I feel sad to day
I feel sad in heart to day, to see what is happening all around me
The season of spring is singing the tune of autumn
The Koyals* and nightingales have left without singing,
This beautiful garden and the trees,
Before the spring would have bloom them to sing,
In full throated ease and beauty
They have left the nest and the tree and even the Garden
To see all this
I am very sad to day, sad, very sad in heart
Adieu my friends, you are the birds, who could have sung,
Many more songs and would have given many more dreams,
To those who are still in the garden, in the hope of a Koyal’s melody
But these are the dreams for awaken eyes
And not for those who are sleeping
As day dreams can be put to shape, but the dreams of sleeping eyes
Very rarely get a shape and are often get lost in sleep alone
I feel very sad,
To realize and to see things as they getting all around me
Kanpur India 31 01 2010
*Koyal . A melody singing bird of India (like the Nightingale of John Keats)
Koyal mainly sings in the season of spring.
A sweet flower's funeral
displayed in the cold months
of snowy weather and bone chilling shivers.
A sweet flower burned away, dried up;
buried six feet under.
Oh, my sweet flower,
how you once bloomed with no remorse,
like a madman blooming with beauty
and a glorious halo over your head
shinned with such power and blinding glory.
Oh my sweet flower how you have gone now,
resting in peace in the land of paradise.
Oh, my heart it is weak when I see your face,
of once beautiful smiles and warm embraces.
I can hear your crying out to be free.
Snowing and bone chilling cold ripes at my soul
and feelings of sorrow rage through my blood,
boiling my hatred to the world, for losing your
sweet and ever glorious beauty.
What I would give away, if I could be with you
one last night, one last night together
to hold you in my arms, to smell your sweet perfume
that brings back sweet memories of you and I.
What I would do to be with you,
such romance travels through my heart in the highways
of my veins in my body, love is all throughout me,
and my heart breaks when pictures of you start to collect dust.
My love for you, my sweet flower,
is still ingering through the air,
as I travel and look upon a tombstone
which shows your beautiful name.
Come to me my dear flower,
when spring comes,
come to me my dear, sweet flower.
And bloom once again,
twice as large as last year,
and ten times more beautiful then last year.
Come to me in the first months of spring
in my dreams, so I could sit and talk with you.
I miss you already,
and my heart crys,
my eyes flood with tears of sorrow.
I miss our love we shared.
warm cuddling embraces
and beautiful displayed in a picture frame.
Now I hear the tapping of raindrops on my window pane.
That is all that keeps me company,
that and the rose you gave to me
and a picture of you and me.
Love is endless, even when blue eyed Death comes to visit
and play a game of chess with us,
we all play our game, my love.
I shall go tonight
in my sleepy slumber
and dream of you in the times of our height in our love for each other.
My lost love, you are gone, resting in paradise,
but never forgotten my sweet flower.
Written August 21, 2013
There's a girl in the garden
She's messing with your rose bed
Plucking weeds out from your head
And watering the seeds in your bed
But where will she wander
When the roses are dead
Will she come back for more
When they turn back to red
She can run all alone
Write this story in stone
On concrete slabs
Of skin and bone
The shrieking sun
& ponderous waters
The cerulean skies
& infinite stars
The radiant flowers
With silver lined petals
All these things,
Are things that amaze me
But beneath the
& radiant flowers,
Such beautiful things
Can hide sadness
That is why I am afraid
Of the things that amaze me
Winter consumes. The sun rushes its setting and yet, come morning, it barely rises above the ravaged landscape. I see a world in stasis, endlessly waiting for change. Yesterday, a hundred crows ate the horizon and left its cadaver for the two-legged field mice who scurried down salted sidewalks, quivering. This season is relentless. First, it appears distant, unwanted, but safe and vaguely familiar. Then, it builds trust with that first gentle snow fall, that diamond crust that seems to calm our frantic pace. Eventually, it pierces the heart and enters the mind. Spring seems so far away, so ... impenetrable, so improbable.
