Today, we visited the Gol Gumbaz, a mausoleum to Mohammed Adil Shah. It is often referred to as the Taj Mahal of the South and I can see why. The building itself is simple yet magestic, with no gold nor seemingly expensive materials.
The crowning glory of this place, however, is the whispering gallery 8 stories high. You can sit on one side of the 170-odd sqm dome and hear, word for word the words of the person sitting directly opposite as though they were sitting next to you. I’ve never experienced this before, but it’s something quite special to be a part of if you manage to go early enough to avoid big crowds clapping and whooping. We were lucky enough to experience this with very few others.
We listened in, without understanding, the conversation of two old friends, clung to every note of a song sung by a man in Hindi, and giggled when a journalism student shouted she wasn’t so keen on a guy called Vinesh.
Not many people visit Bijapur (Vijayapura) in Northern Karnataka, India but I would whole heartedly suggest you go if you’re anywhere within a few hours away to get up before the crowds and experience the beauty of the Gol Gumbaz.
Here’s my short inspired by this special place:
Ears to the walls
listening for the whispers
Of your love
through the din echoing
March 8th 2017
Finding time to get your mind into a place to write poetry can be difficult. Even when you’re out in the world seeing, tasting and touching new sights; it can take some space to tap into the tree sap of creativity. Hindsight really is best at times.
So, here’s the result of my freshly tapped creativity:
Being by your side to watch your footsteps fall on the roads you’ve longed to tread,
And to look in awe at the city that once stood along the edge of the skyline
With arms long enough to reach the sun.
© LE Purse
Armistice Day Thought:
To all those the world over who are grieving the last 6 month’s political events in the UK and the USA, remember our great grandparents, grandparents, and parents fought for freedom from segregation in race, religion, sex and class over the last 100 years. We will not let this be forgot and we will use their energy for change and reform to continue to move forward and stand up to those who think we are not all equal.
My cousin, my brother, my sister
of every colour, class, sex and religion
stand by my side
and dare them to knock us down
for when they try and when they do
we will stand strong hands holding hands
minds locked together with determination
to keep building our community of people who see people for the people that they are
and not faces coloured by their origins
or chained to their class assumptions
or told the strength of their gender
and guided to the right god
We need people who see people for the people that they are
We need people who see people for the people that they are.
© LE Purse
I’ve been gone a while – but now I am returned.
Let’s start with one about identity;
hope you enjoy:
the boxes that
we fit in,
are put in,
are locked in
from the moment we choose to open our mouths
hang around our necks, burn into our hides, and nick at our wrists
they can remain intact,
bound up with bands made of elastic
or they can be ripped from corner to corner,
flattened out to be
a bed, a canvas, a bridge
they can be re-used, re-cycled, re-purposed
to be so much more
so much more than a box
that confines, constricts, contains
unless conformity is your game
then please, use the box for what it’s for
and slip in to be whatever the poll says.
© LE Purse
Image from here.
Haiku aren’t everyone’s cup of tea, I didn’t know they were mine until I read The Peculiar Life of a Lonely Postman by Denis Theriault. It’s a great little read, unusual as the title suggests, but wonderful. It inspired me to try writing Haiku. Now, they’re not great so don’t judge me too harshly but I hope you can appreciate their form.
I promised to catch you up with some of the poems I wrote in February as I wrote almost one a day as I found my writing groove again.
They’re from 3 consecutive diary entries so are about various topics but I’ll leave deciphering their muses up to you.
Haiku: February 19th
My enemy is
The paper thin printed kind
That’s passed round and round.
Haiku: February 20th
Watch your words dear one
For we’re not afraid to bite
Like ravenous sharks.
Haiku: February 21st
I breathe in deeply
Drawing in salty sea air
I breathe out my fears.
© LE Purse
What happened and where?
into the next,
and the next,
and the next.
Sunday 13th March
© LE Purse