After Poem for Professor Frye by Nausheen Eusu

After Poem   for Professor Frye by Nausheen Eusu

   Guardian

“The pale dawn of longing descends,”

   with its relentless, unyielding stand;

    yet not completely voicing its way: 

   He hides  all this under cover of

    Longing and  sane will  forging ahead.

   Yet   the Soul refuses to see  all this,

   for  it is in bemused  state,  The soul

confronts  that   “outside the window frame is”

for the body and  soul now refuse to

get along  the journey.

Father Time, unmindful of all

these,  strides in its  carriage

giving a  nod to men  and pitfalls;

Looks as if Time  is convinced

That  Man is incorrigible and

Beyond redemption  at least now.

Now the trio of silence and dark flesh

and  jaded heart with faded love;

it is all like   a broken bone,

What is the broken bone, can one

Resuscitate life, infuse  romance?

It  darkens the flesh, “ flesh is dark”

Loss of  faith, loss of blood and

Endpoint of living. Neither longing

Nor the bone succeed but only the

Waiter Time with its measured beat.

poem after Guardian ‘ leaving home at 10 Harry Garuba

Poem after Guardian ‘ leaving home  at 10 Harry Garuba

Nothing  is more poignant and  sadder  than

Leaving  home, away home to a  far off  school,

 For betterment of future prospects, as elders  opine.

Grand mother and  grandfather amidst farewell ,

Unwilling  and tears swelling  over cheeks;

 

The  moment of departure came,

Those are the days of horse drawn vehicle,

Called  jhatka,  carrying me to the boarding school.

This is the moment of     introspection and

unWilling surrender to elders’  decision.

How can I forget my  early tender days ,

Even now tender, no one  can gainsay it,

my cricket bat, my photo album  and

 favorite books- Robinson Crusoe and Jim

carbett; collected  stamps all preserved in

good earnest in my cupboard,  how can I

forget my days of mango snatching in

summer days  running fast  to avoid the

ever watchful guard ,when his eyes  elude him.

All these I am going to miss , right away

During my  journey , I started looking  forward

My holidays. Sure to come back with  a new

Language, new approach to  life.

After Husk by Margot Armbruster

 After   Husk by Margot Armbruster

What if I wake up a  recovered patient

Ready for discharge?

In  orthodox rooted family

I have oft heard a  query by some

Affected, “ prayer  and  fasting on

Religious grounds – beyond limits-

are   they  necessary?  No  viable

answer except discipline and convention.

To propitiate   Gods  and  the base for

Ritualistic  practices.

I have witnessed even children are

Tortured in the name of fasting, and

rigorous discipline. Prayer  with

closed  eyes and  meditation, chanting

and  fasting for  hours- hunger suppressed.

Anorexia  giddiness. A  prayer offered is

Always there, a  prayer  after  prayer,

Appeal to   Gods for fulfillment of vows;

But prayer with starved stomachs and 

Delayed  eating  viscera and   weak bones

and  lose of  weight, even  loss of memory.

What  if  I wake up, a  recovered  patient,

 Ready for discharge?

What if I wake up with a  sturdy body, bright as

Sunlight and  straight?

That was a special day

Guardian poems  ( take after  Simon Armitage) The Straight and Narrow by Simon Armitage

That  was  a   special day

That  was  a  day with a  break off

From the usual  time tabled  routine;

Project  teacher’s  visual  class with

His  projector to augment  about  flora

and  fauna, arts   and  history  war  weapons-

 to tenth class  students  avid

in preparing  the final exam .Excitement

is the  order  of  class  before  the projector

was clicked  on. Soon  a  different  excitement

is in the offing for  young  and  old  all alike.

 On the  silver  screen, unexpected, though,

all   visualized human shapes and   shadows

in different  sizes . The imagination could

correlate with  cops  and  prison cells and

speeding   vehicles, crime   and a LIFE

  

 beyond   this life ; unemployment too

in our copious list. That   four    hours’

session  was  unforgettable in all of our lives.

A pet song ( after guardian)

   A pet song

I go  chained  to the  Control of my boss,

Not  at all  a  Loss, but  a free pass ;

Excited  going out, not  petty excitement;

On the  pruned grass,   jump and play, sheer ‘petcitement,’

On the carpet like, picking up  cards, cast bones,

Bits of paper,   I  am   patted by my boss,

Walking down further by  the River,

By  the floating and gurgling water

Stay a while!  peace  be  with   my boss

canines , my fellow pets, abound in groups

 slow by  noon ,rays of Sun  straight  beams

 on our face ,  a  warm sun bath  to gloat   across.     

