SARADA  MA **                

                    

Your eyes are made of light and voice of song

Stones melt and mould at your beaming smile

To drink your nectar-words devotees throng

Traversing miles

‘I am mother of the righteous and the vile’

You say this weaving a love-web so strong

Children of all races and time bond, smile

Your presence in my heart I do so long

That I can make the world my own and smile

Journey through countless births to right the wrongs

Traversing miles

·         **Sarada Devi, (1853 - 1920), born Saradamani Mukhopadhyaya,^[1] was the wife and spiritual counterpart of Ramakrishna Paramahamsa, a nineteenth century mystic of Bengal. Sarada Devi is also reverentially addressed as the Holy Mother. Sarada Devi played an important role in the growth of the Ramakrishna Movement.

• As clouds are blown away by the wind, the thirst for material pleasures will be driven away by the utterance of the Lord's name…..Sarada Devi --------Courtesy : Wikiquote

 Posted for kerry's A Birthday in December @ Real Toads
&
Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United

 

The Bereaved Mother

Her bosom is a dreary desert

Her eyes dry river-bed

She walked the ragged stony path

Patriotism luring her away

Then her nest was robbed of her fledglings

At the altar of war

Now she has a sky full of blessing

And swears by non-violence

The whole world is her home

She breathes in every race

                 
Posted for Susie's prompt @ Real Toads
&
Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United

           
   

courtesy : Google image 

          Bison of Altamira

Killing, eating, sleeping and breeding

Struggle was on day and night

Even then Beauty whispered

To the first Man

Words did not take form

Soul craved for something more

And Beauty whispered

In the darkness of caves

In the motion of bloody spears

On dewy grass blades

In the fragrance of petals

In the warm caress of a red dawn

 He listened, tasted, saw, smelt and felt

He was in love from the depth of his being

With the One so vague in his dream

For whom he was ready to leave his lances

He bore the agony, wordless passion alone

Until the day his slender fingers

Made the cave wall his canvas

Beatings of lines and colors were heard

Beauty expressed herself

In the impassioned form of the red bison

And embraced Man, Nature's wonder

Posted for  Hannah's Transformation Friday with Nature's Wonders @ Real Toads

         
             

Living for A day

Her maiden ramp-walk

Color palate, feline steps

She dazzles all eyes

Thunderous peals of applause rise

Flamboyant designer smiles

Couture weeks flame red

Consuming all beauty-moths

Of size zero fame

Hollow face, straw ribbed females

Sigh for symphony, light, life

Inspired by the prompt Lightning @ Poetry Jam

What Does the Fox Say

Sniffing air snooty fox

Cocks his ears and spots a cock

So cocksure that gives a leap

Complete cock-up Rooster slips

‘Lousy meal would a rooster make’

Thus saying, the cocky fox

Starts for his hole to lay his head

Posted for  Words Count With Mama Zen @ Real Toads 

                                  &

Verse First @ Poets United

           BLOOD

    Three word commitment

Her conspicuous pink flush

    Lights up his Eden

     Forbidden fruits hang

 Serpents swear to stir the blood

   Blithe spirits ignore 

Posted for Haiku Heights : Prompt-Blood

 & shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United

  & Open Link Monday @ Real Toads

   
courtesy : 123rf.com

THE LAST

Was it ordinary or extraordinary

I don’t know

But it relieved some

 And brought tears to others

This went on for generations

It wasn’t loved but respected

For its incredible pace

But Time’s tyrannical hands

Played a fatal move

By replacing it with faster toys

So now good bye Telegram

Rest in Peace

 After a mammoth service period of 163years

In my land

We have heard of a promise

That the last telegram

Will be preserved as a museum piece

Your Requiem………

Posted for Poetry Jam & Verse First @ Poets United

 

The Night Witnesses

 

        

 courtesy : Forest Terminal by Mike Worrall

A dilapidated station 

Is half awake

A maze of trees Lies in wait

A solitary soul

Draped in black

Lost in thought of remote past

Frozen lake

Nowhere to be seen

Unending rail tracks

Vanish into mists

All promises kept and all miles trodden

Lovely, deep woods must be paid heed to then

Tell tale clock nods, knows what will happen

Written for Sunday Challenge featuring Mike Worrall @ Real Toads & shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United