Details |
Sudha Chandra Poem
I am trying to sleep here; can someone let the world know?
Somewhere the pressure cooker whistles,
Rises in the night air, the smell of pulao rice.
The peddler selling eggs on his final tour,
The ringing of his cycle bell and paddle distinctly heard,
Elsewhere a cat mews, finding a safe spot to rest,
Or mayhap from hunger, I shall know never,
Dogs bark at a ragged man pacing fast,
His sole hanging slippers chatter away against tar,
As he glances at the canines from the corner of his eye.
A weak twig falls off the peepal tree nearby,
On the asbestos, creating a cracking noise,
Unendearing to his ears, the toddler wails,
A rickshaw shifts gears, as I shift sides
The sound of acceleration arrives at my eardrums,
A pillow atop my ears I rest,
An attempt feeble in decibel-arrest,
I am trying to sleep here; can someone let the world know?
I sense the creator is perhaps
The conduit in this conspiracy,
A gentle wind blows,
A pair of unshut windows rattle,
A metal latch dangling beats out-of-rhythm,
The jamun trees rustle, sounding
Like sand falling on tin-sheet,
The sound of roaring cheers
From a cricket match on TV otherwhere,
Triggering the flow of my curse on technology,
At the apartment gate,
A bunch of teens giggle away,
To a cunning joke or a murder mystery,
I wonder in utter dismay.
A medley of noises, of all kinds and creed,
Can someone let the world know, I am desperately trying to sleep.
Copyright © Sudha Chandra | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Sudha Chandra Poem
The boatman jabbered, “Ten rupees for each,
For a cool ride down the Chilika Lake”,
We egged on the elders, their child within,
The wooden boat, barely a few feet long,
Holding hands, brown and sturdy we climbed on,
Through the obtuse bending, welcomed us warm,
The boatman oars, stirs still waters about,
Tall grasses tickle the sides of the boat,
Nudging it slow, out of the serene shore,
The soft mud surfaced, soon bubbled away,
A leaf large of lotus gladly made way,
The frog caught lounging, swiftly dived away,
The evening sky, bright orange and gleaming,
A beautiful sun preparing to ease,
Right under the horizon, cackling geese,
Jellyfish soaring to breathe in the play,
White bodies against transient amber haze,
Surrounding our boat to pay their homage
Graceful ivory cranes, their young and new,
Downy feathers fluff, their eyes start to droop,
In the tangerine sundown, sight to scoop,
The bank reached, the journey hypnotic,
As the beauty of nature, exotic,
A mystic boat ride on Chilika Lake!
Copyright © Sudha Chandra | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Sudha Chandra Poem
Dust hapless had settled rough
On vacuous land, tanned in taupe
Lonely and distressed
As it simmered for life
Its flowers had died
Only a few left in time
To settle calm and blossom elsewhere
Bearing remnants of an era gone by.
Trees cried until they died
Their seeds lay morose
Unable to steal
Elixir for their life
Their branches lay fallen
Gathering a fire
Their ache in crimson
Stalking deliriously in vain
As their embers crackling
Reveal their pain
Unto heavens mocking above
Unaware they had turned surdomute
More than a long while ago.
Copyright © Sudha Chandra | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Sudha Chandra Poem
I was then and I am now,
Never a time when I wasn’t around,
Warm I am, howbeit frigid I can be,
Been through times when have been on my knees.
Always to lift both spirits and sand,
Across the sea, lashing at the stands,
The forests love me, young woods more so,
Rustling the orchestra for sweet chirping birds,
Bringing respite and great solace,
From scorching suns and searing flares,
Rarely still, unless I am weary,
That’s somedeal better than when I am teary,
Little ones giggle when I take a sob,
Grown-ups smile when I let me cry,
The Gods worry when I sit to wail,
And that’s wontedly my routine tale,
Born to dry, born to wet,
Having the most unbelieving of ways,
Neither a master, nor a slave,
Whims and fancies are my game,
Learnt have I a zillion lessons,
To stay calm as far as ye can,
Being a breeze as much as ye can,
To swell to a gale only for reason,
To be a storm only if treason,
Man oh man! Have seen ye so much,
Have seen ye tough and seen ye weak,
Seen ye right from the moment ye breathed,
A long hard way ye’ve verily come,
Contemptuously moulded ye’ve now become,
Differing so from all other life-forms,
But forget never where your origins took birth,
Or the case teleological of your very belonging,
Always remember a time would come,
When narcissism shall cease with a broken grit,
So flex your mind and always be humble,
Prepare for changes and forever be nimble,
Enveloped in plutomania ye are these days,
Remind yourself, there will come a time,
When all ye can do is nothing, but pray.
17Dec2014
Copyright © Sudha Chandra | Year Posted 2014
|