Going Gentle Into That Good Night (A Jisei)

 

I often think of

my very last day

of snuffing out the sun forever-

and scattering away

roseate tomorrows

into the dust.

Posted for Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017 #30 hosted by Thotpurge

Bittersweet

 

Our winter sun is pale-bright,

scattering sighs, it dips into night-

as fog flexes muscles dimming all stars-

my eyes mist and you’re blurred.

A dewdrop displays a pellucid grace,

I watch this day’s gait in a hurried pace-

while I play with words in color of tar-

you peep from my heart that’s left ajar.

 

 

Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Bittersweet @ Poets United

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Shared with Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017 #29 hosted by Thotpurge

Rain Song (A Cherita)

 

You are my rain-lullaby

 

I am all ears

for your anklet-steps in my heart

 

draped in dream

you alight in my eyes

to be my little sleep song

 

[My inspiration for this poem is Langston Hughes’ poem April Rain Song]

 

Posted for Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017 #28 hosted by Thotpurge

Winter Scenes (American Sentences)

 

1. The boy flies a kite after the terrifying exams are over.

 

 

2. We are glad to be your other sky, warmth, glassy lakes and winter homes.

 

 

3. The sun, trees, houses even water hyacinths are consumed by fog.

 

 

 

Posted for Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017 #27 hosted by Thotpurge

                    

Water (A Cinquain)

 

for miles

they walk on sand-

with eyes, limpid pool dreams-

they collect, it, counting each drop-

and sigh-

 

[Women in many parts of the world have to walk miles (3-4) daily to bring water. This chore keeps girls out of school and women from more productive economic activities]

 

 

Posted for Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017 #26 hosted by Thotpurge

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Shared with Poetry Pantry #380 @ Poets United

Painted Rock Art (A Quadrille)

From Internet

 

The bird alighted

from the brush of a five year old-

it had wings of red heart-

its turquoise plumage glowed

against the ashen sky,

an umbrella sun-

it began to saunter

thinking about the creator

closing its eyes-

amidst blooms of hearts, stars…..

 

Posted for Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017 #25 hosted by Thotpurge

Winter Morning (A Minute Poem)

 

 

In this foggy winter morning

Memories ring

Your words wake up

From dream’s own cup

 

 

This winter morning’s pale, frail, sun

Touches no one

This cold heart wants

A bit of warmth

 

 

This dawn recalls those crystal days

When all were gay

Happiness flowed

Even nights glowed

 

 

Posted for Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017 #24 hosted by Thotpurge

Micropoetry #23 (A Naani)

pic from internet

Eclectus parrots stuffed

in drainage pipes

call back his childhood days

incarcerated in school time

 

 

[Naani is a four line poem having 20-25 syllables]

 

This picture of bizarre smuggling attempt reminded me of Tagore as a child who loved to skip off school for its jail like feel.

Posted for Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017 #23 hosted by Thotpurge

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Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United

The Flower: Rose (A Ghazal)

SOURCE

 

Being a lowly born I couldn’t aspire to be the flower rose,

though I saw how the sun in the feminine sky slowly rose.

 

My crimson days of fame had enough nightly thorns,

yet I flung away the worms and never was a sick rose.

 

I was the new woman; don’t you dare call me a harlot,

and the stage, the hot bed of immorality where corruption rose.

 

I never minded cross dressing; playing the role of Chaitanya*,

I received His** grace to go beyond the flower rose.

 

In spite of all your scorns, in your nightly sky,

As ‘Moon of the Star Theater’ even though for a while I rose.

 

 

[ This poem is about Binodini Dasi, also known as Notee Binodini who was a 19^th Century, Calcutta based Bengali speaking renowned actress and thespian (Wikipedia). Born to prostitution, she lived her life on stage, that gave her the desired freedom. She did become an intrinsic part of Bengal theater. However Indian News Daily in 1876 wrote: “….the theater has by introduction of harlots on the stage become the hot bed of immorality and corruption.”

*Chaitanya (Born 18 February 1486) was a spiritual leader.

**’His’ refers to Ramakrishna Paramahamsa (1836-1886) the Indian mystic and yogi in the 19^th century who instigated Binodini’s spiritual transformation. ]

 

 

Posted for my prompt The Flower: Rose @ Poets United Midweek Motif

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Shared with Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017 #22 hosted by Thotpurge

Poetry (Micropoetry #21)

 

Some necessarily choose

a darker sky and shoot up

to shine and twinkle

for the star catchers

to be beyond me-

I let them go with a sigh-

a few stay to let me collect

molten words of their hearth-

I feel their street urchin breath-

hear their buzz for a new bloom-

see their muddy feet-

on the other side of rhythm-

I make my home corner

with their stale wrath of desperation

 

 

 

 

 

Posted for Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017 # 21 hosted by Thotpurge

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Shared with Poetry Pantry #388 @ Poets United