Back home, my boss runs after me,

With his chain of rope tied  to me.

SPRING IN WINTER

cold winter
still popping out
of some leaves in pot;
grandeur in stay calm
for some time now;
fallen twigs and branches
foray we will have rebirth again.






A walk in my garden
all round snow capped ,
Beyond this transparency ,
this numb idleness, a crave
Of buds eager to spread out
their smiles, some pecking is
on elsewhere, little girl
dancing looking at sky.
Hope blossoms .

after ' Alba ' guardian

After  ‘alba’ guardian

White  the  sun

spotless piercing

through

white the papers

where you pour

all black and white

devils and   Satans

and angels all get

imprint  their stay

white the moon

lovers’  paradise

till covered by  sleep

white  the  stone

shining as cure

spell  and  witchcraft

rocks brown

only  a  mute

witness  to  charade

 now  in the pond

 inside the pond

  deep in the pond

  ancient pond

  the only pond

you frequent

 wisdom  dawns

with  the   Dawn

 

Tanka bells

   New  Tanka                                                                                                                             

 1)temple bells

                chiming all the day

                day long tolls

                warping a hope

                 ringing out the blues

  2) drums beat

much show on stage thrall

   deafening sound while

   my mobile’s ringtones

   submerge into missed calls

 3)she weaves dexterous

 on her embroidery frame

 name of her sibling

 somewhere in similar vein

 remembers her mother’s care

  

4)grandma knits

the whole day and spins

the cut threads

making baby pillow

soft and velvet like

  

5)  biting chill

engulfs her with her babe

roll of rags  and leaves

 commoner’s luxury  for 

 all times and seasons caring.

 6) arriving late

 on  rainy day to  clinic

 she  sees   agony

 stamping  in life’s entourage

 as of her shade during young

7) plucking  a rose

 with deft  fingers before due

 feel of  poignant pain

  causing  a  premature  end

  much  same  for  human alike

            

 8) a  construction site

not  brick and  mortar  alone

anguished  cry  of  the

soul  spent of  life time  of  choice

he relives his life again

 

A take after "old poem" by Guardian

  A take after “old poem” by Guardian

  After  my failure in tenth class

  The father side people tutored in

  multiplication of money  and gold,

  Weathered in   usury and   locking.

   Believed in unbelieving   everything,

  the craze for  money, drove me;

   tortured me to a   mad extreme;

  I left not for army, but not knowing

Where my feet dragged, going in their

Way. A puppet in  their  hands,  father  became

A virile monster. Landed  in fishermen        

Community, I grew up amidst nets and fins;

             After  six  decades , keen desire for

Roots of family drove back, pained to know,

Same fate had befallen my younger brother;

Somebody living not far off, pointed to the

House sold, exchanged many hands for ruthless

Villainy of  greedy inmates, ditched my father:

He pointed to the banyan tree,”look there!

I saw him last two months back in rags with

Unshaven  beards , almost sleeping on

Roadside. Money  takes many  online pathways.

Curry and masala fish   and fried fish smell

Lingering in my nostrils, I decide to go back.

 

Adieu to this winter

     Adieu to this winter

             Come like an exorcist, stand by me,

             Cast  some  magic  with your  wand,

              drive away this   corroding   winter

               move us into a  web of  fragranced spring.

             Can stand no more this monster

              In season’s order  as a matter of right,

             ever leaving behind   a phlegm 

             in my chest and soul, around me too,

            like throwing a bucket full of water

            on my being’s scroll silent  and serene.

           Come! Like sprinklers    shower your

            Benign  blessings, when I  am seedy ,

            Be the first to drive away the evil

            Thickening  of wintry’s adamant lineage.

         Come  Spring ! swell with  pride and

Spread your fragrance  to  have  a  catch,  catch for good

My improvised pillow

My improvised pillow   

In  times of my gathered leisure ,

for   a  liking  for improvisation

a  puffed up pillow or duvet or small bed,

For clothes cotton  and   silk  and

Old   ragged  and  worn out,

Some  meant for  cold winter  and

Some can be pulled out for scorching

Summer, I sit, draw meticulous     plan

For  making a   pillow;  call it  at your

Will   a   waste of time or   mad pursuit

Of greed  or  miserly deed.

Those  lean  days of  agony  and 

Penury  I don’t forget , forget  not  the

Past is  my forte  and  motto ingrained

In my blood. This  bed   or pillow,

Duvet  or linen bed for children

Or  for  your swollen feet   a

Comforting  raised  care – whatever

You term it, is  my  useful hour of

Splendid  improvisation of  my clothes.