doesn’t matter that it ended this way
doesn’t matter that it started
with the flutter of a silken wing
please tell me that the butterfly
had the choice
to stay still…
Choice
Cherita
Dear Tomorrow
so, dear tomorrow,
can’t you see how earth
prepares herself for that inevitable end?
I worry about you –
what will you be when there’s no one left
to measure time?
****
A cherita for earthweal, the place for poetry on the climate crisis. So many parts of the world are already reeling under the impact. Sherry talks of the atmospheric river systems lining up in Canada, while here in the south of India, the North-East monsoon season seems to have gone completely, devastatingly mad. Go to Earthweal.com to read/ learn/ contribute.
As if
as if
this world could have
dreamt up love
without the exquisite pathos
of that full moon
alone, again, in a star-filled sky
****
a cherita for earthweal
City Cherita – XII
they come to the flower bazaar
for jasmine, for marigolds, for roses —
for funerals, for weddings, for worship —
at night, the unsold flowers
become this city’s story
of all that did not happen
*****
Sharing this cherita from my book ‘Duplicity‘, published in Sep 2021. ‘Duplicity’ contains a mix of freeverse and micropoetry – cherita and modern haiku/senryu. Both print and kindle editions are available on Amazon. Also listed on Kobo. More information and links here. You can read another poem from the book here. Do grab a copy today and let me know what you think!
The light
mid-march, the light
a feverish wound
inside my eyes
burning the end
of a story
I took all winter to write
Poetry of the rice fields
transplanting rice
she complains
about her heartless lover
to a scarecrow
without
a head
sweat trickling down her back
she watches him
in the rice field
a shadow lands,
then an egret
another shadow, another egret
first summer rain
the smell of want
the smell of soil
ankle-deep in water
she giggles —
covering his face
Throwback to some Cherita
In August 2017, I had six poems published on The Cherita. I couldn’t share the poems immediately because of the rules of the journal and then the display format. Later, ‘The Cherita’ released several anthologies, collecting all the poems published by them. I recently managed to get myself the kindle version of one of the books titled ‘Where the river bends‘ and can finally, have all my poems up on my blog. Cherita is a form, as you might know, created by Ai Li who is the editor of the online journal and the curator of the anthologies. (If you’ve already seen a few of them on my Instagram page, well, this is the backstory)
(1)
the horizon thickens
the sea separates
from the curdled sky
we rise like wet birds
from the water
into emptiness, into nothing
(This Cherita also appears in my book ‘Water to Water‘)
(2)
origami bird
I fold and refold
our love
hoping
one day
it will fly
(3)
the after-rain
a moon trembles
in every puddle
sleep leaves the window
and slips into
my empty bed
(4)
a door slammed
a dog barked softly
once, twice
she woke up
when she heard the wind
tiptoe into the garden
(5)
afternoon quiet
the cat sleeps
in sunshine squares
the light and I
argue about shadows
and god
(6)
the sound of temple bells
she closes her eyes
for a moment
when did she get
too old
to pray for love
Flash fiction and such…
February has been a writing experiment. If you’ve been following this blog, you’ll know I’ve been trying my hand at flash fiction (500-1000 words). So, if you are part of blog groups that share flash fiction or if you write some yourself or have anything to do with flash fiction at all, do give me a shout. I’d love to read your work and link mine as well.
Meanwhile, a cherita (which is also a storytelling form):
morning crossword
every face on the train
a clue
every story
expecting
an empty white square
New Reason
like Scheherazade
fighting
to stay alive
love invents
a new reason
every night
For Poets United‘s Midweek Motif : Invention
Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017: #30
On this last day of the first edition of Micropoetry Month, I thought we’d take a look at the Jisei, the Japanese Death Poem. The Jisei, written about death in general or about one’s own imminent death, reflects the poet’s contemplation of his mortality, of what was and what comes next both in the context of self and universe.
One translation of Basho’s famous Jisei goes like this:
On a journey, ill—
And my dreams on withered fields
Are wandering still.
I attempted a jisei a couple of years ago, here’s another shot at it. Share your micropoem, about death or maybe about life, using comments or Mister Linky.
And when I realize
there was no now,
that life, like time, was a linear illusion.
Like death.
What then?
A cherita as well in the same tone:
she wrote her jisei in six lines
one line about
the fickle, waning moon
two about a persistent mist,
and three about a hobbled dream
waiting for a perfect night
THOUGHT PURGE 