Skip to main content

Yesternight and Yesterday

Yesternight I thought the stars came out,
twinkling towards infinity,
the moon was a sil'vry orb
as she played hide-and-seek with the dream mists;
I thought I met the Queen of England
and the Prime Minister of Bangladesh
on a helicopter over the Caribbean
sharing a turqoise curacao
in an electric-lighted reverie ;
I thought I saw the sun rise,
red, orange, yellow
to the avian symphony of
magpie-robins, mynahs and
red-whiskered bulbuls;

I thought I saw the hibiscus buds open
and the frangipani leaves shed dew;
But what I truly saw
was the grime-laden red city buses
with their overloaded,
quarrelling commuters;
What I truly saw was
the trains stuck at bright red signals
that wouldn't change
to the green glow of progress;
What I truly saw
were my office lights in the false ceiling,
the monotone of the air conditioner
and the stern, upstanding computer screen;
What I truly saw,
was yesterday.

(A bit of the Carpenters' 'Yesterday Once More' might be in this, but just a bit.)

Published in Making Waves - A Poetry Anthology, ed. Pam & Bill Swyers; Swyers Publishing 2011. ISBN: 978-0-9843113-6-1.
x

Comments

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.

Mother

Mother has many names. Anak Krakatau might be one of them, Or Uttarkashi or Qinghai, Haiti certainly is. She's the mother that swallowed Maui into her womb, the mother that disarmed Karna, who led Oedipus to sin. She plays pranks too, in that cheerful way unique to her. We find strange names to give them - tsunami, hurricane. Kalki is another name we've given her, for when she will be an old woman looking for some kind of elixir of youth. Perhaps some quack will mislead her to find it in our blood. She has a heart of gold they say - pure, molten lava, that sometimes erupts on her skin like a ripe pimple. She loves nothing more than the sound of babies crying - orphaned, bloodied, hungry, dying their carcasses feeding hyaenas. But hyaenas are her children too. But she is the green mother who feeds us, clothes us, protects us from the sun's ionizing radiation, we came from her loins, which is where we go.

बर्फी की शादी - बालकविता

बर्फी के घर में शादी है, दुल्हा उसका लड्डू है, माला उसकी किशमिश है, चूडी उसकी काजू है, बादाम उसकी बाली है, चाँदी की उसकी चुनरी है! यह कृति उमर बहुभाषीय रूपांन्तरक की मदद से देवनागरी में टाइप की गई है|