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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was as if a ladder ( after Guardian)

 

 

It was as if  a ladder  ( after  Guardian)

 

My memory recoils  the bamboo made

Solid structure of ladder much sought after

Used often in ancestral house of cleaning

And painting in great vigor.          

Each rung had its shine and bend,

Tilted and slant often putting   climber

In fear and dilemma, still ascension

was  thrill and challenge  and pride.

Kept in corner, each rung started

falling, only empty space,

as if one third of your life span

falling, your being slowly vanishing

in air, a dismay disturbing you .

A demolition strikes and debris

Piles along dust  and demure,

Amidst scented flowers nod,

Ladder laughing  at its own self

Amidst rungs going and gone.

 

 

A after "the Bread of Childhood by Ihor Pavlyu" Guardian

 A after  "the Bread of Childhood by Ihor Pavlyu"  Guardian   

Gone are those days of    porridge  and cake

delicacy and taste by the blessed hands of grandma

a culinary taste  and gift which we the inmates 

can never forget even today.

Even today, my embroidered memories  swaying

under the agelong  tamarind tree  and urchins picking

playing - a game  and past time our village records;

my mood sings along  brook  cool passing ;

TIME does not fly without imprint of those days,

a feel or loss of precious something is cranky 

in my blood, my mind and mood, but that crankiness

is consolidated into solid deepening cry. 

Peacock feather in between my books,

  parrots chirping  a rarity of sight and  voice

 I see  in my  eyes, my past days, my present

immediacy veering around.

something is wanting, something is wanting

 not a waste, but a must to rebuild our past.

After Guardian Oh wert thou in the cauld blast

 

How can i see you shiver in cold,

your lanky body and mood shaken

without support and efforts?

but in cold days and unsheltered  hut

you curled devoid of any assistance,

nor did you  approach me for aid;

our days of mutual warmth,

our endearing moments 

give and take and compromise

all nullified by time's collocation

when thou were separated for a while,

 me too tolerated and left to Time's doing,

in my gloom and dismal hours

you  would come and console

you were  queen in unbounded 

care  and my need which words

cannot suffice ;birth sees its best

only help comes in dire necessity.

 

my merry moment of song

 

In the wake of predawn,

I was the first to sing and call

it was embedded in me

to appeal for the sake of  rain

and we both sing ; singing

and ringing in tune with the fall;

 

Love  and concern

all through my song

a cadence and melody

which is unforgettable,

a caution for uncertain

future, for future is bleak.

 

When humanity is sleep

I wake, make a wakeup call,

and miss you  in the midst

of busy throb, for seclusion

 mode of preference, our

mode inviolable and constant;

 

 

I live among ephemeral ;

and greed   and compassion

both in my blood, now

I am  a feat ether, light

and fallen, wind rolls me

and me to sing and toss;

 

 

still I sing, sing along,

sing merry and merge

with feather and leaf.

 

Before It Is All Gone( After Guardian)

 

Before It Is All Gone( After Guardian)

Now everything is gone,

Things will change for better,

  Things will move in search of constructive

Aura when high rise and stability would augment,

 

Hope and ease like the peel of banana ripe

would yield more  and  more  bunches,

we  don’t mind hot sun   and running sweat,

while shade  and cool in the offing near soon;

 

optimism strikes skyward while

doubts    tap the door of uncertain anxiety,

green  savannas and pastures in books

untouched for extended lockdown remind us all;

 

how long this burning inward, how far to go

we  don’t know, but this   tearing peace into pieces,

for uncertainty   bottled in burning  burning,

waits  for a burst, to catch normalcy and order.

 

Yonder I see  a  river in full flow,

 Colorful fish swim to the shore.

 

 

Before It Is All Gone( After Guardian)

 

 

 

Before It Is All Gone( After Guardian)

 

Falling (after Guardian)

 

Falling (after Guardian)

 

Breeze of tree

blossoms and flowers

thrill and enchant like

a sorceress the girls,

 

pull them down

their dreams

and downward trend

their soft silken hair

 

falling, falling, falling

like the girls   with

a sweep of smile and smile

pulling them under ;

 

the tree, tree so adamant

draws them  under its spell

so jeopardizing, so charming,

so drowning beyond redemption.

 

 Suddenly a mother, a goddess,

 A helping hand comes,

 A divine wand to  lift them

 all  - breathe anew.

 

 

     

If not Love what is it?

