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Zeenat Nagpurwala Poem
Oft have I awoken in the fresh morning air
When the sun has weaved
Her rays of gold
And opened the mist frozen petals with little pools
For sweet bees to bathe in.
Then have my eyes seen
Littlest of the little footprints appear,
As if from the melting mist –
Little tiny impressions, so magical
Beneath my window
That greets the wide, wide world.
I have lain long and late
Oblivious to the creatures
That have caused them to be there.
But at times, when the icy winter wind
Has lashed out steely currents on my face,
I have heard them whisper –
Sweet, soft, magical whispers –
That have ridden on the cold night air
And carried themselves to me,
In vain my eyes have searched them
Beneath mulberry and rose,
Or some hidden path to fairy folk,
A path to fairyland.
In vain have I searched and asked young eyes
Questions fancied from the thoughts of silken footprints.
And all eyes, yes all
Have laughed vaguely, sneeringly
Some even sad and caught in a haze –
Eyes that have told the sad tale
Of a fairyland that exists no more.
And yet have I seen them lie lifeless –
Tinkling, shimmering, almost fading into the moonlight,
That have melted from the mist,
Enclosed in the Sun’s first golden threads,
Fall softly – ever so silently –
There, right where the window opens,
Letting in the wind from beneath the mulberry
And the breeze that lies nestled in oblivion
Beneath the wild, wild, rose.
Copyright © Zeenat Nagpurwala | Year Posted 2012
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Zeenat Nagpurwala Poem
Winged wheels ring out rugged melodies along winding ways
Ripened rays on a new togetherness rise and fall, fall and rise – bright and clear.
Clear as miraged ecstasy, drifting unbound over air – seem so far, yet so near,
Ye winds of Thul, O blow far away, all the past in invisible haze.
A thousand secrets from the spins of Time, the winds from Thul have erased
And like the first look at a golden honeybee, with eagerness they stare.
In the hum of scorching desert blasts, heed a little to what message they bear
And in the chime of little camel bells, listen little ear to what they say:
They bring songs from home, beyond the hills, melody of a baby’s cries,
Fathers and children prancing merrily beneath the stars, round the fire ringing.
Sounds dispelling loneliness chain angels’ harps from crystal skies,
And past a hundred camel carts, I hear, a pair of anklets ringing.
Whispering wheels and happy heart take me far from uncared sighs,
Towards my home, O blessed Thul, my reluctant thoughts smile lingering.
Copyright © Zeenat Nagpurwala | Year Posted 2012
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Zeenat Nagpurwala Poem
I dreamt of little daisies that yestereve I’d spied,
All bathed in paling sunlight, dewy and honey-eyed.
A silken soft reflection of the dawning moon they wore
As stars their silent love into their hearts did bore.
And as I leaned towards one to breathe its beauty in,
I heard a silent whisper from somewhere deep within.
A deep enchanting treasure, a picture of seven hues,
When the withering rays formed a spectrum
With a drop of water blue.
As the last of violet vanished
And the petals bent down to sleep
As the moon took over the night sky and smiled
At the little daisies, in their slumber so deep
With such reflection of happiness,
I awoke to the orange sky
And searched for that vanished beauty that with
My vision’s passing, itself had slowly died.
Copyright © Zeenat Nagpurwala | Year Posted 2012
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