Cycle of Life

Spring has unhooked

The clasps of winter

After the friendly raindrops

Soaked the gelid  ground.

The gold green of rebirth

Turned to the lushness of summer,

The succulent greens

Foreshadowing the plenitude

Of the coming harvest.

Aureate and rufous,

The leaves blazened the orchards

And the ripening gourds 

Hung down the vines

While the nutshells

Filled with sweet kernels.

Life shifted with time

Marked by the cathedral chimes

And the harvest moon

Shed luminance 

Upon the carpet 

Of browns and grays

Of mud-soaked leaves

On the hardening soil

Going frigid

Under the winterfall .

Snow flurries descended,

Gentle as angel wings

Or as harsh as flying arrows

In icy winds.

Through window panes

As clear as crystal

Or clouded with water streaks

Filtering the sun,

I waited for reawakening,

For another cycle of life.

 

 

Man Child

A child he was

With playful warmth

And eternal joy

Chortling gaily

When little things

Attract his open attention.

 

A man he was,

Long of limbs

With fluid movements,

His joints in action.

A sports aficionado he was

Playing all games,

And making man`s plays.

 

This man child

Loved his ways,

Sporting and otherwise.

He went through life

In gay abandon

But  in carefree warmth

Towards his fellowmen,

Helping where needed-

A joy to the world

And a pleasure to himself.

 

 

 

 

Jenny

In those salad days,
Throngs of nubile girls,
In their teenage frenzy,
Waltzed through
The portals of academia-
While leafing through
The parchments of memory,
A vivacious presence sauntered in,
With curly hair parted
In two loose insoucient braids
And a wide smile.
As it always happens,
Time sped not in seconds,
But in decades!
And the meeting was propitious!
Because, the promise of the teen years
Has matured to a captivating,
Multifaceted adult
Of the same wide smile
And much more.
With a lightness of spirit
And compassion,
The blithe mien
Masking sage and serious ideals,
Jenny of today
Has entered the stage.

Chiarascuro

Closer and closer it came,

Softly, in padded stealth –

The scythe swished and, one by one,

Down came yet another dear.

 

How to grieve, when, where,…

Tears course down in unwiped furrows

And in untold concentric sorrows.

I huddled, unsolaced, unreprieved.

 

Time did not stand still – what cliche-

Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours…

Swathes of sorrows unfurled

In the middle of iridiscent life and joys.

 

Life weaves its pattern;

The warps and wefts, hand moving in and out,

Dances in step with the colors,

Through humanity’s told and untold tales

Of death and griefs

And life’s ephemeral joys.

Seara

Seara of the sea air,

With golden hair and sea green eyes,

Waded into my emptiness,

Into my life of lonely thoughts

And deep desperation.

 

Seara of the sea air,

With golden hair and sea green eyes,

Woke me from the depths

Into wakeful seconds, breathing deep,

The pallor forgotten for roseate cheeks.

 

Seara of the sea air,

With golden hair and sea green eyes,

Fingered me with exquisite touch

And I came up, out of depths,

Spluttering with live air,

Inspiring life, laugher glimmering-

I was alive!

 

Sears of the sea air,

With golden hair and sea green eyes,

Is no more!

She left me bereft of living light;

But the glimmer lingers

Of our life – a Milky Way

Of shared moments-

Streaks of love, life and light!

 

 

 

 

Where are You?

I did not step in time

And missed the passage of years.

I keep finding memories

Tucked away in corners

Hitherto unvisited.

How did they find

Their little nooks

And little places

Among the shelves,

Bags and boxes?

There you were hiding,

Among the photos,

Among the letters,

Among the unexpected gifts.

But you never hid!

You are with me

In the corners of my heart

Holding on with feathery clasps,

Never intruding,

Present every moment.

When I reflected

And summoned up

Cherished delicacies

Of our knitted lives.

What pathos prompted me

To search for you

Who was twined in my own self?

 

Sojourner

It is a gypsy’s life

That I lead, from place to place,

Nomadic in deeds,

But, homesick in the heart.

 

From the frigid climes

Of Adirondacks

To the Arabian sea shore

And Pacific sands

I wandered

Without goal

And without destination,

Searching for something

To anchor me down.

There is no one to wait for

And no one to travel with,

But a lonely sojourner

I remained

In my seemingly

Dreamlike life.

 

But, does anyone know

The pathos of loneliness

That leaves one shiftless

Like a paddle free boat?

Writing

The blank paper stared at me

And I took up pencil with trepidatio;

My palms were sweaty

And my nose was crinkling

When my nerves came close

To being shattered.

 

To freely write

Is to navigate unknown waters

And I dread to get

My feet wet.

 

The topics on the board

Glared at me

And I tremble

At their defiance.

 

What do I choose?

Do I opt for the easy one

Or let creative juices flow,

So I choose ambitiously?

 

Ah, I have my topic

And I am happy to note:

I will write

About the wonder of writing.

 

Chaos of Visits

The crow had been cawing

All through the morning

And that foretold the advent

Of visitors any time.

 

 

Oh, but what can I do?

The house is not ready!

Is it messy, is it clean?

Run around and check

Every nook and corner,

Every room and porch,

And every piece of furniture!

 

What about the food?

Will they stay long?

Is it enough to have a snack

Or is a meal expected?

With trepidation, the thought wriggle in:

The stay could be prolonged!

 

So many things to do

And so little time!

I am bound in cliches now.

What an unusual state it is!

 

I detest cliches