The Memories of a Dancing Peacock
( Based on a true incident captured in my Camera )
I was in a mood to sing, and
The Peacock was in a mood to dance,
My singing came, while watching the beauty and
The beauty started unfolding its wings and charms,
As if the Peacock was listening the songs,
I was singing, silently in my mind.
Oh, what a joy it was to feel and share,
Those wonderful moments
I spent with that beautiful bird,
Who kept dancing and dancing,
Till the song continued in my mind silently.
You and I may not be dancing or living forever, O, bird,
But the image, which you have engraved on my mind and
The rhythms of that joy and pleasure,
Which you have left,
Would continue to generate always,
The music of silence and beauty in every mind.
Kanpur India 28th December 2011
NOTE:IMP. NOTE: The Memories of a Dancing Peacock
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Forbidden as the fruit in the garden of Eden,
But is merciless as man's carnal desire.
Similarly ripe and succulent,
And provoking instantaneous salivation,
A desire to taste.
The oasis in a desert of heat and sand,
Quenching the instinctive thirst of man.
The bearer of fruit,
Giver of life,
The garden in which man plants his seed,
And grants the world mortality.
Once a symbol of purity and innocence,
The most beautiful of flowers in a field of many.
Harvesting of such a blossom does not result in decadence,
But instead marks fertility,
And the renewal of that virtue.
Dawning of all existence,
Fulfillment of all desires,
And the divine being of all creation,
Eternally unaware of the power it possesses.
The ladder backed pecker,
like a prison uniform.
Caught-up in exposing
the truth beneath the bark,
of the poet's apple tree.
We prefer ourself in spring;
with tiny little flowers,
and the fruit of possibility.
Yet, if not for the woodpecker,
tapping holes into poems,
we might not ever see
the flesh and blood of raw meat.
I will climb that ladder back,
escape pre-decreed standards.
Tap into that syrupy mixture
and suck-out truth from hard wood.
Yes, lessons from a jail bird.
A pest in the Avian Kingdom.
Wisdom from the little rebel,
beat-out of a tree.
Will I Recognize… The Face Of Love?
Or the Wonderful, Bedazzled Appearance of:
A Moon-kist Meadow, Hushed and Dark
A Solitary Silhouette, this Beauty Mark,
Windswept Grasses, like a Babe’s Soft Lashes
Rippling across Earth, that’s smooth as a Cheek.
In the Hushed and Flowery Scented Air…
Your Face of Love Materializes, Silvery, Full
The Face of Love … is Unforgettable.
From the Face of Love … Will I Withdraw?
The Face of Love without Any Flaw;
As a Canopy of Clouds with the Splendor of Sunbeams
Piercing past the fluffy powder of Heaven, to Radiate Gleams
A Classical Cameo-Sculpture, Perfect Profile Structure
Yea… in the Bright Beacons, I see Your Smile
In the Illumed, Clear Sky, ‘Your Face’
Can Love’s Face be Touched … Attainable?
The Face of Love … is Unforgettable.
The Face of Love … I Have Visualized,
Potent, Breathtaking, The Vision Rised;
From a Sunlit Lake, Winking as Would Diamonds.
Your Face of Love, Emerging from Far Beyond
The Depths of the Lake, as My Heart Quaked,
because of the Wavering Portrait’s Peace
because of Water-Color Caresses.
That Face of Love, was so Tangible.
The Face of Love … so Unforgettable
The Face of Love … has Gazed Upon
Dreams of Mine, the World’s Not Known
… Out of the Woodland’s Emerald Mist
With Drops of Dew, Love’s Face Kissed
The Framing Boughs; My Relaxed Brow.
Floating… Breathing out the Mist of Morn Light
That I may Sketch Your Face of Love, in Life.
The Face … More Handsome, than Sons of the Womb, is Possible…
The Face of Love … is Unforgettable
(For A Medieval-Tongued Poet, I Found Here at The Soup...
Ismael Nieves, this one's for you Kiddo
tender pedals new
to Spring's lifting breath
sway fair willow
moisten ripples strewn
oh, gentle breeze
your fingers entwine
to quite radiant stirs
linger soft your
on Spring pastels abloom
In this passage of time
I long for the month of my birth
a real child of the spring am I
born on the Vernal Equinox
I come fully alive in spring
The sights and sounds of spring
do hold me in enthral
the beauty of each emerging bud
and oh to enjoy the warmth of sun
The busy work of nesting birds
the joyful songs they do emit
filling the world with wonder
as busily they feed their chicks
The carpets of the spring flowers
strewn here and there at random
gallant bluebells wave their trumpets
while stately daffodils bow their heads
All these bring such joy and lightness
to this weary old soul of mine
giving me the kick I need
to put away the winter blues
Weather is poised to slap us into submission.
Threatening with the largest storm in history
To make us aware of her power to destroy
And yet, here on the cusp of history,
Do I yet love Nature
With all of her wild and beautiful ways.
Her seas have been there for me in my times
Ever showing me the vastness of her being
She has ever been the Way
In all her present tense
My wilder spirit rises in answer to her challenges
Enhancing my life daily.
I hark to freer days of childhood
Life simplicity in itself
days of laughter, of playing in the sand
so so soft and fine
golden white sands from the coral reefs
sparkling, dazzling bright
Staring into coral pools at Tides ebb
Beautiful rainbows of fish
endless darting, sea cucumbers sleepily still
a child's total delight
coconut palms wave gently in the salty breeze
scale them I tried in vain
inland to the vast savannah's teeming with life
tall grasses the lion hid
a wondrous baobab tree reaching up for the sky
look it grew upside down
for all the world to see, branches like roots
beware the croc log
hippo's snorting, noise vibrating as they plunge
then resurface amidst bubbles
all these wonders through child's eyes seen
Africa my heart you have still
I tell you what my friends, I swear to you
blindfold me, put me to sea
around twenty nautical miles or so
and I would know alone
by the vibrant scents of rich earth and spices
that I am back there
near heart's home, the East African coast
walking in childhood memories
Oh how I wish
I could set free
the native American Indian
with pride and dignity
taking them back
across the great open plains
to their sacred home
in the lush green vallies
where buffalo are plentiful
so the Indians can live in peace
one with nature once more
where the eagles soar
setting them free as the wind
wild untameable as a magnificent stallion
running toward the setting sun.
The echo of Winter will never eclipse
The gentle breeze carrying Spring,
Or birds overhead, with their eyes well affixed
On the future for marvelous things.
The sedulous bees bringing life to the Earth,
While they buzz and wash over each section.
The warriors of progress, unknowing their worth,
Wielding only a sting for protection.
The tiny striped martyrs then bravely depart
From the plant, at some length, to the swarm.
The nectar collected, their personal art.
The hive waiting, welcome and warm.
To witness this magic in calm disbelief,
Is a treasure, a blessing to see.
The simple, whole truth is, from mountain to reef,
All life here would cease without bees.