Poetic Justice

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We are the people of Stupidity Street*

For us remains a blind sky

A blanket of rheumy air

A few dead sparrows

A scarecrow

In a desert

And sighs

Of poets

 

 

*I used the title ‘Stupidity Street’ of Ralph Hodgson’s poem here.

 

Submitted to Susan’s Midweek Motif ~Justice or Poetic Justice @ Poets United

Where I am From

Ajanta painting source

I’m from the Divine Desire

I am the ancient land

Where Rishis saw the Mantras

Written in letters of light

And sang the Vedas

I am from the Divine Desire

I am the ocean

Embracing the streams of all Faiths

In my vast bosom

My face is of Ajanta painting

My two hands are

Chanakya and Aryabhata

My heart is of the Buddha

I speak in more than

Thousand tongues

I am from the Divine Desire

I am the divine song

Sung by the ecstatic Mirabai 

In presence of God

I am from the Divine Desire

I am the Dark Age

Where the righteous suffered

And sinners thrived

I am Suttee

Having climbed the pyre of my husband

I surrendered myself

To the sky touching flame

In many a birth

I am from the Divine Desire

I am a witness

I saw Them coming from other lands

Lashing me with their ruling whip

And trying to break

The backbone of my children

By holding them captive in their own land

I bore all      

Though the wound still oozes despair

I am from the Divine Desire

I am the flute

Of eternal lovers

I am the mother

Of all who resides in me

I am the dust grains on the streets

Still touched by holy feet

Bharat is my name

But all by mistake

Call me India

 

 

Posted for Mary’s prompt Where I am From @ d’Verse Poetics

Quake

Pashupatinath Temple, Nepal

With a reeling head

We all throng

On the school compound

“Will there be another quake Ma’m?”

Asks a little angel

In a quaking voice

“What if there is?”

Quips another

Sounding like a rock

Or like the Temple of Pashupatinath

Without a scratch

Still standing tall

In the foothills

Of the Himalayas

Where Mount Everest

Is mourning deaths*

                     

*In the base camp of Mount Everest 18 mountaineers were killed in yesterday’s earthquake.

                      

Posted for Poetry Pantry @ PoetsUnited

Hunter

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The lanky man with four pairs of eyes

(Two of course are glass made)

Is an ambush predator

He loves truth mimicry

You wouldn’t dream

How he has kept

His other six legs hidden somewhere

You better walk past him

Because once he spots you

The lines in his mouth

Begin to stir, tongue rolls

To form word web

You’ll be unwittingly ensnared

And your legs will get caught

In that subtle, silky spiral orb net

You will be a helpless immobile prey

His hidden legs will then show up

A beam will play about his mouth

Highly satisfied

Thinking his day’s not been wasted

He will make your mind numb

And slowly devour you

So be the last person

To pay heed to him

Politicians are crafty, beware!

 

Posted for the prompt Last Legs @ RealToads

A Lament

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There is no Prince among the bees

Who would bravely fight the seas

And rescue the Southern Breeze

Whom the sea has held captive

So they sing their mournful song

To send to forest where flowers throng

Honeyed blooms can’t linger long

They fall to the ground with souls restive

 

We are the honey bees

Forgotten by the Southern Breeze

North Wind’s leading us astray

We have all lost our way

To your fragrant home

To fill our own honeycomb

 

 

*In the Sunderbans the honey bees are obstructed by the unfamiliar cold North Wind to proceed further into the forest. The bees take the help of the South Wind (still there’s no sign of it) rising from the Bay of Bengal to fly deep into the forest of The Sunderbans to collect honey.

Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Earth Day or Earthiness @ Poets United

Of Names

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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

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Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United