Today’s poem for NaPoWriMo.
Today’s poem for NaPoWriMo.
Birthdays are, for me, remembering mothers. They are the star of the day, are they not? Going through that climactic episode after 9 months of carrying and carrying and more carrying. I have a cousin who every year travels to spend his birthday with his mother. He said, she is the reason he has a birthday, so she’s the best person to celebrate it with. I agree.
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.
For NaPoWriMo day 25, a question
SILENCE – haiku
Silence always taunts
me with this one question,
what are you doing here?
For NaPoWriMo day 24, a confession –
CAVES – haiku
I found there are caves
in my heart I didn’t know about.
There be demons.
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?
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.
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”.
For day 6, a pensive poem.
age, birthdays, death days
number games the world plays, ending
Nothing like one’s birthday to ponder over the ephemeral nature of life.
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