In grand lehengas, women gather beneath the waiting sky,
Thaali in hand, their hearts filled with faith and love.
Their voices rise together in melodious bhajans,
A chorus of prayers carried softly into the night.
The day has passed in fasting, patience and devotion,
Now every eye searches for the moon behind the clouds.
For the moon is the long-awaited blessing of the night,
The silver signal that turns fasting into feasting.
Slowly, the clouds drift, hiding and revealing its glow,
Testing the patience of women dressed in festive splendour.
Then, little by little, a white ball of light appears,
A milky diamond glittering in the dark sky.
The thaalis shimmer, the prayers grow softer,
And love waits for the moment of breaking the fast.
A little water, lovingly offered by the husband's hands,
Becomes a sip of affection, faith and togetherness.
Gifts follow, smiles bloom, and prayers turn into gratitude,
For a husband's long life and a marriage filled with love.
Moon, come out soon—shower us with your pure light,
And bless our married lives with bliss, love and everlasting light.
gazing at the sky
happy little faces
bow to their sun god
A Roman Catholic is like a Roman Candle...
Fire works!!!
Quick to anger...
Quick to repentance...
Dear Father...
Take my confession for I have sinned...
Romans 3:23- I have read
BUT.
“I have to tell YOU this...”
.............
I found an old lantern
behind the door we stopped opening.
Dust covered the purple glass.
I brushed the years from its glass with my sleeve.
and the purple returned.
We used to raise our voices,
afraid silence meant we were losing
each other.
Now we sit quietly,
We had words,
but every word stayed somewhere inside.
The lantern whispered
through the silence between us.
Outside, the festival carried on,
while we stayed inside
beside the lantern between us.
The room felt different than before.
The lantern stayed on the table,
between us,
neither of us moved.
What we hid away
still waits behind doors
we thought were closed.
Those memories are old pages,
left where we last stopped reading.
So I hold it between us,
not because I believe
tomorrow would be any different.
But as proof
even after the hours
when our voices could not reach
across the room,
the dust had gathered,
but the lantern was not dark.
Personal Poetry Wheel Challenge
Challenge Dates: July 13, 2026 - July 19, 2026.
Theme: Relationships
Emotion: Peace
Color: Purple
Season: Festive
Form: Free Verse
Object: Lantern
Verb: Whisper
Tonight begins Shavuos, The Festival of Weeks, the Pentecost
'Midst the festivities, the holiday's other name,
The Festival of the First-Fruits, sometimes gets lost
Jewish farmers would bring a basket of 'first-fruits' to the Temple
What was the 'big deal?' Why would they eat them there?
They'd been waiting five years to eat that fruit, per Torah law*
Which gave to the festival an atmosphere of profound awe
The land belongs to God Almighty, not to the farmers, its stewards
They can't just take and eat whatever they want
without proper acknowledgment
And perhaps, just perhaps, the festival is partly recompense
For Adam and Eve eating the apple
~ for not acknowledging God's command, a grave offense
*For five years from the time of planting, Jews may not eat of the fruits
growing from the trees of the Land of Israel.
That’s Xmas or Noel for lovers
Or carnival for impostors
I believe in loving everyday
I believe in love every single day
Tomorrow is the festival or parade of all colors
It is the festive carnival of all the flowers
However, don’t be surprised to see
That the following colors are very popular
Red, pink and white. Smile, if you are a lover
And don’t smile, if you’re lost in heart of the sea
Of all types of roses and leaves, and you’re confused
About the fuss and anxiety about the day of roses and lovers
Since I celebrate love daily, I am amused
By the voluminous preparations and sacrifices for one day
Carpe diem is my motto: Happy Valentine’s day!
Please enjoy every single day of the year
I'm sincere and deep in my heart: I love you too, dear.
Copyright © February 2026 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
rice pots overflow
sugarcane sweetness drips ~
Pongal showers
A whirlwind of romance; owing to nature, dance around my neck-- so thrilling.
My thoughts form a new lyrics yet I couldn't sing it heartily to reciprocate...
