Thames’ charm, a magic…

 

Poem of the week: Thames by John Challis

‘ Thames’ charm, a magic…

Thames! Oh! The very name sounds 

like a magician, like wonder working 

machine in my mind, triggers a salient

 norm running   through whole day;

All days’ accumulation, running in its pile,

gathering of waste and sagged iron,

rusty musty wooden carves, bolts, sediments,

boats and commuters, Thames unyielding

finds a space within its space, a lure 

 to visitors; reveling from unfading sight

of unbounded joy, pulsating within;

Thames resurrects the past, history, hidden

mysteries, “drowned possessions”, jewels,

 coins, submerged souls tied up to boats,

a belief all proved to be futile, nullified,

now the blessed hour, turn of Thames,

undogging all agile farmers, resurrectionists,

those  ill-fated with suicidal tendencies;

a time for mourning for Thames, how

to surmount the chaos, Nature’s wrath

all past and recurring bow? Still finding 

a space to sleep, or rest, or  in its own

dream world, where is there is no space.

HADE OR FADE AFTER ‘Poem of the week: Sonnet 65 by William Shakespeare’

 

SHADE  OR FADE 

AFTER  ‘Poem of the week: Sonnet 65 by William Shakespeare’

LOVE and love’s rays 

Sing a song of radiance 

 with its abiding notes,

in summer’s lasting day,

its rays prevail over young

those in deep love;

no stone, nor weapon, 

nor angered throw 

shall withstand their sway;

their love like tender flower

nothing can suppress,

yet  stubborn sway persists

what can undo the dying ?

  the young don’t believe in time

nor do they rebel, yet a will

carries them ahead, bend them

to annihilation in days 

resistance  and not yield.

 

Walking along the green path

 Poem of the week: Beer for two in Böckler Park, Berlin by Lucy Burnett

Walking along the green path

Walking along the green path

You asked me love poem

but I composed a voluminous 

book of writes running beyond

describes and my cherished feeling 

running every nook and corner.

Tiling my umbrella protecting

You, I promised I would always

Stand by you in rain and sunshine;

A ring for your ring finger, 

Smile pouring out from your

Jubilant face, hugging me

With all warmth and innocence.

Waiting for a great day 

When our two hearts and souls

and bodies in unison celebrate

HIS move, now a coke 

Would we revel in .

Not that easy to say good bye

 Not that easy to say  good bye

Not that easy  to say  good bye

Welcome, welcome, we all like 

  the note and tone, cordial and congenial,

 but to bid good bye is sad and severe,

strict to your heart to digest;

yet some moments and times,

testing and teasing beyond your patience

drawing you  for more solution.

The  sea is  calm, full of lull, 

As if to partake of my farewell,

 Not upsetting my mood and mindset,

A baggage full of memories 

Cannot be erased, still and steady

  Wherever I am , waves  and shores

Recall me, the same sail and spot.

Poppies ( after guardian)

 After  guardian

We  are called poppies, 

Red in color, large  and boom

Governed by our own norms

and ethics, growing strong

we  are  like humans, share

our feelings, be it summer

or winter, but man is yet

to understand our moods;

our leader from above, 

the sun shines bright  and 

we have special   cordial 

note of permission to view

and imbibe warmth from sun;

 we  like to have the same

openness from mankind,

same colorful cordiality

ever lingering among us;

urge in us always  there

but humans lag behind;

one among is bold, make

us shine in group and bolder;

but growing depredation

killing us, taking our breadth 

away, we only seek solace

only from leader sungod.

n the eyes of the old and aged,

 

 

In the eyes of the old and aged,

all new and strange with warp

taking  a  mould  out of tune

and out of times, their own course,

 

where  questioning and quarrelling

grow bigger than reasoning

like sediments stuck up in zinc,

a process  hard  and difficult to remove.

 

handy wool in  dexterous ambience

yet  grandma’s eyes  synthetic  transparent

 getting torn pieces lie like abandoned

puppy in porch curled up  its future bleak.

 

grinders  and  mix  advanced yet

tongue and taste the same for all those

who believe in tradition  not short course.

She  believes not being vociferous.

 

What  about those days of carts

not cars when life dragged  by poor

and struggled :  now luxury eating

man’s conscience and control.

 

 

 

 

Once upon a time

 

Once upon  a  time

 

Once upon a  time

tossing up a  toy

Waiting for its return

Catching up to throw back

was  his  feat  and pastime.

 

Now he is in a different world

Not ruled by toys  and kites,

Nor small cycle rides, nor

On rocking horse when flying

With wild imagination high.

 

In a room of his own,

Desires  not his, but ruled

by instincts, dominated 

by jealous multiplied

quick turns of money making

 

rackets, mirage or miracle

only Time should descend

to prevail upon. All around

fake discipline intruding ,

questioning his spirits “why” ,

 

he is in doldrums,

knows  not how to convert

the whyness   into wellness,

no toy around , but only

mugs  and key boards ;

 

waiting  for his Muse

to spread  around

her  magic wand

so that he will be back

to childhood days innocent.

