The last drops of rain
trickle down the roof tiles.
The washed morning does not rush,
much like those high-spirited stragglers,
who now and then play their pranks.
The night still struggles in vain.
The first ray of light dips a finger into the puddles—
a signal for the thrushes to strike up their tunes.
A sleepy street sweeper emerges
from an old, shabby gate.
His shoes creak beautifully.
If I were a recklessly raucous raccoon
I’d stealthily move as thrushes fly by
I’d try my best to reach for the moon
I’d continue my quest as wood pigeons croon
Determined to access the clear evening sky
If I were a recklessly raucous raccoon
Might I access the stars on a hot air balloon?
Or climb up a pole long enough to get by?
I’d try my best to reach for the moon
I dare not reveal my cause too soon
Lest the wise owls challenge, asking me why
If I were a recklessly raucous raccoon
“Fifteen minutes of fame” you’ll likely assume
Why not root for me instead of decry?
I’d try my best to reach for the moon
Then all will strike up a victory tune
‘Trash Panda’ no longer as in days gone by
If I were a recklessly raucous raccoon
I’d try my best to reach for the moon
Watching for thrushes that grow moist
from dusky soil, my heels trek along
deepened clay. As I lay on the porch listening
to tress rustling, inky moon sinks its riddled face
through veil of midnight. Somehow, I feel restless...
abandoned like jagged refrains of this heart
which seems to fall into an unsettling interlude
of time. Yes, this golden chapter drifts,
as a baptism of new beginnings swells.
on this barren field…
a solitary twig cracks
from one glittered tree
The nightfall drools looking for the yellow
among clouds. For a while, the hazy outlines
of strangers--native women and children ---
disturb my revelries of younger moments
lingering through the dipping sway from moonglow.
Through calm intervals of laughter, I sway
with mid life's flow; fire to air, salt to honey.
Much as I need to inhabit youth's space,
it no longer belongs to me.
But twilight comes brimming with all
the glistened jewels of my own half- time of a world.
between two lifetimes
is a haunting melody…
like an unsung note
Have you remembered these before
Begirded, by the yellowy maple
Sweeping them in morning's chore
And the first bites of mellowy apple
And the voice dwindling in icy pallid
The evening thrushes nesting over
Your eyelid mere balmy; thawed my heart of gelid
In my heart of gelid, bloomed the clover
Have i remembered these now-
The joyous rhine smoothing down the vale
And the cockcrow kissing your flawless brow
And to you, I speak those times of tale
Never were the asphodel so cheerly
And too cheerly and too softly wave
To the passionate daisy and too the jovial lilly
'Ah fallible love! truly paramour they are; and brave'
.
In a twilight garden where the wisteria sways
The lycaenids whisper their loving praise
songs are sung and are being timed
When the temple bells are being chimed
Twosome toddler twirl and swirl in a lawn
Laughing and giggling like a gambolling fawn
No worries of the empty belly nor the pain
Of scratched knees and sees a mirth in a handful grain
The termless ocean hustles at faraway shore
And she called the dorado to hum like before
The brook talks about the stalk leaf that afloat
Lighter and gentler and looks more of pismire boat
In a gloaming garden where the sunlight blushes
All remain silent and only the sings of thrushes
Songs are sung and are being timed
When the temple bells are being chimed
I woke up the owls time,in the lurid lighting of moon
Pendulous stars and the cloud of maroon
A lady with a viol croon; dances the nox
Odours of opiate from the nearing phlox
Smelt by the lethe;quaffed the nectar
Time within time,how can you alter?
Trottoir we walked to the willow garden
No more fonder merely it's nature-harden
Startled at the stillness of swinging rope
Once we wont to loll and part our hope
Yore the songs of thrushes and harebell; dreary
Scarcely I felt,I ever felt your clench so weary
Sullen brae upon the droughty day
I pass over,over the mountain way
The comply of yours was a good resting tavern-
Then of me,now merely the voided cavern
Day within day,how can you be so far?
I see you in the silvern Luna with a fare star
I woke up the owls time,in the drizzle of summers June
Dances the nox; a lady with a bassoon
Naught seems so beautiful O as to see
Winter-wilted greens tender shoots to bear,
Thrushes in tune, triumph of trickery,
That see their eggs getting free foster care
Which, lets her sing through all summer till rains,
Flowers when bloom at their creative best,
The mood all around knows when no restrains,
To see the season reach climaxing crest.
But why, why all this juice and so much joy?
Harsh summer waiting is on ready wings,
Awaiting its reign this mood to destroy,
Yet, seasons’ beauty ends not just with springs,
E’en joys of rich monsoon turn unto cloy
That as ere ‘pon earth Eden’s delight brings.
___________________________________
Sonnet | 08.02.2026 | beauty, joy, monsoon, rains, spring
NB Thanks for your prayers. My eye operation was successful. I still need four weeks for the total result.
The rowan trees grew haphazardly.
Down the North side, where snow
And rain affected them least.
Sturdy and strong, they allow the winds.
To filter amongst the green leaves,
Creating a soft hum amongst the mountains.
Listen, it echoes your name throughout the trees,
Sweet Crystal, my lovely beloved Crystal.