Tiny winds blowing out perfect beats to capture the new atmosphere I see
But pen enclosed my diary, celebration is cute!
Traveling round the season; the West wind of winter wreath,
Brought forth Spring: the April Cascade.
The supporting sunny summer,
Gives us the Autumn: the 'Embers emptiness
blue sky has Thy paint
in memory of lost saint
grace shines feint sins' spark
turquoise tambourine tingling around
a sassy scintillating silvery sexy sound
jaunty jubilant dancer leaping from the ground
queen of the jazz festival, she is quickly crowned
warm October day
merry go round
laughing children
Lights meander through the night,
like loose rings in space
shining stars dancing
comets, asteroids, party,
in the most phenomenal display...
Alone, silvery, gentle solitude,
the moon in dramatic subtlety
simply steals the show...!
Under the bejeweled diadem of the sparkling sky
the vibrant celebration finds exuberance in the carnival,
morphing into a sea of color and music in the aura of night
where I float with the fancy procession in the spirit of joy.
The unleashed spectrum of confetti swirls in the festive air,
dancers in plumed apparels sway to the rhythm of samba.
The alluring aroma of street food drifts in the smoky air,
entices the ever-longing sense of delicious delight
The serene street reverberates with the tempo of trumpets
as the festooned floats glide through the hypnotized crowds.
Convention creates ingenuity in the exhilarating ambiance
with the mystique melodic motion in the festival of life.
The natives have
(since the seventh month peeped
through the lean crescent eye of the moon)
worn cloaks of festivities.
They dance the rites,
squelching proudly in mud and green pools
of water.
On their heads are smouldering fires of corns
And pears, and ingredients of a lush season.
Behold their mothers’ breasts!
Flopping tonelessly with life and ceremonial milk.
The engaging flesh of birth.
And their fathers’ ribs —bare and fractured—
Like splinters from bamboos of white; strong bows of
A fragmented hunting group.
Their daughters dance with frenzied gaits,
Insisting on frantic melodies.
Drums throb on with the vim of restlessness.
Flutes hasten with the speed of departing tunes.
Ogele* sounds with the rhythm of fraternal bliss . . . .
The village sons bend their torsos in tremulous dance steps,
reluming low-burning
ancestral fires.
Breathe in now the image of a raging ceremony,
Symbols of a rite,
which hang on the rafters of a community,
this seventh month of the yam calendar.
*Metal gong
The natives have
(since the seventh month peeped
through the lean crescent eye of the moon)
worn cloaks of festivities.
They dance the rites,
squelching proudly in mud and green pools
of water.
On their heads are smouldering fires of corns
And pears, and ingredients of a lush season.
Behold their mothers’ breasts!
Flopping tonelessly with life and ceremonial milk.
The engaging flesh of birth.
And their fathers’ ribs —bare and fractured—
Like splinters from bamboos of white; strong bows of
A fragmented hunting group.
Their daughters dance with frenzied gaits,
Insisting on frantic melodies.
Drums throb on with the vim of restlessness.
Flutes hasten with the speed of departing tunes.
Ogele* sounds with the rhythm of fraternal bliss . . . .
The village sons bend their torsos in tremulous dance steps,
reluming low-burning
ancestral fires.
Breathe in now the image of a raging ceremony,
Symbols of a rite,
which hang on the rafters of a community,
this seventh month of the yam calendar.
*Metal gong
Theres a surge inside of Britain..' A tidal wave will rise
Comesl the hour come the hero's lts time for history to
Decide.' In the deep breath of September although the air might
Chill.' The streets will bear true witness.' The station yards
Shall fill.' In every corner of the Nation on every market
Square the vibration will be travelling in the spirit of those
Who care.' As a beacon is to darkness as the Sun is to the
Day, so determination is against tyranny' it can be no other way!'
On the fourteenth of September..And on everyday till then
Speak of right, and stand for justice, fight the good fight.'
Raise a voice, lift up the pen.' Raise the standard..Be ye worthy! every one..Each stand saviour of the other one.' Give three cheers for all
The prisoned hero's..And that Tommy Robinson.!!!
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