Diaphanous, disingenuous 3 Poems from Prabhu Iyer

Diaphanous, disingenuous
Parsed in the Planck intervals of me,
diaphanous, is it not you?
Yet impossible, disingenuous
this dichotomy: thirst
after the conjurings of sentience?
Parsed in the Planck intervals of me,
is it not you, ineffable ?
And yet the flood tides of rage
toss me over on the waters of life;
Gulf between eyes shut and open –
chasing after the web of thoughts;
Parsed in the Planck intervals of me,
is it not you, ineffable?
Who do I call, dear presence,
when called to act by the world,
true to my being and becoming?
Impossible this dichotomy:
diaphanous, disingenuous, ever
A word called Mother
All earth sings forth in the hymn of the falling leaf –
bough to soil the journey, unending tides of life;
All of nature sprung forth drawing elements
veins dug into the soul a little cherub smile
the triumph of spring;
What is of earth goes back to earth, but for moments
the hymn of life, fleeting warmth of mid months –
now cast, falling twig, withering,
looping back to where it all begins;
hour of the silent prayer,
forest chants in a hundred shades of falling hymns;
it is the end that is certain, however high the bough
that held the bower, and the earth
never retires silent; yet, it is
the season of the Kash flower,
an act of compassion that brings our forlorn world
a tender word called Mother; and so sings
the dhak, the drum-bard of the earth in rut
with the owl, the swan and the lion
now come the colours alive;
Dear electricity, what are bulbs to you?

Dear bulb of light, 
what is electricity to you?
Do you like it in your corner
beaming in your shine, or
in a chandelier
adorning the nights?
         Dear chandelier,
what is electricity to you?
Do you like it in your throne,
brimming in your shine, or
in a celebration
of glory lights?
        O celebration,
what is electricity to you?
Do you like it in your vestal
of sundry occasions?
       Ever humble unknown
flowing through the veins
this elixir of life that lights up 
lamps, chandeliers -
one indivisible borderless,
yet bringing a hundred
filaments to celebration:
       Dear electricity,
what are bulbs to you,
chandeliers and celebrations?


Prabhu Iyer is an Indian poet writing primarily in English. A scientist by training and practice, Prabhu weaves his quest of truth, beauty and goodness into his verse. An avid student of poetry, he is inspired by the spirit of the romanticists and transcendentalists, while also being influenced deeply by figures of the avant-garde, drawing upon such movements as cubism, surrealism and magical realism in the sense of gesamtkunstwerk or ‘total art’. He is also an ardent fan of popular lyrical poetry as manifested in the variegated Indian devotional, musical and film traditions. Prabhu’s work has appeared in anthologies and poetry journals including the PLT and long-listed a couple of times for the prestigious Erbacce Prize for poetry. He has published two volumes of poetry, ‘Ten Years’ exploring the themes of love and loss, while ‘The Hermit’ is a surrealist collection of poems. He is also working on releasing a collection of Haikus collated over many years, especially during the COVID lockdown.
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com ; You may visit
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