 

 

 

 

fter Guardian :Phantom or Fact: A Dialogue in Verse

   After  Guardian :Phantom or Fact: A Dialogue in Verse

What is that form that set in

Surreptious by my bed, cool 

and tender, nearer to my sway,

me wondering, if it  is a sudden 

angelic beauty with a silken cloth

wooing me with  endearing smile,

so sudden its arrival, a mystery

evolves around questioning if

it is   the doings of heaven or earth;

or gentle  bewitching into my soul,

sometime   back, it coiled around

in not so beautiful form, effacing

my youthful jollity and mirth,

into my mirror often, tapping 

its source; wait for both;

now comes a different form

friendly   shape, awakening 

dream or time playing  cards,

a game of strife or emotion

still a world of  conundrum 

Leaf color ( guardian)

 

Leaf color  ( guardian)

What greater grin and your pain 

of morn can you see than in gathered

leaves   spread in garden, once your

copious flow of green and verdant full; 

 now shining yellow with dimmed brown

swallowing green, borders on pond,

what do they teach us, tell us in this

fast decadent world, intense loosening

our hope, artificiality in seeds   dipped

by pests  and withered corners; not 

much swallows nor crows with cries

echoing the fields parched now;

our days are gone, with colorful

fruits hanging quench thirsts then.

Now only shadows in parchments.

Look up to skies for mercy and pour.

After Guardian ( …. It was my destiny to live long.

 

After  Guardian ( …. It was my destiny to live long.

Ten years of  cancer 

Struggle with drive and alone,

At times with rumination 

in  corner with lymph nodes,

Doctors’ notes on prescription

With chemo, death chasing me 

Slow and steady, fear running 

Across, eating me alive.

Death chasing me down

Not knowing that equally 

With vigor and will  I am 

Fighting back; Death chasing 

Me down ;with a warning

My days are numbered.

My deaths every minute

 unfulfilled like lines

extending in artists’ sketch

unabated  sill; desires,

 ageless norms, debts 

 and unsolved mysteries,

death chasing me down,

death on its adamant

steps giggling at me

me , reciprocating

with a reconciliatory 

smile, embrace sleep.

A maid.. ( after Guardian)

 A  maid, ….

What a morning to receive a call!

eager  to receive new assignment

with all anxiety to know about

surroundings, to know more about 

inmates, the   involved merits ;

 roses colorful in bloom and nourish

 infusing a fragrance of enthusiasm

among   inmates all around.

A special, notation of roses all colors,

Invitatory smell an ambience of sacred

event, permeating through all pantry too,

cook, with all right tasting smell

all dish and rule.   There comes agog

house keeper, slowly with a look of concern

looking all around the merriment

going on, helpless she is.

Our expectations are different

From reality, occurrences with a sudden

flip of happenings veering into maze.

 

A final command (After Guardian)

 

A final command  (After  Guardian)

After years of suffering 

Time has come at last,

A voice from some  corner

Unable to decipher;

Go away from me, yet

My mind unwilling to accept

your suggestions, your way 

of recompense these times. 

The life led by us, moments

of memory, petty issues, unsolved

queries, still lingering, as fragrance

in pet jar, even after its exhaustion;

wine and sunshine, jar and dice

play and fun all in our lives,

till, chord of separation is struck;

with a final appeal to Sun god

my soul merges with the one

appeal for unification. Thank 

God for all blessings.

Nocturnal reverie After guardian

 Nocturnal reverie

A pleasant walk and lonely light

There is a song of philomel, a mild

 Cool air permeates, the tree mute 

Witness to owl on the branch, silent

watching; nodding grass in the banks,

cool moon on bench and shadow

on the banks – all  kinds of flowers

interplay, all  imaginative free play

 serenade on wings of leaves and falls;

a poet never leaves  Nature’s   beauty,

nor do objects of nature forsake a real

poet’s moods and serendipities; cows

and sheep , swallow  and bluebird  group 

 in a form of meadow, these happenings

in the fertile  free play of poet, magician,

nocturnal events in  daylight reverie of poet;

but somewhere , the crudity of unthinking man

taps, in its own way. All rage subdued, all

rigor controlled, all peace renewed in the 

morn, with rays rewinding morn and noon.

Poem of the week: Anima Anceps by Algernon Charles Swinburne

 

 After Poem of the week: Anima Anceps by Algernon Charles Swinburne

A while away 

----------------------

Spring showers

Soon  cold nod 

Of biting chill

In your room 

where your cozy

writing obstructed

by throat infection,

close your tap, away 

from your laptop;

soul’s journey 

into long forgotten

souls’  end dead

bereaved untimely

same time into realm

of birth and growth

ripped short by cruel

hands of fate  and Time.

