Drought

.

The dry earth coughs up dust storms

While cattle scratch at the brownness,

Their tongues having forgotten

The sweetness of green grass.

 

But the sky is closed up like

a heart that has borne much pain,

And the clouds hold back the rain

As though in just retribution.

 

Would it be that the mewling of

slaughtered beasts and the gasps

of dying fish rose up from the earth

in pangs of collective wailing?

 

 

It could be that the heavens have

a thousand ears and a million eyes?

Maybe Nature communes with itself

In a language we have stopped hearing.

 

~~~

Australia has been experiencing drought for 6 years in a row. Cattle are dying and farmers are committing suicide.

 

NaPoWriMo 9 – A fragment of a dream

For day 9, a sweet, sad poem on a dream I saw the other day –

 

A terse dream this was,
broken, anguished, blurred,
of which a fragment remains
in my memory, embedded.

A wayward bullet strikes
at lightning speed your chest,
passing through it spears,
calmly, through my breast.

Locked in a gaze we stand,
as love flows out the wounds.
Caught tight in death’s hand
as the dream softly fades.

On waking, for long I ponder;
did our souls our bodies flee
at the same moment, together?
Did they merge to become free?

Did pain set our insides afire?
Is sorrow the bullet that incinerates,
torching our ignorance, our desire,
and into freedom thus liberates?

~~~

NaPoWriMo 8 – My second skin

For Day 8, an ode to my house.

MY SECOND SKIN

My house bathed in moonlight, rests,
silent and welcoming,
and I breathe love into its spaces.

It seems a reflection of me,
the way the furniture is arranged,
the chairs facing each other.

Do they talk among themselves, I wonder,
in the stillness of the night,
picking up bits of broken-off conversation?

Does the warm air twirling up the stairs,
or the slippers, discarded, under the bed,
remind it of us, when we are away.

Do the walls rejoice with the tinkle of laughter,
does the carpet hoard shards
of my shattered dreams.

Does it feel protective, caring,
shielding us from wind and rain,
silent witness to silent pain.

Content, replete, joyous,
I settle into its calm stillness,
and it wraps itself around me.

~~~

NaPoWriMo 7 – The Lord calls to me

For Day 7, a hymn –

My Lord calls to me
in the early morning light
‘kuhu-kuhu’ she sings
in joyous dulcet tones.


My Lord enfolds me
in the early morning mist,
ethereal and uplifting
like mother’s love.


My Lord sings to me
from the violin’s bow,
gliding on the strings
in heartrending melody.


My Lord looks at me
from beggar-child eyes
in desperate hope,
for alms, for love.


My Lord comes to me
in hands that help,
voices that comfort,
and hearts that hug.


My Lord whispers to me
amid the clamour of worship,
“Be still. Just be. ”
“I am in the silence”.

~~~

Easter Sunday

 

EASTER SUNDAY – haiku

(From the perspective of countless hens, sheep, cows, pigs and other animals that got slaughtered to celebrate the Prophet of Love’s rising ….

Yo! Jesus dude
now that you have arisen
show us the trick too

***

Death poems

On dVerse Poets Pub Gayle sets the challenge :  To write in haiku or tanka style, to the theme of Jisei (Japanese death poems).

Gayle also says, “In ancient Japanese, Chinese and Korean cultures, a practice was used at the time of death to capture the last words spoken. This practice was called jisei (in Japan) or death poem and is the “farewell poem to life.” Jisei was written by monks, samurai, the literate and poets of these cultures. One of the earliest recorded jisei dates to 686 C.E. (Common Era) or in Christian terms, B.C. (before Christ) with the death of Prince Otsu who was the son of Emperor Temmu of Japan.”

 

JAPANESE DEATH POEMS – tanka

 

I hear the sea sing

in my veins, of homecoming.

Save your salty tears

 

for life and its sorry tales,

not me. I am going home.

 

~~~

 

This vain, heavy shell

I no longer need, fading

softly like daylight

 

surrenders to night, sighing

soft promises of return.

 

~~~

 

This shell will return

to its womb. My sinews will

turn into roots, limbs

 

into tree-trunks. And my song

will trill out from the tree tops.

 

~~~

 

Soon, I will be rain,

falling on seeds, springing them

into life. Lusty,

 

fecund, virile, alive. Death

is a mere wisp of a veil.

 

~~~