 

) If  not  Love  what is it?    ;

 

In  the  spiraling  heat  of

Summer’s  scorch  and pride

there is  one  construction site

Of  flourish  and  prosper,

Quay  and  concrete slabs

Obstacles yet needed  for

Effecting a  furthering

The workers in uniforms,

Up and  down on the cranes;

The   sturdy   winches

Unforsaking them, loyal to

Their faith move to and fro

 

 

How does my poem arrive? Guardian)

 

How  does  my poem arrive?  Guardian)

 

It comes  fast, the flow comes fast,

not merely with a sip of coffee,

nor with a   melody capturing your heart,

it comes from emotion and reason

without questioning or prying into the shape,

 for shape comes only after  the grand finale,

when, gathering into segments flower a blossom

the sweet aroma comes through words, choicest

  spontaneous from your blood and heart;

vowels and consonants and clusters  integrate,

 certainly no sabotage , it is serene,  a  sort

of  pulse acts, vibrates,  there arrives my poem,

 questioning my aptness of Title, then

appropriate  title  etc, my poem, my inspiration.

 

 

Orchids all in white( Guardian)

 

 

Orchids  all in white( Guardian)

 

When spring dawns as the dawn

of first chirp  of morning’s wake up call,

tilts on  leaves vagrant and vibrant,

whiteness  all round as pure as ray serene,

distinct as birds’ chirping sudden

a wake up melody of collective

 full throated pouring, a plaintive

note from white dove, distinct resounds

all round, unfulfilled love stares  from

the plants, echo of human feel  and flurry,

there  is that complete stardom

from above, from which we all crave and

feel for more and more, more of love

give and take  and peace;

 sediment of unrest and voiceless

failure be gone forever, when coo

of another dove gives a message

of console  and rest. Rest from turmoil

and rig morale, moon in sky

unravels so much for last.

 

 

 

 

Felix Randal ( after Guardian)

 

Felix Randal

 

Farrier, farrier, his face comes to mind

Persistent, but now he is dead, he is Felix

Randal,  pining till untimely death

Snatched  him away; handsome quality

not merely dangerously attractive but also

more deadly than death itself;

he was also sick and ailing, priest in him

and man in him also  acted, propelled him

to further move. The empathy in one

always yields some thing ponderable,

here the same; those days boisterous,

bold, on horse, with the horse, mending

and tending, he  recalls again and again;

he is flying high, the otherness in him speaks.

 

 

Welcoming the newborn

 

 

Welcoming the newborn

 

In the busy throb of city

In the simmering hot sun

riding  after hearing good news

a baby born after labor

tender  after ten months full bloom;

mother unaware of surroundings

 for resting after labor, nurse

showing all care and love,

me the father cherishing affection

for my love, my blood  and boon;

 this blessed  and blissful moment

I run to hug, and plan for future

For impatience to see the lovely

Running along unchecked .

God’s Gift to propagate my

Progeny, my  belief  and  lineage.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Ancestors ( after Guardian)

 

 

The Ancestors ( after  Guardian)

 

Apart from idol worship,

another  unique form of worship

propagated  traditionally  is our

ancestors worshipping as their

cultural symbols – cocks, cows,

goats and crows  and parrots of all

singing songs  pouring a  melody

to propitiate all evils  in most homes;

sometimes, even rituals as offerings

of killings or sacrifices – common

belief transmitted from believing

ancestors to posterity even today;

 

tomorrow is uncertain for cocks and

bulls and   parrots for strewn feathers

 everywhere, other side of worship

by some raw brutal act still in vogue.

On the grass, on the mound, on the ground

Their play a delectable pleasure dancing

To the tunes of Carols and choir bells.

Our  ancestors  and their voices,

Long time a child ( after Guardian)

Long time a  child ( after Guardian)

Pure innocence and blissful solitude

In the sleepy state of not aware

Of all happenings in surroundings;

My  childhood state  and our childhood

State  as revealed by our mothers

and as  ordained  by God coming

along with shruti or creation.

Innocent smile in our sleepy state:

What passes in child’s mind

Even mother cannot  judge  or guess

for such is the state of childhood;

Look back into those years!

aroma  and growth into maturity,

how many responsible around

in rearing me and my being, my aging

my school and play nurturing me

into wisdom life is a field of games,

testing games; lost the life that

I never fully aimed, still in my

Old age, my youth   and childhood

Lives, clapping my hands of joy

Of rejuvenation of bygone days.

If I were to meet ( after Guardian)

If I were   to meet ( after  Guardian)

If I were to meet the ghost

of my childhood days,

If I were to meet the days

of  crucial  formative shape 

significantly carved in memory

I would recall the small humble

dwelling of shaky roofs  and

watery leaks through pores

of walled falling intermittent

when food in dented vessels

and rationed water our forte;

afternoon resting under shady

nooks   and palm trees    clustered

with hanging branches of breeze;

by the mango fruits tasty but

forbidden by the guards ever vigilant.

How much of dangers and fire accidents

How running fast to miss the train

Leaving behind her  and how those

Starry skys   were amazing and even

Now the same; I grew  up into a world

Of business  and money only wherein

Everything is commercialized, slowly

Making  her aware of limitations,

Now her loneliness,  takes her into aloneness

Viewing the world from afar.