Monday, November 16, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
नोट alone
Not Alone.
Live next door to a street lamp, full
moon every night .
On an enormous heavenly canvas,
A lone star shines.
The rest have turned their back on
Earth and light up a galaxy that’s
Not of my concern, when I watch
Ads for Martini Bianca on TV.
Fine by me I don’t need to be smart
In a bar , but I do pity the lone star,
It must be cold up there. Wave,
It winks back and fire flies dance.
Live next door to a street lamp, full
moon every night .
On an enormous heavenly canvas,
A lone star shines.
The rest have turned their back on
Earth and light up a galaxy that’s
Not of my concern, when I watch
Ads for Martini Bianca on TV.
Fine by me I don’t need to be smart
In a bar , but I do pity the lone star,
It must be cold up there. Wave,
It winks back and fire flies dance.
Friday, November 13, 2009
immortality
Immortality
Every morning an old man, with a jute
sack slung over his bent back,
leaves his cottage.
His mother’s ancient shadow sits by
the fire keeps ember alive. She is older
than the oldest olive tree in the grove.
She came here when the earth was new,
stars not yet born and the moon was
a pale outline on black canvas.
Her son is gathering roses’ dream
and bird songs in the outer field to sustain
her in a life of perpetuity.
Every morning an old man, with a jute
sack slung over his bent back,
leaves his cottage.
His mother’s ancient shadow sits by
the fire keeps ember alive. She is older
than the oldest olive tree in the grove.
She came here when the earth was new,
stars not yet born and the moon was
a pale outline on black canvas.
Her son is gathering roses’ dream
and bird songs in the outer field to sustain
her in a life of perpetuity.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
अ न्यू beginning
New beginning
Her kiss tasted of iron railing a frost bitten dawn…. My lips bled.
Her eyes were frozen stars in a deadly
galaxy of tranquillity.
A beauty flawless. Her body…unbending, unwilling, an ice maiden in a winter forest.
Her blue lips had spots of cardinal crystal, futile my attempt of resurrection.
My love I laid by her feet, struck a match in the vast night of silence
Ash and ember …I’m free.
In the glade, amongst roses of gold,
my new love waited…hand in hand
we walked to where the day begins
Her kiss tasted of iron railing a frost bitten dawn…. My lips bled.
Her eyes were frozen stars in a deadly
galaxy of tranquillity.
A beauty flawless. Her body…unbending, unwilling, an ice maiden in a winter forest.
Her blue lips had spots of cardinal crystal, futile my attempt of resurrection.
My love I laid by her feet, struck a match in the vast night of silence
Ash and ember …I’m free.
In the glade, amongst roses of gold,
my new love waited…hand in hand
we walked to where the day begins
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
वेटिंग फॉर रैन
Waiting for Rain.
Most days on my way to the café or to the grocer,
I walk past an old man who sits in the garden, on
a sofa that has lost its place in the living room where
It once had been an object of pride for a newlywed
couple and placed under an oak that was blind to
such details. I often stop and talk to him, he can’t
remember me from one day to the next and tells me
about his parents it’s like they are still alive, and how
wonderful life was in the old days.
He isn’t here today, the mantle he wrapped around
his bony shoulders when there was a chill in the air,
is flung carelessly on the sofa, a zephyr whispers he
will not be back.“ Will I be that old? I ask the fading
sun. I sit on an old sofa on the terrace, scan the sky
a blanker wrapped around my shoulders to keep out
the chill, here in the vale where I was born and my
parents lived before me. We wait for September rain
and remember how wonderful life used to be.
Most days on my way to the café or to the grocer,
I walk past an old man who sits in the garden, on
a sofa that has lost its place in the living room where
It once had been an object of pride for a newlywed
couple and placed under an oak that was blind to
such details. I often stop and talk to him, he can’t
remember me from one day to the next and tells me
about his parents it’s like they are still alive, and how
wonderful life was in the old days.
He isn’t here today, the mantle he wrapped around
his bony shoulders when there was a chill in the air,
is flung carelessly on the sofa, a zephyr whispers he
will not be back.“ Will I be that old? I ask the fading
sun. I sit on an old sofa on the terrace, scan the sky
a blanker wrapped around my shoulders to keep out
the chill, here in the vale where I was born and my
parents lived before me. We wait for September rain
and remember how wonderful life used to be.
Monday, November 9, 2009
थे वनिशिंग voice
The Vanishing Voice
October in Gaza is still warm but evenings are
cooling and days are shorter, few birds sit on
shell damaged trees, and the airspace above us
is often filled with helicopter clatter.
So much have been destroyed, ruble and dust
winter will be cold for many, and our hearts
hardens we fear for the children who play war
games amongst ruins.
Our leaders are hard men, but we voted for
them since our former leaders were corrupt.
We long for a sovereign nation called Palestine,
But most of all we long for lasting peace.
October in Gaza is still warm but evenings are
cooling and days are shorter, few birds sit on
shell damaged trees, and the airspace above us
is often filled with helicopter clatter.
So much have been destroyed, ruble and dust
winter will be cold for many, and our hearts
hardens we fear for the children who play war
games amongst ruins.
Our leaders are hard men, but we voted for
them since our former leaders were corrupt.
We long for a sovereign nation called Palestine,
But most of all we long for lasting peace.
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