As spring rosebushes sway in their prime,
Some see roses, and some others see thorns.
Can't a bell sound be heard as "peal" and "chime"?
To some, "a bird sings"; to others, "it mourns."
Conscious and unconscious movements of life
seem to form all my fancies and fashions.
Do I see a stream as smooth-flowing strife?
Is existence a firework of passions?
Could comedy and tragedy be well-knit?
Would my outlook see the tale's other side?
Would my inner splits and outer bonds fit?
Could a green leaf be seen as if it were dried?
From thought’s rich soil, a thousand vistas bloom—
Does this same light outlive time's ancient tomb?
my teenage fancy
that flooded like pure honey
spilt, in ecstasy
on a white sheet, full of glee
as a drop of poetry
simile smiled in it
metaphors mingled well knit
with nature's fine script
nooks of my soul seemed grace-lit
has poetry found me fit?
The wind walks on stilts this morning,
it rides aloft
and does not flip a hat or ruffle a beard.
The seasoned air is as sweet and heady as wine,
The breath of life redolent with the very grape
and vine.
A man and his dog
skip along, well knit and breezy;
a hard long walk made easy
as carefree as sunlight
that scatters dust to wherever
from every leaf and feather.
Am I a body? Am I a mind? Or bundle of both?
Does blood, as though ordered, only through single channel flow?
Is heart seat of mind? Does mind to dwell-in heart take an oath?
Do veins, like children in uniform, pass through the same row?
Is mind a lone monk? Nay! Body and mind are never split.
When each cell of mind-body is bound in single union,
Mind and heart, and flesh, and blood, and veins, and bones are well-knit.
Param Brahma (the God Almighty) finds his communion...!
When physic and psyche are sound, there are divine vibrations,
This frees karma-dharma bondage of earthly existence,
Leading each atman (human) to heavenly relations;
Liberates from disillusions and inner resistance...!
Keeping one’s body and mind pure - isn't, hence, truly must?
Who does wish one's whole life, forever decaying in dust…?
07 September 2022
Sans mind-body who are we Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Even heart of a hard rock is revealed when split,
Secrets are hidden midst atom-fibers well-knit;
Thinnest of hair should be split open for research,
Wisdom is hidden even within nooks of birch...
Hard terrain under earth-surface has precious gold
Minerals many the womb of earth does unfold;
Digging the mind deep does bring forth numerous thoughts,
The depth of heart has innumerable love spots...
The world is a treasure; though its surface seems blank,
Vast are the marvels whose author we need to thank;
Impossibilities give way when split open;
Volumes of truths revealed when silence is broken...
Suspicions never more hidden; innocence proved;
Hidden thoughts and feelings, like pristine sky, well smoothed;
Life, like an encyclopedia, truths reveal,
Each moment and movement brings perpetual zeal...!
24 June 2022
This or That, Vol 12 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
THE HOUSE OF COALITION
Poet: Grace kama ni
Politics is a dirty game, indoor game played,
In partitioned social house -A house of coalition,
Baptized merger, alliance, or better still – handshake,
The house of coalition, the kitchen of collision.
Political love plaque, adorned in wedding outfits,
From chiefs to the newborns, all matching for the clan,
Mattresses in the house see, under them piles of old clothes,
Perhaps for a rainy season,
The house of coalition, the kitchen of collision.
Everything in a haze, every -body in a rush
The sewing machines take not a nap, brush paints and repaints the walls,
Singers’ voices softened with fine honey, type writers squeak in protests,
The house of coalition, the kitchen of collision.
Listen to the manifesto, new wine in old wineskin,
Old enemies new dance, well-knit family new name,
And splendid rhetoric, soul search for voters,
Opposition in opposition,
The house of coalition, the kitchen of collision.
Game win, selective win,
But the house of coalition a hoax? The title deed missing?
Powers of brokers at play? “Wanjiku “played again?
The house of coalition, the kitchen of collision.
Giant poet gem, Tagore’s story-poem: NISKRITI,
Is a piazza perched paved and perfectly paced beauty;
Scale model of a castle of vast poetic kingdom,
That has spread into an empire of Indian wisdom!
Manjulika is a dew-drop in the mighty ocean,
Of the land of Bay of Bengal where feminine gender;
Fulfills wants of men as mother, wife, daughter and labors,
Less fulfilled of subtle cravings, in her heart she harbors!
Nucleus firm; Malabika has solemnly sung it,
Narration, like roots, stems, leafs, flowers, fruits of plants well-knit!
Images complex extract emotions, expose like day light,
Questions of destiny hang, like stars in dense dark sky, bright!
Figures of speech, like hand-picked coffee-seeds, well chosen,
And like gems and pearls in an ornament, fairly woven;
With stones of words and verses flat, oval, blunt, round, pear, square,
The edifice erected here is stern, solemn and somber!
05 December 2021
Inspired By A Translation Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Malabika Ray Choudhury
She resembled, a package so well-knit,
Like gifts and fruits of the Holy Spirit.
Like a bouquet of all flowers of Spring,
She had something that left me so longing.
Lo, this little fruit of my aspirations,
I'll never bite, lest I lose her affections.
“Sweeter also than honey and drippings of the honeycomb” (Psalms 19:10)
25 May 2021
Bite-Size Poem 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
I have always dreamt of a day
A day filled with blissful memories
Entrenched in the hallowed walls
Well-knit in my heart of hearts
The day a prince stole my heart
To keep in his cherished heart-vault
I will blow the fanfare with loud trumpets
Tell the timeless tales to my children
On how he chivalrously won my heart
Captivatingly serenading my beauty
What a day glued to my memory
When he swept me off my feet *proposally*
Among cherished friends and loved ones
Who witnessed the grandstand
A real prince indeed
Fulfilling my knight in shining armour tales
The captivating nature of his nectar- sting
Was sanely unrejectable
Love beyond measure is all I crave
The happiness I have always envisaged
Alas I woke from it all
Only to discover it all being a dream
A pigment of my imaginations
Biking through Salt Lake City
Homes of well knit, croquet stature
With Oxford fountains flowing
Forcibly pin my eye
I pedal a block to see streets missing teeth
Bank signs, chipped paint and amazon lawns
COPLA 93 INVOCATION : This Bad Guy World
The lone wolf shies away from the pack
The tyrannosaur scoffs at his kind :
Systems with it
Tiglons roam lone on the beaten track -
Fall prey the gnu foal lame and blind :
Systems well-knit
Stand alone and the pack will hunt you
Lose your integrity to live safe :
The human fate
The Overman’ll camp on the volcano
Far from the humdrum crowd’s stifling life :
Asylum bait
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
I lovingly remember the good old days
The golden years of my childhood days
When society was amiable and concerned
Where, simplicity and innocence prevailed.
Though there were people of all classes
It never came in the way of societal causes
People attended to their everyday chores
Carried on, their lives quietly, minus airs.
They followed all the rituals and services
According to their religious backgrounds
And everybody joined to enjoy the rituals
Showing rich diffusion of goodwill and cheer.
The moneyed also lived like commoners
Without any exhibition of their affluence
Quietly offered succour to the unfortunate
And the humble acknowledged with gratitude.
It was a well-knit society without cubicles
Where humans were not cut off by thin walls
Where peace and harmony reigned supreme
Which, I miss so badly in this modern time.
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