Papia Bawa
Life has been one interesting journey for Papia, who has a long term commitment to exploring the mysteries of life and love, painting her poetic tapestry with the colors of human emotions.
Her first poem was written when she was 13, and since then she has published two volumes of her work. "Reflections on a Sunny day", is her third anthology. As a student and lecturer of English Composition and Literature, she is deeply in love with the English language.
Her poems display her views on aspects that strengthen the foundations of life and help interpret its meaning in variegated ways. They are born from the stream of emotions within her, and many of them are related to her personal experiences as well as her all encompassing sense of observation.
Over the years her thoughts have become more intense and intricate, and she has attempted to capture them faithfully in black and white. She is ardently fond of music, and is also an avid reader. She has traveled extensively and hopes to continue her journeys, both in the physical and literary worlds.
PREFACE
Every dawn, when I awake, I wonder what new reflections I will face.
For Life is but a perception away
And like my moon, it is here to stay.
There it is again, standing upright and bright, just as it has been for all these centuries. This lonesome sentinel of the night sky, we simply choose to call the moon. I find it amazing that those millions of years before my existence, the moon existed, perhaps coruscating as ever, just as solitaire as it is today. Strange how I never see it except when I notice it.
There is a subtle difference between noticing and seeing, which becomes apparent when I think of the moon. It has inspired and will continue to inspire poets across the centuries, for its beauty is ephemeral and mysterious, like the shadowy mist: now you see it, now you don't.
But is that all there is to the moon, a mere vision for sore eyes? I think not. I think that the magic of the moon lies not in its beauty, nor in its ability to shine with borrowed splendor, but in its ability to inspire and mould the very deepest abyss of the human consciousness.
It magically weaves itself into your dreams and becomes an inextricable part of your life. To the poor man staring with hunger: it looks like bread, a big, round and perfect pita. To the amorous youth waiting for his beloved: it is the aphrodisiac, the flame to the fever in his brain. To the innocent child, it is the land of imaginations: of fairies, and spirits; an escape from the harsh realities of this world. To the cynic, it is an epitome of hypocrisy, preening and shining with borrowed light, like a mask to hide its ugly face.
It is all there, surrounding the moon: the mysteries and realities, the yesterdays and tomorrows, and the ever repeating today. The more I look upon it, the more I reflect, and the less I understand. One thought leads to another. One door opens into the other, like a never-ending catacomb, until finally, tired and confused, I surrender to its magic. I do not need the answers to the how and why of its existence, as long as it’s magic has the power to transform my consciousness.
Time has asked me again and again: who are you? Who am I? I am me! I am a speck in the universe. I am a clog in the wheel, and without me the wheel cannot move. I am the beginning and end of creation as all humans know and recognize. I am the one that matters to those who care, and the abyss of anonymity to those who do not. But above all, I am the one who has an identity without a label, a relationship without a name, an existence without the greed for eternity, because eternity resides in me, and that is how I exist!
* * *
Twilight Zone
No magic spells can make me see
The journey of a lonely soul
Hobbling along a deserted alley!
