Michele Baron, Fulbright Scholar, author, artist, researcher, musician and social innovator reads my poem ‘Autumn Resurrected’. It is beautifully done and the artwork by her is amazingly delicate and I am totally in awe of her talents. A very thrilling experience for me and Michele’s lovely rendering gives another dimension to my poem. Thank you Michele and Ampat Koshy for making this happen.
The path turned away from the bustle of life
We halted, finally alone with the tall trees
The floor, a striped carpet of sun and shade
Around us an orange rain of leaves
You kissed my hands, gently pushed me down
A replay of a younger season
In your dark eyes, a scented image lurked
Of green mangoes and silver-belled strings
I want this scene to break its waters
even if it leaves me irrevocably broken
So there I am under the tall trees
caressed by a vagrant breeze
but it seems this you cannot bear
You are on your knees shoveling furiously
till the assonance of twin coral-crested baubles
beneath a leaf-bejeweled corset
dissolves your peace
I stretch and fill my autumn grave
Deliriously content to be slaughtered
by skin, breath and unrestrained vigor
my back cushioned by purple heather
A delicate conspiracy of creation
murmuring its delight in my ears
That was then
Not long now
before you join me under the forest floor
A space waits alongside my imprints
A space to which I sometimes flee
to make sure you haven’t reached
before my time is breeched
Our spring has spilled over several seasons
I am a wistful bloom minus her green sepals
You juggle wildfires-a defiant breeze
whenever we meet
I try to hold on to my cast-off skins
But you devour each one, my fanged king
leaving me bare
A tree birthing itself
When a land sings,
silence becomes us The flow of its streams, the gush of our blood
Presenting a poem that moves beyond the ordinary -a sensual delight, a poem that speaks not through mere words but through the very feel, the form, the movement and the grace of it turning language into a willing slave and bursting through dust and bone into the blood. Thank you Alan for your generosity in allowing me to share this poem.
Home. Very happy to have a short story “John and Arunachalam” included in this lovely 2nd anniversary issue of The Browsing Corner. Many thanks to Minakshi Watts for a great compilation of poems, stories, video poems etc and for giving my story a super platform. Each piece is a gem that delights! Link to my story ” JOHN and ARUNACHALAM”
Should we be discussing if poetry is dead
or is it enough to bring down a flower from a tree
and stare at it till it relents
to become strands of squeezed colour
stacked horizontally or failing that
vertically till the column
a free fall of gravity ?
Poetry hooks us when we are weak
and chokes us when we think we are strong
so is it dead
Is it only a ghost that drags us into its annals?
How powerful it is in death!
How much more if it breathes ?
Thrilled to have Niamh’s Wednesday corner back and with a bang with an awesome, tender and healing post by Fycsene Shields. Her words have expressed with great sensitivity why art heals seen and unseen wounds. Her loss is shared by all of us for there is none in this world who doesn’t weep. A beautiful poem by her late husband captures the soul of her feelings. The feel of this post will stay with me somewhere even when as the actual words are lost to passing time. An attempt to keep them near for a little more is what this share is trying to do! Thank you Fycsene and Niamh.