Of Names

source

Su is good

And Man is mind

Sumana is then

The possessor

Of a good mind

Literal translation

Of my name in English

Sounds somewhat like that

I am content

And who would not be

If one can become

The chalice of a divine virtue

By the virtue of one’s name?

 

This is posted for Bjorn’s challenge @ RealToads: Take your name and use its meaning to create a poem.

A Kikobun*

Blazing summer with fire rain is knocking at the door in our part of the world. Sweltering heat will sap our soul. How would the words flow? Ah…we wait for you dearest Jasmine Nights…

 

Blooms of perfume made

Sing their song in fragrant words

Drooping souls listen

 

*Kikobun is a literary form similar in format to haibun 

Posted for Carpe Diem Time Machine #8,Perfume

&

Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United

"feeling alone"

feeling alone

in the woods around Edo

just the autumn wind

(Yozakura)

The murmur of ginkgo trees*

My invigorating soul

 (Sumana)

 

*The ginkgo tree (Ginkgo biloba) is considered a living fossil. It has no known living relatives and has endured for millions of years. The ginkgo is one of 170 hibaku trees that survived the atomic blast of Hiroshima that took place in August 1945. Despite suffering extensive damage and predictions that nothing would grow for 75 years, the trees fully recovered. For this reason, ginkgo is attributed with being a symbol of endurance and vitality.

Posted for Carpe Diem Tan Renga Challenge # 81 Yozakura’s “feeling alone”

Forget-Me-Not

source

My soul awakens

To their mellifluous hue

Forget-me-not blooms

 

Forget-me-not blooms

In every cell of my blood

When I think of you

 

When I think of you

You whisper in petal voice

Forget-me-not Ma

 

Posted for Hannah’s hosting Transforming Fridays with Nature’s Wonders @ Real Toads

Foolishness

source

In that Elfin grot*

(I mean in that restaurant)

Alas

A handsome he

Was waiting

It was a long, long wait

Alas

A lovelorn he

Was he

The sun shivered

Light was withering

Outside

Alas

So young he

Was he

He would wait

Forever it seemed

Alas

Someone had him

In thrall

Then

Pushing the darkness aside

She emerged

La Belle Dame Sans Merci

 

*I used some words like these from Keats’ poem “La Belle dame sans Merci”

 

Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~Foolishness @ Poets United

Bhai- Phonta (Brother's Day)

source

Come late autumn

Golden heart of the paddy field

Sways in joy

Has that moment arrived

When the beloved brothers

Sitting in a row

Cross-legged

Reverently receive

The sandal paste mark

On their forehead

By the sisters’ little fingers

Of the left hand?

Chanting of the old rhyme

Of Yama and Yamuna myth*

Makes a stronger bond

Prayers of safety, success and long life

Woven into Mother Earth’s

Paddy grains and grass shoots

Are showered on their crowns

Sisters’ blessing they are

Among wisps of fragrant smoke

From the incense sticks

Blowing of conch shells

Brass oil-lamp holds

The flame of faith

Among siblings, cousins

Sisters hand them the special dishes

To sweeten their mouths

Gifts of love are exchanged

Young ones touch the elders’ feet

Mothers melt in the warmth of love

Shared by their sons and daughters

The whole day is a celebration of love

 

 

*According to Rig Veda, Yama and Yamuna were twins (brother and sister) born to Surya (Sun god). In their earthly incarnations, Yamuna once longed to see her brother and invited Yama to her house. When Yama, the god of death visited his sister, his sister prayed for his well being. The other legends regarding the origin connect Vishnu, Krishna and Mahavira.

However, according to folklorist and social historians due to various societal changes with the advent of agriculture, the sisters began to pray for their brothers’ safety, well being, and success. The bhai phonta festival is rooted in that social practice: Wikipedia

 

Posted for dVerse Poetics: Oh Brother!

Sometimes It's Time

A serious moment for the ant is*

When it finds a morsel of food

And charges towards it

To store it for future use

Unlike the foolish grasshopper

Who becomes a lifeless stick

In the European winter

               

A serious moment for the cuckoo is

To lay eggs in the crow’s nest

And be relieved of the responsibility

To rear up the fledglings

Unlike the foolish crow

Who takes all the trouble from nesting

To bringing up to unhappiness

 

A serious moment for the mosquito is

To suck blood without getting killed

A serious moment for the chair is

To take a sitter on its lap

A serious moment for a river is

To meet another at a confluence

And be one and flow

 

What is serious for man is

To take time for a new beginning

To follow a dream

Even risk taking a less trodden path

To listen to time’s call

And respond seriously

To make a man of man

 

 

This poem is written in the vein of Kenneth Koch’s The Boiling Water that begins like this:

 

“A serious moment for the water is

When it boils….”

 

 

Posted for Mary’s prompt Sometimes It’s Times @ Poetry Jam