My Lone Hibiscus Tree

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I have never seen such a merry shrub like my lone hibiscus. Always blowing saffron trumpets in mirth. Only a couple of days ago my tree winked at me with a radiant, crimson hibiscus, looking like the rising sun among all its saffron siblings. Come sunshine or rain she is never without her natural glee. At night she crowns herself with swarms of fireflies. In monsoon she is a citadel to the garrison of snails. May be they visit to make a meal of leaves which she provides with her leafy levity. She is a home to a chameleon couple too who often give me angry looks with their rotating, protruding eyes probably because unable to manage my size with their long, extensible tongue.

 

A few years back, when my home was not as empty as it is now my tree surprised me with a bird’s happy nest with fledglings and their busy parents.

 

My summer room

Has clammy days, fragrant nights

And sporadic storms

 

 

Posted for my prompt ~ A Tribute Poem @ Poets United Midweek Motif

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Happiness Is A Doyel Bird

 

 

My skin almost melted

my nostrils burnt

my soul was a withered flower

lying about the dusty, parched

and gasping earth-

for a cool breath of miracle-

that comes down

from the sky-

it came yesterday-

along with it

came Happiness

in the form of a Doyel*

sitting on the grill

it whistled-

filling me with blessings-

I became the rolling clouds

I became the falling rain

I became a thousand leaves

and let drip these drops of grace

like Kisame**

 

 

*A Bengali word for Oriental Magpie Robin

**‘Kisame’ refers to rain that drips from leaves. Just learnt this Japanese word from fellow poet Toni Spencer and used it.

 

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Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ HappinessSusan’s Midweek Motif ~ Happiness @ Poets United

Water

 

Water is to remain

in the lines

of Basho:

Old pond / frogs jumped in / sound of water

while we all will be

choked

and wood hard;

this planet

won’t even cough out a drop

while water will flow

in the pages of poets

though there would be none

to read Emily: Water is taught by thirst-

Now……

I can see the invisible marchers

with flags of yellow sand

blowing in fiery wind

slowly and surely

coming upon us-

 

Posted for my prompt Water @ Poets United Midweek Motif

Self-Talk

 

Can you see anything, it says-

no, nothing, only darkness-

open your eyes-

it’s open-

What do you see?

A thick mist, like white darkness-

what’s there in front of you?

A blank space of nothingness-

look closer, what’s it?

Seems like a thin mist-

now?

A shadowy sun-

time is vision, isn’t it?

May be, may be not, but who are you?

I am you-

 

Posted for my prompt Vision @ Poets United Midweek Motif

Color

 

I watch the mother crow

feed its babies (one even might be a cuckoo kid, who knows),

jostling in a nest (if you could call that a nest-

with all those whatever prodding out,

hmmm….totally unlovely home décor-

I once discovered a spoon in a broken crow-nest,

thief-y bird!!)

she is very much plain, you know

to the extent of unsightly-

sporting grey, white and black

feathers-

What’s there to watch?

Yet

isn’t it godly to see love pouring out

in the shape of a worm or whatever

(purely putrid to us)

tenderly put

into a trembling pink tunnel

that spirals down

where lives perpetual hunger-

from a mother

whatever color she has

whatever shape

whatever class?

 

Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif  Colour / Color @ Poets United

Scream

 

In the mirror

I often meet this woman

bearing a secret scream-

appalling-

to do that-

yet she’s bearing-

her sweetness is a heavy sigh-

her words….masks-

she stands there in the mirror-

indifferent to the world-

her every cell’s lit up, burning-

scream gyrating-

throat, lips tightly closed

and she’s bearing-

 

Posted for my prompt Scream @ Poets United Midweek Motif

Money

 

It’s a little room of your own

that shelters you or gives you company

in time of stress-

It’s a close friend

who is yet to traverse

on the path of waywardness-

it’s this much; no more no less-

you’ll be lost in a palace-

rooms after rooms

will consume you like fire-

camaraderie of a wild kind

will land you

in the shore of the soulless-

even as meager an amount

of thirty pieces of silver

sent someone to the abyss once…..

 

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