A Mirror in the Empty
poem
A Spring Recalls
Comes in mind, the yellow sky
Crisp air, dry leaves fly
It must be a Fall,
I remember by
School vans wheeling, chirping us
Bidding good afternoons and goodbyes
Tired for the day, yet best of times
Hear mama’s call, ‘Supper first,
You have dance class at five.’
Alley and road,
Trailing mama’s toes
Rambling school stories,
Who’d the teacher scold!
Was it Cooper, or was it, Lee?
Or who’d chased a bumblebee!
Tune of guitars and dancing bells.
Smells like old pages
From grandma’s tales!
Footsteps clip clap hand drums beat
Small rooms darkish, candlelit.
PS: Wrote this one a long time ago… could not complete, every time I tried, I guess flashbacks aren’t meant to be complete… will think about it later… read the glimpse for now…
Photo: ©Moulina Bhattacharya
A riddle in ‘YOU’
The wild wild mind,
Can only be captivated by YOU.
I can not ensnare, it would not sit still,
But only when it hears call from YOU.
I do wonder, where’d the thunder go,
It’s all calm now,
When it’s caught by YOU.
It changes— breaks all hinges
Of toxic disdain
When it gets embraced by YOU.
The wild wild bird,
Stops fluttering its barging wings—
When it sings songs of YOU.
She seems lost in the jungle—
Where the creepers creep her out,
The black river gives her shiver,
Amid sap green mist and cloud—
Then You came, sang that song—
Her fear withered, she followed your light—
Enchanted by that song, sung by YOU.
She is tamed, off the flame of anger
And shame, as You fetch her from the verge,
Like no one else, she leans on YOU.
They call you inanimate—
A cover over pages a few—
But you speak louder than them,
Paint picture in worldview!
Your words don’t hurt
Like their beguiling darts would do.
You impart peace in restless soul,
Cast magic in mystic fold—
Put dreams in dreamer’s eyes,
You are fewer than few.
Read or to be read,
My heart has always felt for YOU,
Without a tint of regret or rue.
No, you are no flesh and blood—
That most will assume,
You are more than that.
I know who you are, or may be a few—
You are everywhere, as of interest or honor,
In every nook and corner—
You enlighten the world, ever since
These earthlings could write and read.
Who else could you be—
You are my books,
On your words I feed to live,
Until my eyes would cease to see.
Until I fly off the oblivion and no more will BE.
The wild wild mind,
Will only be enchanted by YOU.
Photo: ©Moulina Bhattacharya
Lotus Moon
Moon Blossom
Dreamy petal cocoon, stretching on the sepal. I wish you wake…
Through your petal nest, into which you have veiled your pollen chest!
Shine! Onto the sky of the earth,
Put on the Cirrus gown. Enchant the night gazers heart.
Ease your anxious frown! Don’t you remember,
Once you lulled the Lotos-Eaters’ eyes?
Relieved the war crushed brain of Odysseus! When he pulled his train
To your island of perpetual afternoon?
You are the oleander, over the cloud and the sea! Captivated the seers eye!
I can keep looking at you! Forever can be a while…
Spring atop you floret moon…
Bloom away you intrepid lune!
Moon Bloomed
The July moon, shining full! Mystic dark, dimming light,
Smiles the lantern of night… At the lotus plume!
But now with your flourished crest,
I see you drowsing death…
Feathers falling away! Your hour bell tolls!
Day is coming up, You will wane and depart!
But You will come again I know,
As another moon bud!
I’ll see your regal bloom! With my whole heart!
You will surpass my life time… Only with your half-a-day!
We bloom together and wane…
In the same nature-continuum.
A writ…
The evening is leaning.
Flux of time. It’s five thirty one.
The ever-winding continuum.
It certainly imparts something,
My evaporating existence.
An effervescence. Waning it is.
But I don’t want to disappear.
I just want to write something.
I want to write what I bear.
My sufferance and dripping tears.
That what inflicts pain and happiness.
I want to relieve my soul,
My psychic womb from its natal pain
And give birth to something new.
The evening’s serene, behold the flora,
There’s a plantation behind that,
A society and its cultural notions.
I want to pen those notions,
‘Cause I want to write something.
I want to write down those skies, rivers
And those evening chandeliers,
The customs that the society rears;
The trees, their branches and the leaves,
Those twigs and the saplings,
They all have their stories to tell
There’s something beyond their being!
I can perceive their tales.
I want to learn something from them.
I want to write what I have learnt.
I want to write something else…
PostScript: This poetry is inspired by Superintendent of Police, Vinay Tiwari, IPS, his poetic thoughts, “मैं कुछ लिखना चाहता हूं” (“Mein Kuch Likhna Chahta Hoon”: Hindi for ‘I want to write something’). My gratitude to him.
Chaos Patterned…
Eternal repose of shrouded corpse
Never encumbers,
Once the string’s cut by Atropose…
Each of the countless peregrines
Travels through traverses
Since the journey begins.
Like in every level
It revamps or repels,
The journey has no end.
The apparent end
Makes it blend
Where it all started.
And..
Starts again…
From dust to dust of the urn
Even chaos follows it’s given paten!
The pattern,
That’s beyond apprehension,
It moves forward,
Seen through retrospection.
It’s woven,
Preempted or improvised
Supersedes knowledge
Emptied or sufficed.
Vastly misconstrued!
Lost or regained
It aims to forge into
Quite different
From where it all started!
Chaos to cosmos you turn
It’s there in the Creation!
Words, Meaning and the Nothing 