(A bird-in man poem)
Yes, any bird can be the common crow;
the bulbul or the yellow bird.
And parrots, ofcourse;
because every tree has got its own bird.
But to which colour does your bird belong to?
Red-plumed; yellow-feathered?
My eyes nested on her head.
But said she: black is not the crow; but the crow is black.
Fluttered my butterflies on her lips;
She told: red is not red bird; but red bird is...
The snails fingered on her areolae to nausea; brown isn't the bulbul but the bulbul is brown, said she.
Then the snakes tongued into her naval flower.
She replied: blue is not any snake; but snake is blue.
While bites both venomous and mutual entwined us into ecstasy, on my moringa tree,
there rained all the parrots!
They ate my seeds to the barren.
Yes, green isn't the parrots but parrots are green, said she.
Which is the colour of my bird?
Alas, the parrots flew away with the answer.
But each with the same feathers.
And now we are flying trees with the same feathers.
(The end)
(On parrots:
Most parrots are monogamous, form strong pair bonds which in some cases last for life, which in larger species atleast 82 years.)
Categories:
moringa, life,
Form: Free verse
tired morning
This morning a song from a film
filtered through my mind “what was it all for Alfie.”
I had no choice but being born, played no part of the proceeding
but had to bear the brunt of the aftermath.
The emptiness of poverty, the view of the sunlight from an opposite wall
in a back yard.
The dread of the midnight flight, bare rooms, linoleum floor doomed to endless boredom, no expectation of a blue sky day.
We, children, played in the street a window broke, they, the boys, disappeared
so quickly I was left holding a ball that wasn't mine
the policeman was so tall, my denial was a tearful whisper my mother
had to pay, and she slapped my face. Yet there was a moment of happiness green grass and animals that I had to forego.
What is life for?
Categories:
moringa, books,
Form: Blank verse
I love farms and planting. We love green foliage. My small garden have grown. Taking care and work on it make me happy. I often water it. I really appreciated that several times of smooth rain in the last month. I like its followers. Today I saw Moringa, five years old. I looked at for a while. How beautiful is that white cute flowers! in an unexpectedly lucky way. The aroma of basil and green mint bless my soul.
scent of fresh green mint
aroma of sweet basil
beauty of garden
Categories:
moringa, beauty, farm, garden,
Form: Haibun
So happy
My Moringa blossoms
Night vision
Categories:
moringa, adventure,
Form: Senryu