Bird Watcher

 

Whenever I tell myself

“Now

Let’s look for birds”

they emerge from every corner

of the trees, skies, ponds, lakes-

these miracles of feather-

they are my muse and my songs-

my freedom and my faith-

my storm and my peace-

my virtue and my frailty-

my wisdom and my sky-

my rhythm and my light-

these little miracles of feather

are my soul-

my thirteen ways of life—-

 

Words in quote are from Pablo Neruda’s Ode To Bird watching

Posted for Magaly’s Midweek Motif ~ Not-so-old-fashioned “Hobbies” Magaly’s Midweek Motif ~ Not-so-old-fashioned “Hobbies” @ Poets United

 

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Dance

 

I miss your visual splendour-

your kohl-eye, telling stories-

your swift pirouettes in the wind-

your enthralling foot-work-

did your ghungroos (anklet) have hundred bells

like the Kathak dancers?

Wasn’t I mesmerized hearing the dance steps

on glossy, green leaves; on metal shades?

the touch of those graceful hands

blossomed Kadam flowers-

your odhni (veil) of cloud

seemed infinite-

where are you my pretty, danseuse?

Have we killed you

like the colonial British trying to smother

the Kathak dance

calling its practitioners ‘nautch girls’; harlots

in contemptuous fun?

In our desert homes

we are missing you sorely-

 

[Whatever I try to write now it leads to the rain-less days we are living here. So my Kathak dancer is the monsoon here.]

 

 

Posted for my prompt ~ Dance @ Poets United Midweek Motif

Perfume

 

         I

Monsoon blossoms

Have all lost their aroma

And songs

          II

 

Since there is no rain

Poet sits with misty eyes

And fragrant memories

 

 

Posted for Sanaa’s Midweek Motif ~ Perfume @ Poets United

Weather

 

I find all the ten sun crows

flying about this earth-

there is a fire dance everywhere-

words are aflame burning you and me-

a thousand phoenix taking flight in forests

every day, everywhere-

In every crack of the heart, of the earth,

seeds burn-

water, words, have all dried up-

there is no escape-

last night,

I saw him- dancing on its one leg,

the Shangyang– a rain bird,

no Confucius living now-

will there be a deluge then?

 

Posted for my prompt ~ Weather @ Poets United Midweek Motif

Away from Home

 

Well….Umm…I have a home like you all. There’s a terrace promising a sky and greenery. But when I have to leave, say on vacations, I have to leave. It tries to linger in my mind but I simply have to shoo it away. When I’m on train, bus, cars, planes this brick made residence melts away like the last trace of a monsoon cloud in an autumn sky. It’s wonderful to be a free spirit finding a niche in the Himalayas or roaming about the streets of a foreign land where no one knows you.

 

Yet why is it that I am never a free spirit? Because the other home, Sumanar/Lekha, catches me unaware. Like a transient orca it surfaces from nowhere and punts me high up into the moments of uncertainty and gobbles me up. As a hapless seal I am inside its body and see nothing but Words.

 

Lofty mountains transform into rocky nouns. Oceans wave into crazy verbs while I deck green Singapore with oodles of adjectives. Reality and dream merge in words. I realize the whole universe is nothing but words I cannot escape from.

 

Yet there are moments: Your whole being is sore; you breathe tears; your soul’s smouldering; your mind’s unhinged; you cannot undo grief. A numbing feeling snaking up the spine whispers you are far away from Home. You are a mere wayfarer traveling from birth to birth seeking Home. So ‘The ache for home lives in’ my being and I have become a seeker.

 

 

 

Posted for Magaly’s 5th Pantry of Prose @ Poet’s United. I turned one of my old poems (Abode) into a new piece with 251 words.