Not for that city of Silence ( after Guardian

Not for  that  city of  Silence ( after  Guardian)

No, not for  that of orb of white,

without which globe will be dark upright,

 still, we are not in favor of that city,

 full of golden gates  and rays sharp

piercing to the dazzle  of our eyes,

eternity of heat swelling in summer

much to the chagrin of our delve,

soon wearied we become detriment

to our wholesome body and mood.

Yet, in winter dark and devouring,

When shiver  runs through, like

A tremor, when jerkins and fur coat

become hot commodities, this white

City missing for a while, taps your memory.

The  hot orb, we shun when dazzling,

its mild orange rays while descending

other side of hill eluding our grip

and visibility,till its wakes us in

respectable Dawn,all  Mantras

chanting veering round all,

we  clamoring for that Silence

celestial governing principle

of the Universe too.

After Guardian’s The Corn-Stalk Fiddle

After Guardian’s    The Corn-Stalk Fiddle

The boon of a farmer is the day

of harvest when  his field is all

bloom and glow with shiny corn

enriching his  looks and mindset as well.

It is not like “burnished spears … of gold”

It is – mine of  gold coins all cut and set

For field mice  to ply and play unchecked.  

Your eyes catch corn stalks

That lie all around with yearning

Passion and care for you to pour;

 How many melody and songs

from the strings  and bow of the

fiddle of stalks lengthy after chisel !

it is  like collaborative birds in the

morn of greenery  clothed in sunny wisdom;

bow and fiddle from the same stalk

the proud owner is  happy  and ready

to improvise notes from his dainty tune.

It is slow  and low  for many wonder

wherefrom the sweet secret melody flows’

Then comes the dance of girls adorned -

Simple ornaments  dipped in beads

Of  bells    woven by grandma’s call

Preserved in chest of  oaken drawers.

My dream is well knit sleep-

Images of  colorful costumes

Shining  on corn stalk fiddle.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving

Receiving The Mercy of God,

Just as  The showers from  the Blue,

Azure  tapping all its sources,

The superfluous twinkling of the stars,

Gates  of charity open and alms

Pouring  in times of needy;

War and fighting and gun shots,

Like hot pellets seizing the mood;

and blood oozing, mostly frozen;

still, healing not as fast as  vendetta

and pain which is grueling;

another concept of receiving;

no balm or appeasement for these;

some ray of hope lingering;                    

for all  of us  Thanksgiving

concept of thanks giving,

that one special Gift of mankind

kindling all flames,

nurturing hope and growth;

kernel of Divine Ordinance

governing principle of mankind.

The flea ( after Guardian)

The flea  ( after  Guardian)

All  the  four  walls   frequented

With  these  ringing near fleas,

may be springing from different sources,

all the more safe in net  clothing in rooms.

We sneeze, discard, drive away these,

Sucking monsters, secretive  and sudden.

Surreptitious sucking  blood , after  wooing,

A kind of seduction,  after  sin and singing,

A mellifluous ringing,  continual process

In bed and blood  oozing in tender

Waking up triggered   by a painful sting;

Our  skins swelling, our helpless

Predicament  thwarted by care .

Every drop is every cell’s nutrition ,

Every succession is fleas’ attempt

In murdering innocent and flowing .

There  is  a combat always between,

Our efforts in driving , their sitting

Persistent going on and on.

Singing all through.

 Singing all  through.

For  him the winter  is slow,

The songbird  feels could be

April  with its  coil of spring

 mellifluous  rising hopes

in all . Certainly for him /her

November is the same as Dec Morn;

Me  as  a spectator in the corner

Stand and witness all  birds

Start singing if they are prompted

By a tune special and in surrounding

 calm and cool; Advent of Jan,

throb of  April chill November

throughout, the same singing

profuse and not a premeditated art;                                                                                  

seasons change, love and hate

in mutations and buff and blow,

you grow long in singing loud,

most of times, a silent singing

into yourself goes on within,

along with the birds and flora and fauna

in a nod or beckoning , aura of   own.

Robin’s view

Robin’s view

A  caring walk into my garden

which I reared  with many a trees

of my choice, seeing  Nature’s bounty ;

A Robin stripping berries- the pleasant

wind blowing from afar – a sight full of   

bowl and melamine cups flowing with

blue  and   purple -how  much in her stomach!

Her  magic hand carries a  wand

– in a good will move Sowing all seeds,

In the garden,- with the passage  of Time

Productivity and felling -all humanity’s

Survival mode. Marvel at Creation,

Pleased at Her Bounty; praying at

The sky for  the perennial pour,

Soon a  black bird  befriends all.

