The Night Played Music

           Not a wink of sleep

The night played music with star notes

          Shy bride and her groom

 

 

Posted for Prompt 6 – Weekend Wordle # 1 @ A Prompt Each Day

               (I have used three given words marked in red)

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Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United

This poem is a sparrow, a child and a promise

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This poem is a sparrow

This poem is an angel-child

This poem is an utterance that may be called a promise

 

This poem is homeless

It longs to make a nest in the holes, crevices of an old house

It is compelled to feed its fledglings with poisoned pests, alas!

It prays everyday to be free from the web of mobile radiation

This poem is a dwindling, empty nested sparrow

 

This poem is a playful, missing winged child

It loves to plant seeds with its little grubby hands

It cavorts with the twittering of a feathered friend

It buys birdhouse with piggy bank money

This poem is the dreamy twinkle of the eyes of a child

 

This poem is a green promise

It pledges to build its shelter with moonlight grove

It aspires to make this water bubble of the cosmos into a blue crystal

It wishes to bind all by a string of faith

This poem is a promise to connect every soul to create a peace abode

 

This poem is the shadow of a sparrow

This poem is a dreamy child

This poem is the verdant promise of a blue crystal in motion

 

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I was inspired to write this poem in Boomerang Metaphors (invented by Hannah Gosselin ofMetaphors and Smiles) after reading the chat between Sherry and Elizabeth Crawford published on Monday the 1^st June 2015 @ Poets United.

 

 

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

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Sharing it with Open Link # 150 @ dVerse

Thirst (A Tanka)

Liquid emerald pond

Weary leaves in siesta

A white heron drinks

Poet’s desert heart receives

A crystal shower of words

 

Posted for Poetry Pantry @ Poets United

Awakening

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The black cuckoo sings and wakes me up here

At my mother’s home just at 4 AM

The sweet, mellow, enticing darkness of a new morning

Holds my hands and pulls me up

Within half an hour I’m on the road to join the morning walkers

Who religiously walk this unearthly hour

With a dream to shed a few kilos

My dream is to touch that round red shadow that slowly rises

Over the Ganges giving it a saffron hue

My dream is to join the jingling coming from the thicket

My dream is to feast my hungry eyes on the dew laden blooms

And inhale their morning greetings deep within my being

I am tasting a new me

A bursting of a seed that lay hidden for so many years as it were

A new growth

That needs to be nurtured, valued

To slowly deep root, rise upwards

Then branch out

And not thrown away like a serious weed

Feigning the look of a plant

 

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Posted for dVerse Poetics

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Susan's Midweek Motif ~ Weeds/Weediness @ Poets United

Summer in India

source

Mango aroma and green flies

Sweltering summer’s thawing smiles

Liquid fire flowing through kyles

We slowly melt as winter dies

 

Nightly fragrance of white bloom flies

Riding the crest of wind for miles

Mango aroma and green flies

Sweltering summer’s thawing smiles

 Disgruntled humans supine lie

Prickly heat’s torture making all rile

Poor sun turns up as the most vile

The loo’s* made of sapiens’ sigh

Liquid fire flowing through kyles

We slowly melt as winter dies

 

 

* The Loo (Hindi: लू, Urdu: لو, Punjabi: ਲੂ) is a strong, hot and dry summer afternoon wind from the west which blows over the western Indo-Gangetic Plain region of North India and Pakistan.^[1] It is especially strong in the months of May and June. Due to its very high temperatures (45 °C–50 °C or 115°F-120°F), exposure to it often leads to fatal heatstrokes. Source: Wikipedia

 

 

Posted for Open Link Night # 149 @ dVerse

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Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United

Happiness

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When my little feet

Ran along the track

I thought

Happiness was

The running event

The runner

The track

And may be that red ribbon

Which awaits

For the fastest sprinter

Though it did not take much time

To find out

That a coin had two faces

Happiness and Disappointment

One will come in the other’s trail

This game of coin I played all my life

Until a few days ago

When I was startled

To discover

That happiness always lay hidden

In the heart

And nowhere outside

Only it had to come out

Cracking the shell

And spread over the vastness

Giving every object

A new light

Every bend

A new view

Happiness is the sharp, pointed

Nib of a pen

And is always filled

With ink of light

And ever ready to write

The story of a life

 

Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Happiness@ PU

2 AM

source

Thus Spake The Gita

 

When the weary eyes

Of householders

Are fast closed

At 2 AM

The Yogi’s eyes

Are ever awake

&

Are the only light

In the darkness

Showing

The path

To God

 

Is it?

May be….must be…

 

Posted for dVerse Poetics