Our Worlds Poem by Ananta Madhavan

We inherit a world we did not fashion.
it is, a poet said, an interpreted world,
Where we do not feel too much at home.
Our fellow creatures have noticed it.

Is it because all that we see and feel and know
Have names? They fit into our syntax and idiom.
We learn while growing up the wondrous gift
Of linking our fancies, fantasies and symbols.

A gentle breeze ripples on palmyra fronds
Like sure and rapid fingers on piano keys.
Music moves beyond our sphere; each of us
Is free to interpret a self-made world.


- - - - - - December,2014