Heart (after ablation, Guardian)

Heart   (after  ablation, Guardian)

In between the   spiral like     parts

Blood  pumping in and out, palpitation,

murmur  and  heart  attack, there is   yet

another  attack of incision and instruments,

praying God, until you come out of operation

theatre,  after  a while, taking a vow not to hurt

people, the  promise  only short  lived;

you come out mingle with heartless  people

indulge in ungodly activities, emotions

of different kind thronging up;

Heart the seat of anger swelling beyond

the boundary, jealousy and all  passion

of crudity and wild moorings  taking

upper hand; physical and metaphorical

or literal name for heart, how different

nomenclatures veering   round their action;

the sessions of lubtub leading where?

How much can it maneuver or  how much

Can it hold, living and breathing last

In between this   strong knots.

In between the take off and landing

    In between   the  take off  and landing

All the formalities completed,

like the  gentle  cops’ interrogation, a

duty  which  cannot be abrogated,

reaching  the gate, with  saddened memories

and farewell, for   you are  going to be away

from home, from near  and dear ones;

 your home, which is not only a living space,

entity infusing life  and breath every minute

every corner, every object of your catch,

every utensil and every scar on the wall,

floor, hands reaching to redress, broom

and brass lamp, a regular  cleaning;

after all these , reach aircraft, your seat belt,

 feel of flying high; the azure and the accompanying

wings , wondering inventors’ other  side of  God;

At times, with a jerk, landing in a land either new

or familiar, entwined with new objects, new faces,

entirely clogged  in new climate; sipping   cup of coffee,

back home, your  kin and growing curious to know

about  every plank  and panel ; inescapable.

                                                           

Twin affliction

Twin affliction

In body’s entourage twin ports

 need be checked; sense of shame

and soul’s affliction, body yields

to revelry or drunken rivalry, dragging

into pleasure realm, sensory   parts

move   their own,  each in its own

directions; love  and hate entangle

us in a web of non-stop move;

somewhere in the tip of my  move,

 guilt always corrodes me for the

wrong and right  steps, justifying

myself; I withdraw   my self into

a lonely cove, my seclusion admonishes

and consoles as well, depending upon

my moorings; A realization love has

different connotations; awareness

of a love unpolluted by skin and itch

I want to get up, rising slow  and steady

A sense of relief clutches me for ever.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving

Receiving The Mercy of God,

Just as  The showers from  the Blue,

Azure  tapping all its sources,

The superfluous twinkling of the stars,

Gates  of charity open and alms

Pouring  in times of needy;

War and fighting and gun shots,

Like hot pellets seizing the mood;

and blood oozing, mostly frozen;

still, healing not as fast as  vendetta

and pain which is grueling;

another concept of receiving;

no balm or appeasement for these;

some ray of hope lingering;                    

for all  of us  Thanksgiving

concept of thanks giving,

that one special Gift of mankind

kindling all flames,

nurturing hope and growth;

kernel of Divine Ordinance

governing principle of mankind.

Hat after me or me after that hat? ( After Guardian

Hat  after  me  or me after  that hat?  ( After  Guardian)

After all the hanging pal of gloom,

The  darkening hour in the walls

of cemetery  where  stones speak  volumes,

Steps in my sunny day, sunny mood,

My hat -an emblem of   starry sign,

would fetch me luck beyond counts,

 land me to far off places, flying so high,

  Only to see   below the ground level,

  to gauge the suffering, to view infinitesimal;

 am often trying to adjust the hat,

  running faster than my move,

  giving me an elusive grip;

 more than the hat, the embroidered thread,

 the airplane sign propeller on the hat,

we both were chasing each other,

on grass and tree top, wires and wind breeze,

cutting  across  sand and huts;

 it was an endless chase; not after  your

ken and kith, brothers  and relatives,

back home, your paradise,  your hat

 like a diadem adorning your head.

After Guardian----- ( A Musician’s encounter in a day)

After Guardian-----   ( A Musician’s  encounter in a  day)

The unimaginable thrill of music

running like flow of ripples

in the form of musical notes

quivering in my lips, all over

the rooms, from bed to bath

humming and running upstairs;

I recall my counterparts,

in cold shiver, the cloths

 hanging from shoulders

sitting cross legged on pyals

arranging his stringed instrument

to the best of its tune;

All the world is complete

Now slowly disintegrate

Like jigsaw puzzle;

We  have to assemble

The  broken parts dangling

Amidst our bemused life.

I am thrilled in the

Symphony of music

Swelling through

As  usual.

