NAMES AND NUMBERS

 

Nowhere was a sign!

Was there?

They walked away carefree

Impending danger unattended

Escapes, returns with vengeance.

Glaciers melt

Floods rise silent

Names of cyclones

Names of vessels gone down

Names on tombstones

Clear; in the rains.

Walls painted new

Of community kitchens

Smoke, rises, names of homeless

Mud, rocks, soil

Covered them

Names unknown

Numbers mattered.

Graphs in many colours

World in lines and bars

Screaming the sea arrives

Waves usher salt, more tears

Shores    redrawn

Islands counted

Waters tested; calculations made

Loses recorded; percentages varied

World knew itself in

Names and numbers.

BAKING A POEM

‘State of mind’ has no governer

No one rules here for long

Administrators try their best

Chaos rule here, decide the rules.

Hear with no prejudice, what the mind says

Prejudged decisions saves not a sail in storm

Mind refuses a moulded image untrue to itself

Never the reflection of self, now marinated in fear.

Quietly it bakes inside the oven, door shut tight

From the scornful gaze, red hot and indifferent

The heart roasted in its thoughts bursts

Floats in air, sticks to a paper; a poem.

Monsoon’s fury

Now the hills tremble

I crash down the slopes

My roots writhing in much pain

As the dancing water

Forces itself to freedom

Scatters everything from

-the warm motherly hug of earth.

Rivers take to new destinations

Mud paints the houses anew

In the colour of earth

Her long rejected care;No more redeemed.

Man tries to envelope in the safety

Of his newly made systems.

I drift through his balconies

With a bruised trunk

The towns rip me apart

Roots thrown on the seashore

River’s fury now fizzles

As she cuddles upon the ocean’s bosom.

Sun dries the fractured root; moulds it

Into an artist’s freed vision

Now decorates the hall where experts

Talk on ‘ Monsoon in Climate Change’

My master’s voice

A new chewy toy

Pleasant days full of joy

Brushed white coat

Brisk walks along quiet by lanes.

My favourite spot near the bin

A quick pee, more run, then back.

Come Sundays

Grandpa took me to the ground

His old police life.

“Waltz! jump! roll! “

And a feast! juicy bones!

One more day; the maid has not shown up

I am hungry, my kennel smelly.

No one calls aloud “Waltz!”

Master, your newspaper

Shouldn’t I fetch?

A man walked in like a cat

Opened my kennel with a shout

Threw stones at me, it hurt

I wondered why, what for?

My calls for my master

His voice unheard.

With fear I walked off

No one called me back.

Silent was my house

Nowhere was grandpa

I walked, ran, never back.

I stood over the bridge

And looked down

The other dog was shaggy, mangy

It had no bone in its mouth.

One day I will hear my master’s voice

He would call out loud “Waltz”!

I will leap into his arms.

Lullabies and sobs

Where angels fear

Their wings to spread

More broken glass

They gently step, toes bleed

Blossoms dare not

Throw open their petals

Lest they surround

Cursed arid graveyards

Not a drop of love left

Dead lies

Culture of a civilization

Relics of a history valiant.

Quiet lay the infants

Cradles rock in rhythm

With each blast in town

Gunshots, familiar lullaby.

Unseen blue sky

Veiled rainbows

Behind black clouds

Stars rimmed with wet black

Never twinkled in dreams.

Where only weapons had voice

Mothers were hushed sobs

EACH STORY

Aura around new flowers

Ferns and other things green

A mere glimpse of these

Most fulfillingAcross the window

Mind creates a wide world

Welcomes the beautiful

Everything needs a new look

Stains left by passing timeIdentified, washed clean

Weeds uprooted; scars retained

Droplets of rain try to soothe

Dull! not needed!

Unenthusiastic look of it

Sun chooses some to dry

No turning back

Never nudged by the horizons

To stand up strong

Never met by the moon

Who pretends to sleep

Stars hid among clouds

Battle within goes on

Nothing equates each trial

To any other tribulation

Much remains unknown

About the flowers now wilted

Each story unique

For unique reasons.

Assurance of warmth

Seeps through the fissures

Carved along the shivering high walls

Once confident; moss and dust now owns;

Bonds the disjoints in the blocks

Of determination, that tend to float away

Garners together withered memories of wins

Forgotten triumphs, lost directions.

Myths unfold, well crafted stories erase

Rise Sun like, golden rays radiate

Gulp down the irks, live the true self

Let the world gape in awe.

Warmth repaints the faded colors of inside

Frost thins out, wild glory uncovered

A pebble like, but dazzles

Energy accumulated in each drop

To surge, shine and be strong.

by

Sherin Mary Zacharia

on the picture prompt

Writing Prompt Four
prompt4

for

https://creativewritingink.co.uk/writing-prompts

The beholder

Above the curves winding up

Where the large trees stop growing

The golden yellow leaves leftunruffled by the wind.

Mist descends while tea is boiling.

Fried, roasted; smells the air

Tangy sauce on olives from oven.

Songs, noise unlimited.

He watched it all

With eyes never met by other eyes.

Nobody saw him ever.

Amidst the dance and music

Men and women did not hearNight’s faint cry for life.

The mud was patted back to sleep

He saw it with his green eyes

And hid in his grey coat

Wearing a mask of silence.

Nobody saw him ever.

Woods, river, fragrant white flowers

The ghats snoredwith the streams, their stories

Washed, the wrong of the knife drowned

Now corrected.

Memories may live or not.

Up like a rod, agreeing,

A grey fur tail moved away.

Mist thickened; wild murmurs not lost

Embers tried to sleep

Smoking, the night waited for the dawn.

A quick dash; into the darknessOf the undergrowth.

Morning wore golden dew drops

On the blades of grass

That hides the night’s secrets

And marks made by muddy paws.

A jeep rumbling uphill

A red light on top

Warming the lazy courtyard

He closed his eyes tight.

He had seen nothing

Nobody saw him ever.

Quiet remain the mountains

Dead, the valleys below

More or less the world is the same.

Stains, marks on the grass

Licked up, erased and dried.

The mystic cat was gone

Leaving short harsh purr,

Covering unfound answers

The buried recent, as always.

inspired by http://www.walkthroughindia.com/…/indias-mysterious…/

Mindful Mind

                                                                     

A weary longing

For your hands to lift me up.

My weak joints drag me.

Will you remember me in your prayers

                                         before dinner?

My imaginations they call hallucinations

Can you be my voice and allow once

To hydrate my scorched tongue?

When each bud blooms

Honey bees dance, mango smell looms.

When each human smiles

The whole world lights up.

With all doors open

Butterflies glide in, fill every space with

                                                     wonder.

A bowl of hot porridge and a pinch of salt

To keep my heart warm, an unknown.

I did not go live nor was my name among

                                                 newsmakers

But you know I exist, obscured

Somewhere in the thick dark shadows of

                                                        misery.

A stranger on my own turf

Will you pass me a glance mindful?