A Stone's Confession

a poem by Rajaram Ramachandran, India - poetry writer, author, poet

I’m not required to boast myself
But I do humbly submit myself
To find “Can you exist yourself
Sans the presence of myself? '

I’m the so-called bedrock
Absorbing the entire shock.
O’er me rests the earth’s crust.
Upon me you can always trust.

As you’ve for yourself an age
My life started before Stone Age.
Is there a planet minus my presence
Anywhere in the entire Universe?

Tell me, how long I can hold
The weight of my surface overload?
To readjust myself rarely I shake
That creates a disastrous earthquake.

Around the earth, I’m a stone vessel,
To hold the sea from all the sides well,
And to save it from the bottom fire
Burning inside the earth’s core.

The rivers scrub my back
To make bits of sand stack
That spreads under the seabed
And also builds up the beachhead.

When I fuse with any chemical
In odd shapes, I look so colorful
To shine as stones in precious jewel
Or to cut or sharpen any tool.

Rubbing flint stones starts a fire.
For laying road or rail track anywhere,
You need me in small pieces there
For the mile long route to cover.

In the hands of a sculpture
I undergo tremendous torture
To bring into this world anew
A wonderful piece of statue.

I’m in the shape of white marble,
Granite or Slate stone in simple,
The bigger size of me as boulders
Scattered alongside the seashores.

As God I’m worshiped.
Also as footsteps I’m laid
But I don’t pay any heed
To whatever way I’m used.

I know in me there’s no God
And He’s only in your mind.
But to reach your goal you find
Me a medium of some kind.

The white marble of Taj Mahal,
Or the granite stone of any temple
Will speak how I’m essential
To build such an edifice so tall.

Either the tallest Everest peak
Or the deep ocean bottom Pacific,
For their shapes I’m the cause
As they survive o’er my base.

Jesus Christ saved me from a sin
Once, as he told a crowd of men
That a non-sinner only can stone
To death the prostitute woman.

They bowed their heads down in shame
As sinners they were, every one of them.
Thus the women was saved from kill
‘Cause Jesus was so kind and noble.

About me there’re many things to tell,
But let me end here at this level.
Don’t think I’m only a stone dead,
But let this message of mine be heard.

A Song of the World
A Bouquet of Oriental Poems
An advivce to a restless mind

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