The closing shower of winter brushes city-towers.
Gray-haired clouds stroll with soberness; they’ve joined
one seemingly continual funeral procession.
On such a day the poet loves his inner voice.
His each whisper quivers a famished leaf, each sigh
gets more pronounced as the intensifying drizzle
while the day heads toward its destiny.
Along with a sudden whiff, one Clouded Yellow
flutters in through his window half-opened,
tempts him with lyrics of a faded storm.
Rain, more rain blurs the clear glasses -
his flippant guest settles itself
on an aeolian chime.
[Clouded Yellow ]
3 Haiku
1.
aquarium--
I’m adding up
threatened species
2.
a monk parakeet
slants its head--
my inner voice
3.
the ending pages
waver--
rusty butterfly
aquarium--
I’m adding up
threatened species
2.
a monk parakeet
slants its head--
my inner voice
3.
the ending pages
waver--
rusty butterfly
Quicksand
Look more towards your left-
don't you see my protruding eye-balls
fervently plead for the hand of a Samaritan?
Can't you perceive my stifled voice?
You seem to be too distant to care
As if you’re arduously conferring with those egrets,
deliberating (your) suitable place for a haven.
I've been vomiting my anguish
my elegiac gibberish musings
and that's how the litter has piled on,
given birth to a plot of quagmire to drown my soul-
and you think I'm regaling a sand bath?
don't you see my protruding eye-balls
fervently plead for the hand of a Samaritan?
Can't you perceive my stifled voice?
You seem to be too distant to care
As if you’re arduously conferring with those egrets,
deliberating (your) suitable place for a haven.
I've been vomiting my anguish
my elegiac gibberish musings
and that's how the litter has piled on,
given birth to a plot of quagmire to drown my soul-
and you think I'm regaling a sand bath?
Banana leaves on fire
The other day I passed by the old man's house.
Its garden is in tatters, weeds growing like his grey
tufts which used to follow the direction of breeze.
He'd seat himself on his armchair and enjoy the droning
cricket-chirp; we'd wave at each other from either side
of his great iron gate, corroded yet tolerant to spider webs
and to occasional drizzles of memory.
On the western side stands clustered banana plants,
once a verdant, sunny cluster, now turning auburn and gold
as if its up in flames in the aftermath of acrid autumn.
At times in his delirium, he used to mutter a poem
with some of its lines dropped on empty shores.
The poem talked about a spring, some forty-thirty years old,
about jasmine fragrance and sandalwood-scent, and how
once a virulent storm plundered the deftly-woven dreams,
the dexterous designs of an embroidered fantasy
that remained elusive for ever.
The fire rages, with the empty chair, and the gate
bolted from inside.
Its garden is in tatters, weeds growing like his grey
tufts which used to follow the direction of breeze.
He'd seat himself on his armchair and enjoy the droning
cricket-chirp; we'd wave at each other from either side
of his great iron gate, corroded yet tolerant to spider webs
and to occasional drizzles of memory.
On the western side stands clustered banana plants,
once a verdant, sunny cluster, now turning auburn and gold
as if its up in flames in the aftermath of acrid autumn.
At times in his delirium, he used to mutter a poem
with some of its lines dropped on empty shores.
The poem talked about a spring, some forty-thirty years old,
about jasmine fragrance and sandalwood-scent, and how
once a virulent storm plundered the deftly-woven dreams,
the dexterous designs of an embroidered fantasy
that remained elusive for ever.
The fire rages, with the empty chair, and the gate
bolted from inside.
This month of February
A stocky cockatoo, prominent for its wit
scrapes its perch and habitually repeats:
“For my Valentine, I've plucked a plump rose!”
After preening, examining its own existence
like a besotted lover lost in a cloud,
it reverts back to a meditative silence
as clock declares the fall of an hour.
When a crepuscular sky fills its eyes
with cherry-hues, it resumes its crackle,
this time, in a sobered baritone:
"For my Valentine, I've dumped a plump rose!"
scrapes its perch and habitually repeats:
“For my Valentine, I've plucked a plump rose!”
After preening, examining its own existence
like a besotted lover lost in a cloud,
it reverts back to a meditative silence
as clock declares the fall of an hour.
