A TREE SPEAKS

A  tree  speaks

Black  or  nutty  brown,round or oblong

Whether farmers’ dutiful hands  sow

Or blown by wind’s thrilled  flow,

Or  low  lying until weatherd by climatic

Shifts to germination, these  seeds

Underground are calm to Sprout

Above ,exposed to the warm sun, like

Proud siblings, spread into multi branches,

 Sturdy twigs and leaves and fruits

 to cure thirst and ailment of many:

many passersby take rest under this

shady nook and corner and sleep till dawn

to do  business  and  play games .

Birds have no discrimination and rule

their  roost all over leafage.

Crows  and  pecking birds, parrots

sing  duets becoming our pets.

But, one day in the pretext of deforestation,

 We are felled and gone.

       

   

Please do not call me a pessimist

Please  do not call me a pessimist

This is a cruel world

Double diabolic cruel world where

less innocent, more cruel only survive:

Even the laws of nature are

tuned around more killings !

The lion  is  not  a  mighty warrior

 But  a   cruel monster, in  its orgy

 highlighted for its ferocity.

Rigid growling running after its fawn.

I shudder to see the ghastly even

In films, dare not go near the zoo.

 The Lion in man more often

Than not inherits the same ;

It is not the life giving source

But life taking force, blood

To sustain  another life.

Merciless is the  trigger of gunshot,

 I die hundred deaths ere I see such

Killings, be it hunters, or vengeful

Monsters or patriotic soldiers;

Under this cool moon, why hot blood?

Under  this suave  planet, why such

Barbaric  inroads into cut throat violence,

It is not  Death bleeding, it is not  Life bleeding,

It is  Human Heart bleeding to  endless fiasco.

Yonder  again, plotting parasites, shots,

I   run to a place of  calm and absolute serenity.

from The Gododdin by Aneirin ( GUARDIAN)

from The Gododdin by Aneirin ( GUARDIAN)

War Vine  and  Victory

 No  history without dates,

 No country without  wars

 and weapons and bloodshed.

 I  have read ,pride of weapon

 Was their  prowess,  their gamut.

 Leaving home and kin, the warfront

  Engaged them for months and  years

 Pain  and  loss  - engraved only

 On stones  and  books .

 Fearless they  were in

 Hiding with  guns and guts.

 Mead, not meadow is only

 their  reprieve. In death and

desolation  and there is sacrifice

and nobility. Army has its own norms

but ashamed to think even why

no  abrogation of arms and hatred?

Peace-should it be only in bloodshed?

It is an unanswered  question.

After Poem of the week: Us by Zaffar Kunial “ us”

  After  Poem of the week: Us by Zaffar Kunial    “ us”

“……When I was young,’us  equally  meant me,”

          Playing  and  sharing   breakfast  and

           Mingling with cowboys,  a   delectable

           Pleasure, I cannot describe.        

 Yes! I am united in one  word ‘us’.

  The  stars  pouring on  us,

 Twinkling as if  a  Blessings

 For all of us, born into this  earth;

  Unfold able   firmament

  A mystery  as far as we can go;

  A part  of  this  galaxy,

  The   Blue  in unruffled weather,

   tossing waves, hijacking whales

  the lone hut, once   habituated full

   by my   kith and  kin,encompassing

    now ‘us’ is  entwined in all.

Living  and enduring and  enjoying

Between  there is love  and  loss

You and  me  and us in all

Always the same to see   and  endure.

Its is colorless   and  clueless  and

Endless . Something in me  augurs

Feeling of ‘us’ is both for comfort and concern.

After : Typewriter by Matthew Francis

After  :  Typewriter by Matthew Francis

Gone are those days of typewriter

old fashioned and naughty cumbersome,

but then for a beginner like me,

no  other  go and choice.

With the advancement of  technology, we  have

Computers,desktop and  laptop and palm top-

All doing the same  task in their own way,

depending upon our efficiency ,dexterity on key board .

Smith corona  and “baby-grand workings” had its

day and  slow with replacement with  key board

of grand stature with multiple scores  these days.

Yes,verily true:

“What was struck here could never be unstruck,..”

I recall how often the papers and caught in-between

And  silver lever dancing to and  fro, trying your

Patience  and  creativity aura.  Carbon  and  “ribbon smudge”

Had frequent playouts ,but I still enjoyed their

Jaunty streaks.     Now shift tabs are  questioning

Our preference wait for an answer. Google  and  you tube

And WordPad  and  notepad and  thessarus -how can

You name them ? excavations or excursions into?

Now my lap top with me in flight enjoying  all

Privileges  and prerogatives .

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