downriver decent doting dickey disencumber& demythologise disregarded draftsmanship
mutely my muddled menopausal motorist marginalise&misread me
thither those thoughtful tripartite tout&tunefully tongue
Them,
lights,
sparkle,
soft, in dark,
playful, enchanting,
search soulmates for blessed union,
flying hither thither, bioluminescent wings
depleting inborn energy, dark gloomy grave awaiting to sniff out their soft light,
yet letting them sow seeds of their progeny in time to let their sparkling legacy flicker, for a continuum of magical glow,
hiding the funeral of older generation of fireflies under the sparkle of newer generation of fireflies, as if it was a celebration of their short lived existence in the nature full of wonders.
Time passed by slowly; the breeze felt low.
Only one star twinkled, its lonely foe.
The yellow sunny light lit up the sky,
And a light breeze chased the clouds goodbye.
How calm was the large lake.
Even the waves did not quake.
Swallows flew above, chirping bright
Some flying left, some turning right.
Loons flew hither and thither, all around
Some would dive for fish with hardly a sound.
While white swans glided peacefully.
Incredibly, they easily evaded each other.
How I wish the scene had a long duration.
Such a scene filled me with great elation.
Hither and thither
to there and beyond
wondering whence and wherefore.
Each way is scattered far and wide
lost in every crack, nook and cranny
until a withering wily wanton wind blows it.
To and fro, there and thence to yonder and back again.
For, not all paths that wander are lost
nor are lonely white cloud formations
with all the world is before them
meandering to hither thither
and yon.
In the city, theater beckons,
As museums do and parks.
There are restaurants and monuments
To set creative sparks.
There are streets that teem with tourists,
Gazing goggle-eyed around,
As they navigate by foot or bus
Or subway underground.
There are fields where sports are playing;
There are ferries on the river.
Yet if quiet’s what you’re seeking,
There are spots that can deliver.
Benches nestle hither thither,
Just awaiting their next guest,
Who might find that it’s the perfect place
To get oneself de-stressed.
Rain drizzled softly beneath the rainbow.
With colours that shone so bright
Birds flew high above the arc
A mild zephyr blew so lightly.
How could I not admire the rainbow?
Shimmering silvery on clouds low.
From red, to yellow and onto violet
All colors twinkling in a magnificent tableau.
Silence spread, a hush, bright hues
Dreams spiced through watery drips
As colorful fairies flew hither and thither,
Till they disappeared in total eclipse.
thou hast looked for the blest
thou shalt not haply find betwixt the Chest
thou shalt forsooth find it,in spirit hand
Merrily, merrily gently thence it Stand
Streamy screamy in thither so and
Oft the liege of timberland
Many,many a years ago;
Along the oceans billow
In an admixed susurrance blow
And unraveling the twilight shadow
A lone valiant bard lies-
Been there till the sand dries
And listened by the ocean's cries-
And slept by the shore of ocean's eyes
Many,many a years before;
By the time of tulips hoar
I heard a lutenist lore
To whom he played for
A lady called Anabel-
To whom his heart fell
To a lady named Anabel-
Yet far he couldn't tell
Many,many a bygone days;
On a day of summers haze
And the glistening twilight blaze
A maiden danced upon a rolling hays
Lulls and she lulls with a gilded lyre
O' her eyes of brilliant sapphire
Lo thither a flame or a fire
To be fair and be fairer; her attire
Many,many a time agone;
He sang a dirge all alone
To her,those mournful tone
Wilt the corsage once she own
And he sang a dirge at bleary noon
Smelt the freesia,whitish as moon
Quoth he,'await me I'll come soon
await me I'll come soon'
Fireflies flicker and light the night
on my walk home through the wood
after a day's fun in the sun
thinking summer should always feel this good
and they look like nymphs to me
dancing quietly on the breeze
flitting hither thither and yon
between the softly-moonlit trees
sending signals to one another
before the dawn and it's too late
like tiny bioluminescent Aldis lamps
flashing to find the perfect mate
In sleep,
minnows are whales,
the soul is a cat
watching the mind scuttle
hither and thither,
running from its own
fearful shadows.