When a crepuscular sky fills its eyes
with cherry-hues, it resumes its crackle,
this time, in a sobered baritone:
"For my Valentine, I've dumped a plump rose!"
Getting submerged
There was an unusual breeze
that whined through my curtains
and escorted me to a beatific archipelago
a silvery beach lined with balmy trees
My footprints dug deep into the sand
oddly enough
and I was left wobbling in a trance
And then there were some sculptures
created artlessly out of rocks, each resembling
decaying human forms
Moaning, except for the couple
busy with a last lingering kiss of earthiness
Unassumingly, the island started to sink,
and a blue mist arose to cover us
that whined through my curtains
and escorted me to a beatific archipelago
a silvery beach lined with balmy trees
My footprints dug deep into the sand
oddly enough
and I was left wobbling in a trance
And then there were some sculptures
created artlessly out of rocks, each resembling
decaying human forms
Moaning, except for the couple
busy with a last lingering kiss of earthiness
Unassumingly, the island started to sink,
and a blue mist arose to cover us
Northerly wind
In the room crammed with senile chronicles
a clock hangs like a hungry buzzard
Marigolds arranged in circular queues
lend a golden blush to a bland balcony
Pinnate leaves and wispy petals quiver
fondled by a chivalrous gust
One bluebird inspects the wavering "Y" of a tree
and each evening my long-known envelopes
become more auburn
a clock hangs like a hungry buzzard
Marigolds arranged in circular queues
lend a golden blush to a bland balcony
Pinnate leaves and wispy petals quiver
fondled by a chivalrous gust
One bluebird inspects the wavering "Y" of a tree
and each evening my long-known envelopes
become more auburn
Morbid violin
Touch me
with the flame of an autumn
I witness the sage foliage
blazing without smoke
no odor of burnt skin
Leaves plummet in graveyard silence
wingless birds
Year after year
an unknowing wind spreads the embers
making me more insipid
The intransigence of death sounds itself
in the ennui of a stifled morn
watching each accursed bird
descend with dull thump
Now you can torch me
with the venom of love
with the flame of an autumn
I witness the sage foliage
blazing without smoke
no odor of burnt skin
Leaves plummet in graveyard silence
wingless birds
Year after year
an unknowing wind spreads the embers
making me more insipid
The intransigence of death sounds itself
in the ennui of a stifled morn
watching each accursed bird
descend with dull thump
Now you can torch me
with the venom of love
Echinoderm
On the gentle beach juvenile waves gush in
Douse your tube feet with pizzazz
You feed on blue mussels and solitary hours
Pink arms fidget with their usual apathy
You seem to perceive the tinkling sounds
Rebounding within an aquatic abyss
Drowned sailor songs echo ancient storms
You were a slave the king-wave your tormentor
Douse your tube feet with pizzazz
You feed on blue mussels and solitary hours
Pink arms fidget with their usual apathy
You seem to perceive the tinkling sounds
Rebounding within an aquatic abyss
Drowned sailor songs echo ancient storms
You were a slave the king-wave your tormentor
Dawn (haiku)
light trickles in
through a fine cloud gap --
whistling tea kettle
the rickshaw puller
tightens his rug around him--
burning of leaves
through a fine cloud gap --
whistling tea kettle
the rickshaw puller
tightens his rug around him--
burning of leaves
Himalaya (Part II )
I met her somewhere in the foothills
she was seated in front of her bamboo-hut
basking in a January sun
her fingers nimbly weaving
pattern flowers
I was a traveler
fatigued by wintry winds
She queried my whereabouts
her voice sounding like that of faraway souls
Her eyes glittery and lucent
resembled those of a sculpture
carved from ice
In the intensifying silence
I envisioned cold death of a thousand
wingless words
I stammered
gave her a muffled reply
and she laughed out loud
And then there was an avalanche
she was seated in front of her bamboo-hut
basking in a January sun
her fingers nimbly weaving
pattern flowers
I was a traveler
fatigued by wintry winds
She queried my whereabouts
her voice sounding like that of faraway souls
Her eyes glittery and lucent
resembled those of a sculpture
carved from ice
In the intensifying silence
I envisioned cold death of a thousand
wingless words
I stammered
gave her a muffled reply
and she laughed out loud
And then there was an avalanche
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