Yet more room for flesh.

Sorrow  yields to morrow

Joy doused by painful ire

moods   and gain all in sink

to be submerged into basin;

far off  ugly premonition

yells often  making you ready

for realm not liked but only read

in scriptures  and books;

yet back to life  and dizzy song.

Poem of the week: from War of the Beasts and the Animals by Maria Stepanova

 

Poem of the week: from War of the Beasts and the Animals by Maria Stepanova

It was a horrid night

watching over  the window,

not merely  sleepless  night,

but birds   among birds, four legged

in mutual cacophony disturbing

stillness of night. Not merely 

sounds of human bickering,

volley of  shots nonstops amidst 

blood shed  and wail, but also

a different from bird calls,

shots piecing through birches

and branches, twigs  and leaves

not  a momentary threat to birds

but scarry noise from gun pellets;

 some wounded in search of shifts,

dying soldier passing on gesture

for water, dead  just now, all 

for nation  and creed  merge 

with birds  and animals, poet

feels sorry for scant respect lives.

After Guardian

 Norfolk  and  Lambeth go in history

Wars and fights get recorded

Losses  and   victories get embedded

in books of history for  people 

to read, feel and mourn and praise;

Clere saved  his friend Howard

A move selfless  and out of affection;

What ever be the result, we struggle

leaving result to Him, the creator,

believing in Him, for  the finale.

He who fought for his friend 

  Saved his friend, but   it is the

Situation, circumstance beyond 

Control, redeemer was pained,

Yielded  to a cause of his friendship.

In your wounds, there is time the healer.

In her world of Karma

 In her  world of Karma

 Her  day of writing

is not about costly fur coat

which hangs around  her

and  a few known;

 not about wardrobe and bedecked neck-

jewelry studded in   glittering stones.

 

Then what?

A day of scorching summer heat

On her head of pot brimming

with gurgling water equally hot,

her hand on hip for a supportive clip

while her sandals draw unsteady flip flops.

 

Each careful step aligned

with a concern of her child

in cloth cradle hanging from beam

of  dilapidated haven, a lullaby

by its elder sister echoing her still.

 

Reaching  the blessed  home

for some  lean  protection it gives

 for she is the sole bread winner

disowned by her husband  long ago.

Blessed landlord in wretched times!

 

Her  contacts not, never,

in swim bath suits  and 

rich flavored juice in jars

morning and noon in cool sips

matter of distance for this poor.

 Her improvised kitchen

Catering to her bare needs

Compels her to sing s self made

Song of karma , her  karma

Why this on her hearth and how long.

 

 

My mother says no after ( Guardian) Radhamani sarma

 My mother  says no after ( Guardian)

Yes! That Bloomsday sounds very important

in my resounding diary, making me visit often

the crucial moments of care  and  recipient.

Wheeling   elderly and aged, in my home,

my priority, for years with   commitment 

and devotion unmatched, driving me proud

for the blessing and healing it involves.

Personal care, veering moment after moment

Round the clock, for the   realization, this one

Birth, and life evolve around affection

And nothing but mutual affection. 

But the mother slowly in her own world 

Of past, her days, irredeemable, peculiar

Dream world beyond my comprehension;

Still my care persists; comfortably she sleeps

In her own world, cherishing memory of her

Husband, with whom, she had special days,

I am not wanted, now, slowly she merges 

Into a different round of entity, me, after all

Watching the dumb show.

Poem of the week: Nocturne by Wanda Coleman (after guardian)

 Poem of the week: Nocturne by Wanda Coleman (after  guardian)

I  move  in a steady pace, measured beats,

 Monitored by a steady tongue, for they say

tongue is a  powerful and balancing  fork;

I hum and run in smooth, unfaltering pace,

Governed by a smooth rhythm, its own pace,

But how long it lasts, is a question, how fast,

another, running a quest in search of death;

a departing point, “point of departure”

a stunning myth, direction towards

a dead end, irredeemable, towards

another border, new port, dark,

unpleasant and dismal, mind cant digest;

all this happening while running, running

beyond  a  mythical dark, or dark myth

mind is irreconcilable for this running ? 

After Square ( Guardian) Tishani Doshi

 After  Square   ( Guardian)  Tishani  Doshi

What is a square ? always a question,

Is  it  diagram, a figure, a graphic

Limited space, unique in my  mind.

A wooden framework, human invention,

image full of hidden crafts, would have been

arts embedded in it. Square is my home, serene

where frames of godheads are hanging 

on the wall. On extension, it is my garden,

where  sanctified aura blooms in  multiples.

Another square, cells multiple within our

Fragile body, again another side, a slow

Demarcation with the passing of time; 

When drawing close, when square shakes, 

falling from structures, become one 

mud, still it is a square, inimitable its way.