stowaway on the wind –
a sign twists
Things change, we change. Many have more than I, but countless others have less. I’d been thinking of the homeless, the outreach programs, when I hear the firetrucks. From my window, I watch them approach. I discover that fire is destroying a lowrise just down the street. A desperate mother has tossed her children from a third floor window. One is seriously injured, may not survive. I hear the news, blink back tears and then go to my daughter’s room. She is so small on the double bed. I pull a blanket over her, hover, unwilling to leave. Tomorrow, we’ll make snow angels, brush snow off her favorite tree, get pink cheeked. A crocus has bloomed, a recognition of blessings. Perhaps, spring is not just a season after all. Maybe, spring is a choice, as well.
*Prayers sent out to the 19 month old girl who is listed in critical condition, to her parents and to all those who have lost their homes and belongings.
Hither I stand, at crossroads,
And then I gaze, at the yonder end-
The vague horizon from where I began;
And all that I may ever deem
Is that- my days
Have been a waken dream.
Hither I stand, at the edge of my dream;
Then I wonder, at the depth of my trance-
An adventurous journey through the wondrous woods;
An idyllic stroll through the vicissitudinous meadow;
And from the final station as I depart,
All that I can ever say, is that
Perpetuation has been a rouge
Of fleeting phases of my life.
St. Stephen’s College.
You never did see spring down here
With Bradford pear in full bridal wear.
Redbuds in attractive bridesmaid attire
Painting the scene with glorious fire.
You never saw the daffodils make merry
Laughing at the exuberant pink cherry.
Light hearted pansies giggling through the day
As boisterous squirrels come out to play.
Stately trees don their cloaks of soft hued green
Multi-colored birds that twitter and preen.
Everything getting ready for their chance
To be invited to springs celebration dance.
And yet I sense your presence on the breeze
Hear your soft whisper in the rustling trees.
I'll never know why you set your spirit free,
Sure wish you could savor this spring with me.
I do not know?
Fallen snow will remind of me/ it is snowing ...
Slowly as in the dream/
Boy word-beads/ with signs on his spine/
He kisses fine/
Your eyelids /
And it snows ... It snows /so slow/
It does/ and you're thinking of me/
'Coz it's warm/ it's better to stay in warmth/
Waiting for summer dim/
It is snowing/ slowly like in the dream/
Flakes/ go round/ playing the music theme/
You've been looking for rescue/
You searched in wine/
But it's in me/
all the rescues are mine/
It is snowing/ the snow is fluffy and white/
If you see darkness/ I'm deaf and blind/
there's the cast of time/ on the arm/
But I discern the light/
Dreams/ upon your eyelids tips/
Prepare you for winter drowse/
And it snows/
Fallen snow/ will remind of spring /
it will crumble and crackle in vain/
It will snow / fluffy /white/ and slow/
And you'll become whole/
Hummingbirds in love
Artists paint rainbows on trees
No one to share with...
I do not know?
Those Distant African Nights...
The shadows swayed in your candlelit room,
a cool breeze teasing your bare back,
streaks of lightning forked in the Johannesburg night,
as my hands stroked your hair,
kissing your soft mouth,
ever so tight.
You whispered that you loved me,
and I kept silent,
the rain fell,
the breeze teased your naked back,
you whispered that you loved me,
as my lips found yours,
the rain washed over our tender nights,
lightning and candlelight,
etching poems on your burnished skin,
a fear gnawed at me,
We parted ways,
and you could never forgive me, you said,
now, after numberless thunderstorms,
the rain that falls,
echo the countless tears that I have shed.
You are long gone,
happy, I pray,
yet the memories persist,
those precious moments shall never,
like the Jo'burg rains,
and I wish you well,
for loving me as you did,
for it was I who was not worthy,
and it is I who is not worthy,
You were always true,
it was I who always,
to give myself,
completely to you.