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Chicken on the grill
*********** By Sherin Mary Zacharia Jackals come into my backyard, Coal blazes, Chicken cleaned, waits, Marinade of spices, a red coat. Dusk enters the garden, Awakens small beetles, Dark, glittering wings they have, Drawn to the light or aroma? Grandpa brings the grill, Embers stretch flame fingers To snatch the first bite Of the delicacy.
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A heart to be read
By Sherin Mary Zacharia Water wets the leaves, Those leaves touching the water, Misty air caresses the wings Of those birds flying, tired. Love-laden wind Gently brushes the tree tops, Waiting for dusk to pick up The hot sun above, Place it in the sea’s cradle, Swinging, humming softly a lullaby To put the world
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HAMPI
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SWEET LIFE
Wind took me, many places A gentle tour, that afternoon Under the swing I kissed a pair of tiny shoes. Over the speeding tricycles I stood over a pink hair bow. The giggles left for the day With a spoil sport, ill mannered bell. I was now alone Nearly desolate, In the sinfully silent play
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Farewell
Me Shaggy! You too are shaggy! Our lunch box empty. We float together Kite and cloud like, Freely in air. We lie down Watch the night sky Watch the water, fill up the potholes. Rain washed us, After a week or two Cold wrapped our wet beings. Our homes no more for us Streets opened
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Ordinary tea shop, ordinary people
__________________________________ By Sherin Mary Zacharia A cafe, beyond the tall wall On the other side of the street Color of jalebis, luminescent Crisp ‘*parippuvada’ shatter The mid day silence. Afternoon naps wakeup Men munch warm ‘*pazhampori’, Sip hot tea, loudly debate politics. A mom on her scooter Buys her kid tangy fruit juice A tiring
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Watermelon, the world and love
from the anthology SUMMER SASHAYS by Soul Scribers Society Salem *Charles Simic, author of poem ‘Watermelons’ *Pablo Neruda, author of poem ‘Ode to the watermelon’
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War, the loser
this poem was published in the online edition of The Wise owl magazine. the young Iranian poet who was killed in the war, Ms. Parnia Abbassi, is remembered here
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Eagle in the fishmarket
By Sherin Mary Zacharia Water ripples Boats are nearing the harbour A bird’s eye view Counts the fish in the catch, a hard day’s labour. Eagle spreads its wings, soars high Counts the boats, the splashing waves Crows fly in groups Black, noisy, annoying, speedy winds they brave. Fishermen tanned, wet, touch the shore Crates
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Beautiful world
Counting the tiny dew drops swinging, With golden glow, on pine needles After the lazy Sun wakes up, late, Still hiding behind the misty hills Over the meadows, wet; they shake dry- To be green and bright, in the warm shine. Peace comes from true beauty Beauty much fresh and pure Untouched by man and