  

Soul of Gerontius after (Guardian)

Soul of Gerontius  after (Guardian)

After  some   tedium, questioning

my body I went to sleep, just to wake up

 a soothing lulled  to cheer me.

A sudden relief, as if wind swept past me

triggers; a  feel of segregation, time

or that sanguine hour has come,

something departed for ever. Blessed Soul

lingers in me like a message of Messiah!

Sacred still and freeing of a heaviness

flowing in me like a river perennial

aiding agricultural tillage.

This body is proud of its lineage,

All the fibers and tendons are

moving without a  sense of motion

what do you call still standstill;

soul outside its purview; is it science

or philosophy, or combination of turgid

philosophy beyond the reach of man;

I  feel that I am out of this universe,

Infinite is infinitesimal when it touches

the point of pinnacle or endpoint;

some angelic spirit, holds  by way

of some consolation, a gentle sway

a music of melody -a  sort

of heart-subduing melody.

After -- Sonnets from Idea's Mirror by Michael Drayton)

(

(After -- Sonnets from Idea's Mirror by Michael Drayton)

(After --  Sonnets from Idea's Mirror by Michael Drayton)

I sit to write my verse or sonnet or free haiku,

It flows as the seeds as with sweeping toll;

let not my critic censure  me with stern comments

as  that of my taskmaster or GOD the supreme ruler;

or tap my flow with grace and savored taste;

my papers stay   as usual with a nonchalant look,

yet, I am not susceptible to any criticism

or swayed by any praise, my spirit stays

as Swan like in any  pond or stream;

keep printing or arranging the printed

in shelves of fragrance lest moths should

corrode, waiting  for good days or Dawn;

some earnest publisher will knock at my door

luring me with prospects of  good catch.

My love, bosom love reigning always                  

in heart, not craving for costly attire

yet to be dressed in elegant and tidy.

All thoughts, creative ideas proceed

Swelled not with pride, but with attire

 of  humbled wisdom passed on from

generations of tutored culture.    

My Muse waits there for more

To be tuned in writing.

After Guardian – “ When winter comes by Jane Clarke”..

After Guardian – “ When winter comes by Jane Clarke”..

A hard   day of  labor,

laborious for  the day,

innocent metal stretching

its legs on the mound,

the wary  eyes  and angry

stretch of hammer, ready 

to strike to bend the hard,

unbendable; the red embers

at the furnace glow; do you

think the   steel hot is forgiving,

for blacksmith endures hither

and thither on his hands, bubbles

to be anointed by his beloved

at home when he reaches at

the end of the day; some pain

afore pleasure, she gently consoles.

Everything  needs a process

grinding stone, grinding,

till it  transformed  a  shiny Gold.

How many cards we have!

How many cards we  have!

All said and done,

Life is a card  game,

A labyrinth of unsolved

Riddles, just as the blinding

Mist  in the morn, we are caught

in the quagmire ;

keep  the kitchen burning,

hearth in bed of warm,

nutty fast food in your menu

and night shows  and  scroll

into mobile uploads;

starched   poly cotton  sari,

and T-shirts; billing and packed

all pushed in the corner seat of

your car ; simply a gentle swipe

of  Credit cards  and debit in different

nomenclatures, Master and Visa cards

rule  gentle  in your wallet;

Mama says credit card is a Waste,

Papa opines  Chase  is a  show;

But his spouse insists these are a must. 

    

TANKA --DEATH THEME

    

making inroads

into her cells  day by day

a silent  journey

until the final call  

 an accepted therapy

Drama lessons ……after Guardian

Drama  lessons ……after  Guardian

In the drama of  Life,

For life is full of dramatic

events, setbacks and turnings

like fortune teller’s magic wand

touch and read and go:  Day

in and day out is life is set

to the tunes of characters

and dialogue  and scenic shifts;

 like rapturous music and  wordplay

from palladium  girls chant like chorus;

Sudden emergence of   young girls

like in gorgeous colors decked

worshipfully folding hands, some

as if handicrafts  dexterous woven;

elsewhere, hand is missing, as if

chipped off with one eye looking;

odd girl disappearing sudden

with the slang and strange looks;

some come back with red eyes;

curtain draws as  the snow falls;

Tanka ONLY IN ACCORDANCE WITH 575 SYLLABLES

TANKA

1)     Casket opens  slow

treasury of ancient coins

 thrill of entire house

glitter  and share of inmates

till nightfall their bonanza

         A   cellar  full of

winery succulent flows

today’s drive and thrill

pushing you to market place

dreams  and definitions  there.