Blowing Smoke by Nii Ayikwei Parkes ( After guardian)

 Blowing Smoke by Nii Ayikwei Parkes   ( After  guardian)

 She is cute, conscious, sensitive,

 Plays with bubbles in air

releasing her tension, and  

special imbibe  of fragrance 

from her floral bunch  hanging

on her shoulders; after all breath

to air,  a realization strikes,

“ we are mortals and guided

by sensations of time, ever 

throbbing like shores’ rhyme.

Every moment of love, every 

song by the mango tree, every

bunch of tender yellowish

flowers a beckoning to the 

world of play and cognizance,

there is another kind of game

stone throw by urchins from afar

where   sounds of fruits and leaves

falling, like a miracle from heaven,

yet love flows from all quarters

for us to feel, follow  and  be 

a part of the world veering in.

Now that you are not-you by Rosie Garland ( After Guardian)

 

Now that you are not-you by Rosie Garland  ( After Guardian)

 

 

Doctor comes in majestic

with his stethoscope  hanging around

with a  concerned look of smile;

a hand on  patient’s wrist

watches the time; There is Time

for one and all, Time does not yield,

though it is the best healer;

 

yes, he is in the last  lobs, breathing tough,

his rough hands slowly falling down,

face in the web of unconscious state,

eyes on the sunken cheeks for a closure

half willing to open and locate  the

whereabouts of loved ones;

perhaps dying embers already on him.

 

 

Is  it the Breath going away

or soul craving for its special

assigned forum, selecting its

own gathering; It merges with

the universal, the otherness

on the other world. Death

bidding farewell to the loving , caring.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Crow and me the same plight:

 

Crow and me  the same plight:

 

In crow’s beak  not a bone

Not a  sea smelling  fish or  dead crumb,

Nor a piece of grass green, in the field

Walkers’ bed of aura soon be fed,

 

In cow’s graze maze amazing,

In due course of time, dry and dead

bunch of straw  bundled in a corner;

shift  and shift in the cow’s tent,

 

master’s delightful duty.

Am I digressing, certainly not.

My poem, composed some

Twenty years  ago, retrieved

 

from my ancient trunk idle,

now  to  the write a  facelift ,

this poem, wind’s sway, now

away from the gentle  touch of crow,

 

my efforts  to trace it now elsewhere;

my growing apprehension ,

some spicy pudding neatly

stuffed, flying, flying far off,

 

in a far off trolley, idle stay.

I am running  after it,

Crow’s flight to unknown

In its steered path , still a wonder.

 

My long forgotten poem

My recently retrieved poem

Seeks an asylum

Elsewhere, its own cove.

 

 

 

 

 

On a Pebbly Beach by John Birtwhistle

 On a Pebbly Beach by John Birtwhistle

A day of ordeal  and  joy by the beach:

We as a family  packed for beach 

both  young as freshers  and new,

experienced old to the shore, shingles

and boats ,insearch of a day  away

from routines and heavy domestic chores.

A day off is  a day gained for good.

pebbles colored, white, small  and big

rolling in elders' hands - for looks

and research  and curiosity, journey

into smooth and selective mode;

feeling nurtured perhaps,  why run after

tough and rough after all battles

and hard struggles in miles unmitigated.

Always boisterous youth  running 

after risk and remote, game of delve

and dig into rough and unknown

in the process of knowing and unknotting;

prefer  stones roughed by  splashes of water

age  and ruin undoing their shape and size;

Choice speaks of your taste  and mind,

I wonder why this contrast  and drift

 i am  still in search  of something 

different  and strange, waiting 

for a call from heaven,Time  and measure.

I am the wanderer ( after guardian)

 

 

I am the wanderer  (  after guardian)

 

I am not a home bird confined

within the precincts of four walls,

tuning on viola pouring all melody

of my angst of past and magnifying

now into a disastrous gloom;

 

I am a wanderer from a land

Of immense glory and good tillage

Where copious flow  and freedom

In every hearth and home

All now  A thing of Past.

 

Now a   hoary land of ghost

Where  desire and avarice

eating alive  every nerve

and mood beyond control

and restraint  a sordid spectacle.

 

Dark  and light, penury and sick

Flow  and glow gleaming into den

All I have seen still wandering

Into a land of uncertainty

Clinging  on only to Hope and survival.

 

 

 

 

After Guardian’s secrecy

 

  After Guardian’s secrecy

 

 

Blown by speedy gale dipped in mists

and winding  speedy storms baffling your

movements into a  null, an existential dilemma

 thronging many a door  and mind;

Many sailing in the same boat like me

Feel the half-blown bud, bitten by frost

and slow shiny summer’s golden rays

unduly dipped in wintry bed of  unmalting

frost, a baffling spectacle, as crucial as

life’s dilemma and testing times;

Driving in the busy metropolitan streets,

Clouds and wavy shadows on the sky

Barging through intermittent on lines,

When seasons and serendipity flowing

Through veins of discovery a passion

Unalloyed till now. Still my adoration

For spring and summer as any others

Continues until seasonal shifts enter.