses of mountain make me edgy.
Actuality means little, what matters is how
we bake it in our brains.
She has mounted a set in the studio of her head.
A camera too is embedded in her cranium.
She is the leading lady. There is no hero.
Aloneness undulates her reel.
Another floor is the setting of her desires
and devices via media sessions. She waxes
on absences. She is convinced the worthiness
of words will weave the completion of her circle.
Some homes have no ceilings.
Some no casements, no belongings.
Some homes have nobody.
These are not homes. They are houses.
I’ve lived enough to know what it
is to live with me. I like my smell.
Points of departure, yes, but fewer
than folks have with others.
I enjoy space, the décor is minimalist.
My place has curtains, rugs and ruminations.
There is color-keyed flooring and focus,
electricity too: what is missed-- current.
Tonight I bought God
in tune with my aesthetics.
Woody texture. Warm features.
While placing it on the mantel
I wondered --
Will He approve of me?
You are the perfect auditor.
It is us who fail to understand
your arithmetic. Is there anyone
who can teach me God’s calculus?
When you are riled up
of remitting to the impious
remember: that too will reach
your karmic rink.
Should yachties cruising through life’s canal
bypass those God chooses to publicly castigate?
Or should it be their calling to nourish them?
We inherit our God.
A few grow up
to find their own.