Author: Sherinmary zacharia

It means much to me to be like you, with your appetite

The way you have gravies, spicy roasts in delight

When I am upset you rush for a song, your gene I’ve inherited

 My excuses you never mind, you see that I am not defeated.

Each time; on my arm the nurse pokes a needle through

I see my pain on your face, in my relief, my trust is  you

No one as kind as you to all, but these behind me in priority

Meetings, targets you are busy, your time for me you give majority

I know you are always there for me when I cry like crazy

In the cupboard you have kept my share of ’Dark Fantasy’.

Randomly you visit the ‘Best Bakery’s in town

Otherwise, you have bought a big watermelon

Sometimes the pouch is only medicines for me

Everything you give me is the best and a ‘Dark Fantasy’

*Dark  Fantasy -a chocolate filled biscuit

** Best bakery – a popular bakery chain in Kerala

The world sleeps, restless

Windows in the sky open

Angels peep down, real!

Snow over divided lands

Frost covers man made borders.

Rudolph sniffs the air,cold; chuckles

Pulls his sleigh, bells tinkle.

Silent is the night only there

where flags have no colors

crowds have no slogan.

No breaking news reported

Much ado was not there about nothing.

Lightness wells up in those hearts

where no questions mounted for no need.

Much time ran off as people realized

that they were moving as the strings.

moved them.

Thay could not change anything.

Not even themselves.

They kept playing without any purpose,

just a toy story.

Then they sat in their toy box

till the next play began.

Audio provided using a text to speech app

Spiny veins of discord

finds a wet wall

clings and climbs.

nerves sense each other, meet

along cracks and crevices

openings that would never joint

wide for the roots to delve in deep

spreading tight grip

winding left and right

claiming the bricks

to resonate with them.

Weather that nurtures them

in the way they should grow

wind caresses the thorny leaves

that spill blood on the buds

they turn red.

The Sun wanted to throw some light

on the shadows dark, scary

of sharp teeth, claws, pointed nails,

poisonous fangs all of untruth;

from behind thick clouds.

Time is for unseen scenes on the wall

playing the scripts of fear and mistrust.

May be sometime can let in

the rays of hope, expectations

from the tiny glittering stars

peeping out while the clouds move

to subdue the agitated minds.

Sometimes may leave the blossoms open.

By

Sherin Mary Zacharia

Out into the blue sky, up

Like pigeons flying together

Taking off with a loud flutter of wings

Screams rise uninterrupted

Echo in high decibels

Nothing to cheer on the daily race

No one to smile at the door just knocked

Waiting to open soon

Hunger drives all thoughts crazy

Rushing to hit the lamp post hard

Expressionless they blink day and night.

Every minute with a bone crushing pain

A frozen mind and a decayed soul cry

Dreams cease to exist in these forlorn.

spaces

Leaving it empty, devoid of hope and happiness.

Neither the men nor the women

Ever said a “Thank you”

To some important things in life.

They run helter-skelter to meet their targets

But forget to thank their shoes

Weary; bearing their feet smelly.

Neither men nor women pause

To smile, once they finish their lunch

At the water jug that had quenched their thirst.

Few ever had waited to check

If the chairs they were seated on

Are left arranged neatly, waved them good bye.

Yet, how can anyone ignore the trash bin

Which always kept their secrets as secrets?

They hardly thank the city lights

That made the night shine bright

There is way more to go, but often stopped

At the traffic light turned red.

Move again with expectations

Remember them as you reach home safe.

Published in Rhyvers Beat e-zine nov2022

Poem by Sherin Mary Zacharia on the picture prompt given by poet Dr.Santosh Bakaya madam

.

Waiting is a game endless

Watching never boils the pot

Will it? or will it not?

Result still unknown.

Eyes betray, searching unmindful

For the truth that mind wants in real

Most probably it will happen, it may; may not.

The chances are high, looking ahead.

Eyes forget atleast once to blink

Only the limitless clear blue sky above

Below the ground and all the dust

Gathered over the many years.

Like wooden dolls we stand, hearts frozen

Wearing emotions unchanging sans hope.

Do we see a dot growing big, bigger

On the horizon turning rusty, slowly.

One or two stars unable to wait for the moon

Peep out at our colours merge into fading light.

In the twilight the visitor comes nearer

A messenger from Godot

the next day again is to wait and watch.

MIND

Nude thoughts, firey eyes

Madness shivers down the spine

Rush to benumb her mind

The poem published in the website of The Art Of Autism’ as part of their Peace Project, in September 2022

True writers and artists

Are they who always knew

What man needs to ask each other.

Man needs to query,

Change many things

In the lives

In and around him.

Man should know the answers

To these questions alone

The rest doesn’t matter really.

Many bear worries in their hearts

About the day’s meal

Why bother about his skin colour?

Get him a sandwich

Distressed is the man

Who lives near the sea shore

Climate change has made the day’s catch smaller

Why bother about his religion?

Buy him a coffee.

Tired is the old woman

Selling snacks by the wayside.

She cares her retarded girl

Why bother about her caste?

Buy some samosas* from her.

A woman who cries everyday

Behind her dupatta*

Her son was in the school

That had blown up.

Why bother about her mother tongue?

Tears have no language

Hug her once; be kind.

May be the world is too large

May be the people are all different

Why bother?

Nothing matters more

Than love and hope

World needs these

To be peaceful

Now and forever.

Dreams are necessary

by

                                                                             SHERIN MARY ZACHARIA

Paying a great deal for the resentment

To slumber, need to keep one’s eyes closed

Rolling left and right on a bed of tender feathers

Neither warm milk nor melody of flute could invite sleep.

Some texts define a ruler as a murderer

The warriors whose heads he cuts counts

Trail of an emperor’s throne is laid in red

Wailing cities are but sounding his triumph

 Conquests; the only way to acquire someone’s dream

Crush it in tight fists, trample it beneath the feet

No war ever makes a hero

Raging fires leave only thick smoke

Dreams, desires much aspirations

Turn ashes in them, never known

They lived in Kiev, Kalinga, everywhere

Dreamt the happy faces of children

Wished their gardens would bloom

Pink and yellow each year; in full.

The tanks were rough on the snowy lawns

Leaving a grieving  waste  land.
Burning wind  echoes the wails;
marching armies over  dead promises
The  emperor neither slept any night
Nor had any sweet dreams ever
The border hosted talks  once  more 
The emissary’s horse flew eastwards

The gains  futile, fails mankind when
Decisions  decide to  destroy  peace
Into his heart remorse  speared  deep
A smile  returned  on the glorious  visage

Fading the need to be served 
But to serve is the need! got inscribed
Hostile plans all recalled
Brotherhood now reinstated
A real hero is born
No one can snatch  a dream 
Yet to take on its wings and glide free
Against the rudeness  of ideas

Which are never of one’s choice or wish

Ecstatic and secret dance of the mind
When peace holds its hand amidst a festive crowd
A waning moon, of greed

Comfort of sleep
Leaves the emperor dreaming
The good  days of the world

The baby slept in the cradle
Her mother’s  arm awake,  rocking
The camp was not  of silent losers
Dreams waited to enter  her star like eyes
Flying angels, colours and  flowers
Her mother shudders  as if a missile  dazed past them
Nightmares won’t  give  way for  white doves so soon
The milky smile but assured
A dream of hope and love
For the  times spent in desperation

War is not necessary
But dreams are;
They simply float in
Need no permission
Just some space for hearts to hold  together.

published in the Yercaud poetry festival 2022 by Soul Scribers Society Salem