for my nephew

This goes for my twenty-year old nephew Aditya (meaning the sun), who is going for his management studies, after finishing his graduation in mathematics.

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was it only yesterday I held you in my arms?
a wee thing, crumpled face and wrinkled skin
all skin and bones, nothing else
that did not deter me from falling in love with you
you dad asked me to name you.
boy, was I thrilled?
with whole lot of extended family adoring you
you somehow always turned to me
showing me your first piece of art
you writing skills
along with tears and scrapped knees.
indulgent I was towards you
still you sensed I could be firm too.

time, does it not fly past rather very fast?
now, you have graduated from college
venturing out for management studies;
no longer that wee child holding our hands.
what do I say, apart from this:

"be as extravagant as you can be, with words;
the only weapon you need for today's world"

gutted

finest piece he had ever carved
he looked it over
feeling pride swell in his chest

isn't labour of love
one good motivation?
giving it a final polish

drying it out
he carefully hid it
tears of joy spilling over

next few days
he waited for the right time
trying to seek out her,

his own flesh and blood
a convenient playmate
for his master's daughter

life took an unexpected turn
for no misdemeanour of hers
his daughter was sold to settle a bet

he threw the carving
smashing it on the wall
his heart broken to pieces

"dry tears of sorrow spilled nowhere"

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To know where it came from, read my review of Roots by Alex Haley and my subsequent poem, slaves to whom? after reading it.

drifting

someone has sprinkled
crushed dried loaf on the bushes
whose crumbs the crows inspect
with much disdain incomparable
with those who are starving to death in a distant nation
these raven black birds
scrutinising with expressionless eyes
opened to the light its glassy acids,
squinting just as soon
search for moistness
to go with the crumbs

I am watching all this
my thoughts left to fend for themselves
just like messages left to set
adrift in ginger ale bottles
into the bottomless ocean

realisation hits me
it is not you who is away from me
it is me who chose this path
to be absent from you

The italized lines have been taken from poems by
Emily Dickinson
Maxine W. Kumin
Pablo Neruda
and again
Maxine W. Kumin,

slaves to whom?

legacy of his birth got blurred over the years
by the virtue of their skin colour
his ancestors were captured as slaves
although looked down upon,
women bore the brunt of lust
which cannot differentiate
between skin tones in darkness of night

illegal from the point of view of nature
however, is no match for brute force
power, and much greed
body broken, beaten, maimed
but spirit for freedom remains same.
now with a decree of law
he is set free. from what? to where?

"why were his ancestors enslaved in the first place?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am currently reading Roots by Alex Haley. Twenty five years after reading Uncle Tom's Cabin. I only have one question about the slave trade. Why? And why did it go on so long? Any human being irrespective of his skin colour has every right to be free. In any part of the world. I know there are no easy answers. However, I feel this is a blot on history that something like this happened. Maybe I am seeking simple answers for so complex an issue.

can't you please reopen the portals sooner than later?

I find that interpreting works of poet in ones own way is creative too! I like transcreating. This time I take The Lonely Street by William Carlos Williams.







The Lonely Street

School is over. It is too hot
to walk at ease. At ease
in light frocks they walk the streets
to while the time away.
They have grown tall. They hold
pink flames in their right hands.
In white from head to foot,
with sidelong, idle look--
in yellow, floating stuff,
black sash and stockings--
touching their avid mouths
with pink sugar on a stick--
like a carnation each holds in her hand--
they mount the lonely street.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

can't you please reopen the portals sooner than later?

since school closed
mornings are empty-
despite the heat
I miss the sounds
of chattering girls
shoes dragging in the corriders
in stiffly ironed uniforms.
streets seem so empty
parents are so harassed
and here I was thinking
vacations are cure for
stressed minds.
when I see those
splash of colours
however dirty,
on those scraps of paper;
these make me long
for school to reopen.
when you do come back
I can only hope
you would be wiser
now that you are taller.

"I would still welcome you even if you are not"

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Do let me know what you think of my attempt. I welcome comments and feedbacks, as always!

running away with it----Read Write Poem/Monday Poetry Train

And also come ride the Monday Poetry Train...

pulsating, so ripe it throbs
suddenly developing wings
it flies away, disappearing
totally out of sight.

my tongue hanging out,
I look at the deep hole
where it ought to be
my hands feel the depth

tentacles form out of nowhere
roots fill the hole
sprouting leaves and buds
next thing I see flowers

blossoming. sweet fragrance reach
out to my nose and I do not miss
my fly away heart any more

"when I do find it floating on water
I kick it away, not wanting it"

reflected changes-----One Single Impression

deeply staring into your eyes,
I see the irises changing shades
catching my mood into them
your air of detachment
disappears subtly
replaced by fierce heat
with intense interest I watch
our souls merging
where I am not I anymore
you are not you either

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another of my rare love poetry. I am leaving this open-ended as love in itself is open-ended. Your comments and feedbacks are always welcome.

ghost of words jump haphazardly-----Sunday Scribblings

leave me alone
give me a well needed rest

too long you have stringed me
I am now so very tired

same old story
told differently each time

I and you know
you are getting maudlin

still you believe no one else knows
ghost of words jump on the screen

same old words, same old story
packaged in a new garb

why don't you ever
listen to your inner voice

plainly speaking
simply quit writing-

won't you?

the end of the world for me------Writers Island

amongst my collection, I looked for it everywhere
somehow my mind could not recall where I had misplaced it
a much coveted possession gone missing right in front of my eyes
replacing it is not a problem and is only an option
but how did it happen in the first place
it might be trivial for some
for me it was a serious matter
for a few days it played in my mind
finally I gave up on it
making it a note, I will replace it soon

now I am at your place enjoying a cup of tea
what do I find nestled in your shelves
the very same book I have been searching for
do you mind giving it back to me
so that I return it to its rightful place

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was reading "On Human Bondage by Somerset Maugham" some days ago. I found it missing. I searched for it everywhere and couldn't find it. After I had given up on it, I found it a friend's place who had picked it up from my place. She had not asked for it. I wouldn't have refused her if she had asked for it. But taking it away without asking, I was kind of pretty mad!

some crap inside my mind......Totally Optional Prompts

intense is how/what you read about me-
one aspect, I never ever intended
to get across for you to see.
now intensely I try to read, what else, me.
truly what do I really tell thee-
aspirations, dreams that are distended?
intensity of which is lost from me
all aspects gone forever, which I never intended.

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I think I took too much poetic liberty with the lines, while writing a triolet. It might feel disjointed to some. However, it answers what has been playing in my mind since yesterday. Why? That is another question...