Mount Neelkantha in the Himalayan Range
Burnt orange is slowly changing into a dazzling white while I remain hidden mesmerized in the dark shade that the Himalayas offer me. Tourists abound here, clicking and letting out soft sound of wonderment. I am not a tourist now. I am a pilgrim. The Indians, the Hindus mainly have tendencies to build temples and worship in such lofty places and pilgrims flow like the Ganges or the Alakananda towards them.
Before visiting the temple I also let out my soft prayer to the Almighty to let the mountain survive, thrive with the flora and fauna that it used to have those days when pilgrims trudged miles after miles without the least care for their comfort, risking their life and were blessed by the generosity of the Himalayas for you don’t know when suddenly a pristine fountain would pop up and quench your thirst and fruit laden trees would feed you so that your dry food stock would not exhaust fast. I also prayed that it might be saved from unscrupulous visitors making it a perfect litter bin. But who is listening?
A yellow beaked crow
Takes lone flight to winter sky
Like a pilgrim’s sigh
Posted for Haibun Monday – Free For All @ dVerse hosted by Hayesspencer
Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United
The Ganges is a slender crescent here.
A stray Shushuk** swims fast
towards its lost pod.
To the delighted fishermen,
seems surprisingly heavy.
*Cherita is a poetic form [1-2-3] of three stanzas telling a story. The first one has one line the second, two and the final stanza has three lines. Cherita is a Malay word for story/tale. This form was created by al li
**Shushuk is the local name for Ganges dolphin
This is my first attempt at a Cherita. I’m inspired by our dear friend Celestine Nudanu (Reading Pleasure) who writes them beautifully.
Posted for Poetry Pantry #363 @ Poets United
‘she has often seen a cat without a grin but never a grin without a cat’ — Lewis Carroll, Alice In Wonderland
Pretend with a smile
at some incorrigible, halfwit
that can’t be redeemed to cerebral grace.
Even if blood boils in rage,
cells holler for counterstrokes,
create tender moments with diplomacy.
Be a Cheshire Cat.
Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Masks @ Poets United
They are the windows
of my soul.
I always keep them open
to let in
Fragrant Mother Earth
in all Her caprice.
She dancingly rises
in Her butterfly wings
from the potted blooms below
just to touch my old cheeks.
I keep one or two
thunders or a few raindrops
in my heart as Her gift.
I am often that single palm tree
still growing taller
watching the winks of that emerald eye
lying lazily in all her fluidity and
I never miss to look in
at the mysterious human ‘me’
inside the tiny apartment
who is birthed everyday anew
beside the ceiling to floor windows
Posted for dVerse Poetics ~ Looking Out / Looking In hosted by Lilian
The white owl-
wounds the silent, milky night
with its screech and growl.
Long, black grasses stained with red-
and disheveled by scurrying feet
shiver in cold wind-
carrying carrion smell,
while a crowd of insomniac words flicker
on ivory page
in a dance.
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub ~ Quadrille #36 hosted by Grace
Shared with Poetry Pantry #365 @ Poets United
While this land
wears the look of gore
with all the killings,
like a ticking clock,
and all my words
flee in shame,
the blue above puts on a dark gray shade
and the summer melts into rain.
Posted for Poetry Pantry @ Poets United
If you are a celeb of this land
and keep your baby’s name
in the name of that dreaded Timur of Persia
you are likely to set evil eye on yourself.
Yet this celeb couple did just that.
Imagine the aftermath!
All on a sudden this ember of a name
was the cynosure of all eyes.
A huge carrion flower popped up
out of void as it were
for all those scavenging insects
starving since eons.
How they were lured
by the corpse-smell of a name!
What a feast of blitz they had!
Such barbecue of spoken words
with the spice of insolence!
Well, as of now,
(thanks to the paparazzi
secretly stationed outside the baby’s home
to snap his every public outing
and vowing oodles of scoops)
the name Taimur is synonymous
to adorable, sweet, charming, winsome etc. etc.
The same public
that went berserk over the Muslim name
now cannot handle
the overloaded cuteness of it.
‘What’s in a name type’ of luxury
can’t be afforded in a country
where divisive politics rules the roost;
where illiteracy is bliss;
where dark age is just a step away;
where dream has taken leave
giving room to nightmare.
Taimur Ali Khan with mom Kareena
Posted for Poetry Pantry #361 @ Poets United
A flight of doves
In the blue infinity
Wildflowers in wind sway
In a mood of liberation
By less trodden path
In her empty nest knows not
Where the fledgling fled
On word waves
Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Independence @ Poets United
Laps up the last droplet
Of the bounty
Posted for Poetry Pantry #360 @ Poets United