Skip to main content

A Song of Spring

I saw you first at midnight miss,
When the brawl had just begun,
Your nasty growl and bark and hiss,
My heart had then been won!

That foolish pack across the street,
Thought that they’d raid our dump,
With zero idea who they’d meet,
Got bitten in the rump!

Your features in the moonlight shone,
Your howl was loud and clear,
And when the watchman threw a stone,
Your snarl it made him fear!

I’m black and shine with pedigree,
Of pure-bred mère and sire,
You mongrel of vague ancestry,
You’re the one I desire!

I see you scratch behind your ear,
Hindleg in comely poise,
You seize my heart, my dearest dear,
And of all the other boys!

Your mangy teeth, flea-bitten fur,
The remnant of your tail,
Make me at night, my pretty cur,
In lovesickness to wail!

The way you snarl and bite and tear,
To guard your rubbish bin,
What intruder would try to dare,
The glorious mess you’re in!

What human tune can match your song,
When at the moon you bay!
The way you dodge those missiles flung,
My soul is yours today!

But now I see a rabid male,
His love to you offer,
Your manner’s coy, you wag your tail,
Dost thou his suit prefer?

Alas bitchkind, heartless, unkind,
Perfidious and unfair.
I start to grieve, but never mind,
At another I stare!

Published in Kavi Kala - The Visual Poetry Project, ed. Madness Mandali; Cinnamon teal 2010. ISBN: 978-93-80151-79-3.


Popular posts from this blog

She's complicated

She's complicated. She'll charm you with charts, statistics and that corporate smile. But look into those eyes, they're fiercely bohemian. She's complicated. Her chatterings seem to resonate with happy sounds, but listen with the other ear, to an unhidden lament. She's complicated. Her silences agonise, her voice echoes in her absence. And yet there is a mild dread as her name flashes on the ringing phone. She's complicated. Sometimes she's a poetess, shallow, romantic, trying to hide a sardonic, world-weary wit. She's complicated. She could be a spiteful Fury, wrath unabated, but that's just to hide the lamb-hugging girl within. She's complicated. She's an enchantress, a fool, a tyrant, a nurse, an imp, a priestess, but she's generally a good friend. She's complicated. Published in Making Waves - A Poetry Anthology , ed. Pam & Bill Swyers; Swyers Publishing 2011. ISBN: 978-0-9843113-6-1.

Nellie, 1983

Very often the sun rises in warm, golden rays on opening buds, birdsong and dewdrops, and the stench of stale death. Very often the sun rises Upon mutilated men - blood drying over their eyes and gore-caked machetes rusting in their abdomens. Very often the sun rises over hyaenas fretting over the carrion going waste - they can eat no more, nor can the vultures. Very often the sun rises on a day already defeated - shrieking, screeching, screaming, demanding that it go back for there was peace in the night. Published in Tranquil Muse 2018.

To the piece of orange peel in my bag on the trip to Janjira,

You were the only one to stay by my side when all others Had left me to travel that final stretch homeward alone And while I had to throw you away after two days Because of the stench that made me put the bag in the wash And earn mother's censure onto which she piled older grievances You did help relive some happy memories of the sea breeze And the boatmen's chatter and the old bronze cannons’ roar And cope with those whose IQ is less than yours And taught me that I was mortal in that ride across the creek And that like you I too shall one day be stripped of my essence And confined to the dustbin of humanity I miss you, orange peel Published in Lakdi Ka Pul - II The Poetry Bridge 2017 — an international anthology by Twin City Poetry Club