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.