A Suburban Poem

I count my blessings

as I watch the bulbul swinging

from a twig

letting its joy out

in sharp twittering song.

In a time

when eternal hunger

of the lowly humans 

lap up ponds, trees and lands

why this mango grove is spared

along with a few others

I wonder.

The spiffy squirrel

scurrying up

the tall slender palm

beside the pond,

where in the night

fishes play with the moon

in rippling water,

and prefer depth in day

to keep the herons

and kingfishers at bay,

almost picked a quarrel

with a red capped woodpecker

the other day.

The trees conspire

With their blooms

to trap the bumblebees.

I am the lone watcher.

I do count my blessings

for such godly sights

even these days.

 

Posted for Poetics – suburb poetry over @ dVerse

 

Looking Through Your Eyes

sri-saradamoni-devi
 SARADA DEVI

You wipe the mist

the heart gathers.

I wonder

who lives in the depth

of your placid eyes

that never ripple,

let alone wave

even in the strongest storm.

A spade is a spade to you

but never did your lips part

to grind others

with truth-y hammer.

What are you made of?

Grace and Honey.

Mercy and Zephyr.

How vices transmute

in that furnace heart!

I remember

how I used to gorge

with a hungry soul

your luminous words

in my dark days.

There can never be

an era of post truth

even if the fools longed for it.

For you are the Truth.

You are the Path

and the Portal

to Life. I live,

because Thou Art

my breath.

 

 

 

 

Posted for Sanaa’s Prompt Nights ~ On Popular Demand – Through the eyes of my friend [12] over @ A Dash Of Sunny

 

&

 

Shared with Poetry Pantry #341@ Poets United

 

Love is the Crown of Thorn

 

BABY KRISHNA

Courtesy: Google Image

 

“And love is a thing that can never go wrong;”…Dorothy Parker

 

 

Love is the Crown of Thorn,

and the sky

where nestle dark matter and light.

Love is the trickling blood

dripping from the Cross, or

from a saint’s decapitated head

in this worldful of traitor.

Love is the twine,

a melting tune

flowing from a Flute

played by the little Butter-Thief*

to tether us to Thee.

 

 

*refers to Krishna, a Hindu deity: Krishna is often depicted wearing a silk golden yellow dhoti, and a peacock feather crown. Common depictions show him as a little boy playing the flute. Other depictions show him as a bundle of mischief, stealing butter from neighboring houses in the form of Gopkrishna and other childhood exploits. [Source: Wikipedia]

 

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

Love

Courtesy: A Dash Of Sunny

You are the jasmine night

And dew filled dawn

Of a babe cheek morn

 

I am always the thorn

To shield thy rose heart

From wormy word

 

Your banyan shade

Gives me rest

On a scorching day of distress

 

I long for that moonbeam smile

That’s buried under

Grief’s stormy clouds

 

 

 

Posted for Sanaa’s Prompt Nights – Love’s a night-song sweet sung by the tender strokes of wind – Valentine’s Day Special over @ A Dash Of Sunny

&

Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United

Change

 

We have a common

kitchen wall

with my neighbor

in this apartment house.

So….

“I am supposed to keep it

as it is”.

No change, ever should take place,

thinks she,

my next door neighbor.

But when a change is needed,

it is needed.

Patience must be there

on both sides of the wall.

No amount of sugar coat

or fuming

will the old wall endure.

It simply needs a redo;

new backsplashes, cabinetry and

a brand new countertop

to breathe.

Shall I let it die now?

 

 

Posted for Sumana’s Midweek Motif ~ Change @ Poets United

 

The Door

Image result for anne frank

Courtesy: Google Image

 

A movable book-case

served as a door

to the Secret Annex

where hid two families

The Frank and the Van Pels,

for sometimes in the 1940’s.

It was like a womb

gestating history

to be born

long after they were gone.

Love of words 

sustained an angel.

Teenager she was.

Those words were a dove

that found a sky

on the pages of her diary.

 

I know how

Its wings were chopped off.

 

Woe unto the womb

that birthed and birth humans

with choppers

as hands.

 

Yet the dove

is still alive,

throbbing with life,

ever opening a door

into that amazing life

and a toxic time.

 

 

 

 

Posted for my Midweek Motif ~ The Door @ Poets United

 

Vision

Image result for quotes about vision

Courtesy: Poets United

 

 

As I open the front windows of Time

where I’ve been dwelling since birth,

I see, Winter, with his white Kashmiri shawl

over his shoulder,

slowly trudging out of sight;

while the spring bird,

diligently weaving happiness

into my heart

with his twittering tune.

Amidst this

I churn out a prayer

of well being

and release it through the window

to find hearts lying in wait

to dwell there forever.

I’ve also kept my

back windows wide open

where resides the past

with memories

both sweet and bitter

to keep me in reign.

 

 

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