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Savita Singh

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Sukrita and Savita's

'Rowing Together'

 

Unattended Things

 

My heart missed its usual steps this morning

Dew drops were vanishing before

I could approach them with my unsure feet

And the rose petals fallen on the ground, perhaps late at night,

Looked so much like

What had been lying within me, unattended for some time,

 

 

My mind paced strangely this morning

The red and blue and even my favorite green of the rainy sky

changed colours I had not seen before

Earlier where there were words, there was only a patch

Of a confounding muttering silence

And all that was  a void of some sort I knew almost well

Was now a ditch full of pinkish mud,

In place of clarity there was an uneasy compassion,

The neighbor's cat that vexed me often

Was sitting in his balcony postured so meekly

That for once I thought it was such a sad way to be

Especially if it was drizzling and it was a Sunday morning

 

Sometimes this is how things are, even the mornings,

Or may be they look so

As this morning looked today

Or may be this is how I saw it showing itself to me

As some day those unattended things,

Lying  within like the sad meek cats

Would show themselves

As they should be looked at.

 

 

 

Unbound

 

The wind was honing an idea

In a birdís head 

One that had just finished making its nest,

It had come to tell me too

That only time had produced me,

I was no one to think of my transcendence

Sadness that continuously drop within me from a tap,

Rusted and unstoppable

Is also an opening

To a creative melancholy.

 

By the end of the evening

The bird was well perched on its  nest

Leaving me to wander

In the wide-open world

Unanchored

Unbound.

 


To Be With

 

I knew all the trees in the neighborhood

Those marked by the lovers,

Their names inscribed secretly on the trunks

And their leaves that shed tears for others

 

I knew innumerable squirrels jumping all over the place,

Birds that shared the lives of its silent inhabitants,

For there are legion: forlorn, courageous, handsome beings

Living without hope of ever witnessing a change

 

Curiously, I also knew when the rains would come,

When secret multicolored birds would flutter their wings

To alert the tactless and naive of rain water

Flooding their nests

 

Lately I have also come to know

That the prayers of the needy get entangled

With forces unknown in the lower zone of the stratosphere

Never reaching the highest ever,

And all good wishes for these people crumble

Before they surge from the hearts of well-wishers,

That way birds, squirrels and trees with tear-shedding leaves

Are still the best things for them to know

And to be with

 

 

 

 

Watching Sparrows Play

 

It was after a cold day

That the sun was out again

Heating my cheeks gently

As I sat in my study

People were out on the icy streets

Planning and plotting to conquer the day

Looking for the suitable love and hate

To sigh away some maturing pain within 

 

It was after a cold day really

That the Saturday had come 

When I spent my whole afternoon

Watching the mating of the birds

In the silence of a shadowy tree

Watching sparrows play and play

 

It was after a cold day

That the sun was out again.

 

 

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