The Poetry Marathon

Who came into my life even before I was married

As I followed his Court for the sheer entertainment

A man of temper, particular to a fault, no mumbling

And bumbling in that Courtroom was allowed.

He tried to take the place of my own father when I married

Had me chafing at the bit. But he was unputdownable,

Won me over bit by tiny bit. An untamed mare was I,

Wild curls and glassy eyed. He poured enough love

To snare a perfect fit. A man of high morals,

He lived by his own code, never shied from the truth

No matter what consequences would hold.

Generous and kind, he gave of himself and showered gifts, nothing

Was too dear for those he cared about, nothing to be feared.

Much loved, much revered, when he died the world trembled

The skies opened wide and poured its’ contents into the night

Life came to a standstill, our world held a collective breath;

As for me, I was broken, another father lost to Death

Snuffing out another light long before its time.

(P.S. I have never even attempted an ode before. Any suggestions would be welcome.)

That thin line
between the full moon
and insanity…

That ribbed edge
of the flower bed
where only weeds grow…

That gold brocade
of the wedding saree
I never wore again…

That flicker of light
caught in a raindrop
poised to fall…

That quiet chirp
of the songbird that sings
long before it is dawn…

That peaceful glow
of a million stars
on a moonless night…

That dark hedge at the end
of the garden
where only glow worms go…

That corner of the room
that feels somewhat colder
as if someone just passed through…

That is where we walk together
father and daughter
talking, seeing, not-seeing…

…questioning my answers

restless in my sleep

dreaming when awake.

To write a self portrait I have to step back

And take a long good look at myself.

I turn to the mirror, eyes, ears, nose, check.

Two hands, two legs, a torso, quite a normal

(albeit short) human specimen. Unruly hair,

Glasses that balance on the top of the head

And often fall. Oh yes, the shorts, irreplaceable,

Since the pandemic. That is me, as far as physical

Appearances go. I like a good steak, I do not trust

In Gods, I’ve been called ‘irreverent’ and worse.

I live with my mistakes, I do not let them define me,

And I strive to be happy. I keep to myself

Most of the time, I have a few close friends, well-defined.

I enjoy my music, the company of those I love

In fact I’m quite an ordinary girl just doing my job

Of being alive. Don’t cross me though, I never

Learned to forgive. I don’t try too hard either.

Just a regular soul disguised as human.

“Just be still and listen” Shloka Shankar

Sure, you can hear, the death knell

of your dreams, the grand plans for your life

that you charted as a child.

Hush, but listen also

for the lilting tune of the night

as it calls to you from memories

filling your world with delight.

Listen for the sound of laughter

as it tip-toes in quietly, barely heard

above love, which is silent and still.

There is hope yet, still your mind and listen

Listen to your heart, as it carries you along.

Just be still and listen. Be still,

And listen as your world bursts into song.

“Books were safer than other people anyway.” Neil Gaiman

So I buried myself in my books,

Learning, early on,

That people were sometimes poison

And could damage the soul.

My books became my friends

In a world confused by rules

Even now I find bits of my childhood:

A feather here, a flower there,

A leaf pressed flat among the pages.

Those are my friends,

The ones that keep me from screaming

When people get too much.

It rained that night,

big fat drops

that sat upon my tongue

as I felt the coolness

surge

over me.

Taking me back

to happier days,

of swimming

in the rain,

making castles out of mud

days

of innocence.

In the moonlit path we walked together

“There are wild foxes here,” you said

And I took a step closer

Wondering if we would see them unless

They saw us first and swallowed us whole.

My hair caught in branches that swept low, pulling

At our clothes. “It’s eerie,” you smiled, disentangling

the strands, “but beautiful,” I murmured, breathless.

“Exactly. That’s why I come here for a stroll

on nights like these,” you whispered.

I think I said something but it cannot be denied

that night was magical, musical. I confess

I almost gave you my heart. I say almost.

For when morning came we went our separate ways

Our lives reverberated and re-wrote themselves

Only some moonlit nights you will find me, I guess

Pacing those paths. Trying to find a way

To soothe this restless soul.

I have two happy little boys

Who keep me wild and free

They lead me into forests

For the toadstools to see.

One is thin and grubby

His hair black and slick

The other is all smiles

Though he looks like a stick.

They love the little kittens

They wrap them in their arms

And whisper to me to keep them

Safe from all harm.

They point out the stars

We count them one by one

They climb upon my lap

When my day is done.

So if you find me chattering

For all the world to see

Know that I’m not going bonkers

My boys are playing with me!

Grace and poise and beauty in unison

The dance of the cygnets on ice.

I recall the Royal Albert Hall, where you took us.

Almost the last time we met.

When Death came calling you were sleeping

Or I like to think of it that way.

For your body lay unidentified for days,

The news came much too late.

Shorn of the grace and poise and beauty

That kept you dancing in life.

the day that the white-coats came for me

the darkness was overwhelming

my isolation complete

you added your music

to placate the storm

darkly brewing

your words blew

away

clouds.