Large flocks of fieldfares, thrushes, and blackbirds
Visit or migrate to rowan trees, eating the berries around.
Among the crevices of mountains, streams run down.
A rhythm humming an echoing romantic song.
My heart pounds with electric love as I feel.
Your soft face cuddles against my shaven face.
Yet twilight is nigh, and so we departed down.
The rough paths and return lovingly home.
Oh, Crystal, my Crystal, I love you so.
To thrushes’ serenade at blush of dawn
and with the blooming of magnolia trees,
sweet Summer wills the sun to smile upon
the meadow flowers scenting morning’s breeze.
Sometimes she’s mellow; other times she’s bold.
She’ll sizzle, yet she’ll soothe with wind’s embrace.
She’s strawberries, fireflies and marigold.
In azure skies, she plants a rainbows’ grace.
Then drawn-out days at last come to an end.
Persimmon sunsets disappear from sight
when shadows creep and into darkness blend,
but her bright stars can light the blackest night.
I still recall how all my cares were flung
when she came. Oh, to be once more so young!
Two wood pigeons on the hedge
Two thrushes fly low
Over the uncut lawn
Unfamiliar voices behind the door
Then the door opens
Two men carry out packed cardboard boxes
In a few minutes the loading is finished
A man's voice speaks on the phone from the garden
I turn away, looking towards the road
A car door slams behind me
I close my eyes, while the car hisses by
What a relief: they finally drove away.
I lean against the fence
The birds singing in the neighbouring garden
I suddenly breakdown:
Goodbye, goodbye...
I'm afraid to say more
Though no one is listening
The house is empty
Who’d have thought it would become
The past archive, so soon?
One last look at the garden?
I don't believe they cared.
They've got plenty of pictures
With her blooming garden, so that'll do.
They don’t know
I have her comments on every photo
A gallery of roses, cacti, pansies, petunias
Her olive tree, and blue hyacinths
She said they were blooming already
On the 5th of March, one day before our time stopped
And another time entered
I don’t have to count it, do I
We don’t live there.
Paddling on a swirling river.
Her husband takes the right.
His wife uses her powerful left hand.
Oh, what a truly serene feeling.
Gently gliding over the rippling water,
As the moon mesmerises the sweet scene,
Stars twinkle in the vast, darkening sunset sky.
They paddle in a sing-song, singing off-key.
One, two, kiss me sweet, kiss me soft.
Moonlight dances on the rippling river.
Their hearts entwined in an elated effect.
The peaceful sounds of flowing water
Mingle with the thrushes. chirping wildlife.
But as water seems to seep into the old canoe,
They paddle to the shore and safety.
And on the dew grass, they hug and kiss,
Their old canoe is truly drowned in the abyss.
Ancient painted woodland rushes,
nature's beauty, painted thrushes,
homeland under vivid bushes,
lovely Indian Paintbrushes.
Deepest, dearest, darkest red,
scented, softly in my head.
velvet stem and softest leaf
colored beyond all belief.
Tickling that which it touches,
sentry keeping guarded watch as
danger passes, gentle swatches
of all time and breath she catches
Yellow cousin, next of kin,
palest fragrance, fair of skin.
Summer scented sweetest two
living, light-filled gift to you.
April decorates emerald Nature
with an unexpected snowy festivity
that resembles a season so wintry;
will the warm snow drift offshore?
it's a big thrill at the start of this awaited spring,
will it kill all the little buds that are a living thing?
Will the spotted-winged thrushes delude the bridegroom?
Who's more afraid than him to feel an improvised doom?
Not everybody thinks that a snowy festivity
can surprise and allude to the winter's beauty
already forgotten by the worries of the day;
they wish is to see light, not a sky so grey!
And to their utter discontent, stormy clouds gather,
then a roaring thunder explodes above their heads...
bringing showers to wash the distress off their faces:
they understand that hopelessness is useless fear!
AFTER I finish my statement
as confessed I, my fear:
if you should ever leave me
i know we love each other very dearly
,more
than tears from clouds and how they
need sunbeams and then they make
Mayflowers in Spring
my breath of gentle touch
how the heavy Moon is twilights'first
thrushes may awake a pleasant country
and awake some world)selves
.La. da. Da Da Dada da
(how i would live without you in madness
or in mere death or both who is la guerre)
you could simply me. darling
how precious this point
of creative never known
how unspoken words were feeling
before words before the moon
before God wished Himself into a Father
and then even<
we love and crave smiles and hugs
and immemorial of whos and hows
and whens )
before
how each Soul and heartbeat touches me
which I kiss.
:: 06.05.2024 ::
Gnarled tree rooted firm, fallen bark,
abundant earthen ground cradles.
Horned larks and thrushes beat their wings,
wavering within sun's gold rays.
Lace shade dance a hush call, seep by
a calm sigh and the incessant
babbling of an adjoining brook.
Delicious breeze, reviving kiss,
entice utter lull in veiled dream.
A world, a marriage joined as one,
desire of only pleasant warmth.
A muse of chill wind and aching
darkness that stirs snow fall with wings.
The old bare and brittle, gnarled limbs
gaze out towards humble night sky.
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