You wake and sleep
wake and fall again
into that swirling miasma
of dream remnants.
It has been said that sleep
is the language of the soul,
if so,
it is an Ur speech,
and its prehistoric utterances
surface
from a history book
yet to be written.
The revolutionary
The revolution germinated in my womb,
The tenderness and care never negotiated.
The external pressures never an obstacle,
The birth of the world’s most beautiful era bloomed.
Came the dawn of surprises after a storm,
The ship swayed hither to thither.
The fight and insurrection had already begun,
The world’s most beautiful and the strongest life was born.
The trunk was burned and she just witnessed,
Holding the hands of the needy and the swayed.
Detached yet focused, marching to the goal,
With slogans and spirits high she bore in her heart.
Sheltered was she, but the discontent seeped out,
In an urge to reach the pinnacle of the dream,
Reminders and warnings kept she to herself,
To be the spectator and observer of her own play.
Sandhya T.P.
"While he was yet speaking, there came also another, and said, Thy sons and thy daughters were eating and drinking wine in their eldest brother's house: [19] And, behold, there came a great wind from the wilderness, and smote the four corners of the house, and it fell upon the young men, and they are dead; and I only am escaped alone to tell thee. [20] Then Job arose, and rent his mantle, and shaved his head, and fell down upon the ground, and worshipped, [21] And said, Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither: the LORD gave, and the LORD hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD."
~Job 1:18-21 KJV
hands clutch hair and pull to mask the sorrows,
to feel the pain, the hurt, one understands
knowing they are gone in all tomorrows
death is far, yea, far from these mortal hands
And so, to show how wide the sorrow spans
rip, or cut, yea, shave what sets us apart
symbolic of a bruised and broken heart
golden locks or black, once all cut away
identity lost, the same now we art
symbol of grief connects past with today.
You and I are such individuals
Gregarious by nature and to interact
For friendship and for uniquely love
To knit and share life's happiness together
To sooth the sea's bitter
And to smooth their storms
For our hearts, voyaging safer
And souls being quiescent under cloud
To hold warm in the wind and cold
And to bypass the loneliness submerged
Gratefully to have you in the boat
The realm is beckoning us continually
Although the reefs submerge hither and thither
We still gain courage countlessly
Hither all her desires, thither my fires,
Balancing both, burden became my life.
In hope of love I walked with wilderness,
Breathe in, breathe out, mundane became my life.
For an excuse to smile, I just shed tears,
Crematorium’s cauldron became my life.
You came to my world, to a wrong address,
To blessings beholden became my life.
Flowers vie with thorns in this dual world,
What a prickly garden became my life!
To a tinderbox of bamboo forest
You came and golden fire became my life.
As time passed more embolden you became,
You a warden, pardon became my life.
______________________________
Ghazal |16.03.2025 | life, love, desire, expectations
Note: Most people are stuck with two types of life: one that is lived, and the other he wishes to live. This Ghazal depicts this dilemma that often persists till the grave. In a way it says without saying so. The opening line in the couplet (matlaa) is without kafia and radeef. Inspired by a Gujarati poem by Venibhai Purohit, but no translation.
Last night we all might have had something
concerning the marksmanshiping of war.
The waves then might differ
pulsating, cresting, rising and falling both in tides
and others?.
Last night the something was thither:
If I said poetry, might not be alone;
if said naïve things naivety, might holden back the rule.
Now, how many things were like bubbling through
the woods?,
how many things were like swerving flower or swirling
to dell last night?.
I think war was a seasonal tree and was somehow fully
alive or it sometimes shedding it's leaves or recently
has become magical?.
War was sometimes completely dry ,
is not that sometimes a kind of encounter?
how like peace is an love fresh and tender tree?.
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