Life-companion

Yes,
I shall write
a poem on you

Shall write the twenty years of
an enigmatic past
an epic unusual
an enormous geography
The tale of
a river ever-flowing
freely, perpetually

It's necessary
to intonate
the rippling sound
of water
Narrate the contentment
Speak of the faith
reverence and dedication

And this too
that a river be called a river !

Birth 'n' death, philosophy 'n' religion
All unite here
On the banks of river
sink and rise with ’em

All through life
How from shore to shore
in this river I flowed

Hunger 'n' thirst, day 'n' light
Winter 'n' cotton flower
Sweet scent of grains

All with the
touch of your fingers
is absorbed
in the spring of my life

Translated by Balkrishna kabra from Hindi

(More Poems by Shailendra Chauhan )

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A Poem by Bobbi Lurie


IN ORDER TO FORM THE FLOWERING

I will die without touching your face

and offer my deepest regrets
for all of this
for my servile self
has leaned too long against
the inner image of your countenance.

Without diffidence

I have stood outside your door,
tossing stones at the closed windows.
All the while you were sitting
within
attempting to block out the sound.

And I apologize for sneaking into your garden

late at night, unearthing the tulip bulbs
just to touch that thing you touched
in order to form the flowering
of whatever living thing might be created
through our mutual communion:

A trembling vermillion tulip, shaking in the March wind.


( More poems by Bobbi Lurie)

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Two Poems by Sunil Uniyal

Desire

a desire waited all day like the silence of the sea
with bated breath

a desire paced all day like the wind in excitement
in a forest of pale memories

till the evening fell and her lengthening shadows
sang an epicedium for it

Haiku

the first shower-
takes me unawares
the earth's smell

Sunil Uniyal
YZ 28, Sarojininagar, New Delhi-23
uniyalsunil@yahoo.co.in

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A  Poem by Arunansu Banerjee

Melody of crystal planets

Clothes glued to my skin,

I face the sky

palms outstretched.

I feel heavy,

like the trees

that stand upright

in a steady mizzle,

crystal planets drop off

their slender twigs.

On a day like this,

seated slothfully in a corner

frequent flashes

pierce my firmament.

Rumblings,

platter of drops,

and interspersed silence

plays out the melody,

that we once sang together.

(More poems by  Arunansu Banerjee )

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A Poem by Aasai Theeppori

Gandhi's Key

A British reporter interviews Gandhi.
The old mans opinion seeks he,
about the civilization of the west.
The wise old man does suggest
that civilization of the west is a good idea.
What guts has the half-naked man from India!
He has not just wisdom but also wit and acumen
to deconceptualize the white man's burden.

This interview deconstructs the philosophies
of those who use the subaltern as they please.
The minds whose basic concepts are most abusive
have been teaching the whole world how to live.
Is not civilizing these savage minds a good idea?
Yes indeed! Reconceptualization the best panacea!
Deconstructing all power-maniac philosophies
will save not just humankind, but all species.

Well-formed multi-conceptual minds see nature
as a living companion, guide and teacher.
Malformed mono-conceptual minds presuppose
that every living thing is a mere resource.
All members of nature abused as capital
by those whose epistemologies are brutal.
Both east and west have many a vulgar episteme
constructing some lives as low and some as supreme.

Millennium after millennium of environmental racism
made possible by the power of epistemic narcissism.
Tainting indigenous identities with false accusations
is colonizers key to justifying foreign invasions.
Ancient narratives have many a dramatic episode
demonizing subalterns using conflation as mode
and glorifying heroes who follow their religious code
to slay native-dwellers who strive to guard their abode.

Compassionate readers will be tongue-tied
to know that it used to be a matter of pride
for legends to commit arson and genocide
in each and every land they have occupied.
Eastern epic heroes who commit atrocities
are celebrated as subjugators of hostile cities
for burning many a tribal race and many a species
of innocent birds, animals, and life-sustaining trees.

The earliest eastern epics shamelessly narrate
how legendary heroes plunge and subjugate.
Warriors undoing peaceful abodes at divine request,
portrayed as both necessary and selfless conquest.
Kings and princes destroy forests not for selfish ends,
but for the sake of demigods and saintly legends
who see wild beasts, hissing snakes and tribal activity
as a nuisance to meditation, salvation and tranquility.

With disappointment demigods have viewed
how in Khandava forest all flames are subdued
by elephants who use their trunks to pour water
whenever fire is set by a divine intruder.
Frustrated demigods seek help from epic heroes
to burn down all their forest-dwelling foes.
After days of gruesome battle, forest lives come to a close
with blazing fire, choking smoke and wailing animals woes.

As scorched animals cry in pain and run pell-mell,
forests that used to be a heavenly abode are now a hell.
While victorious heroes are congratulated and blessings showered,
native geographic and epistemic constructs lay disempowered.
Nature in feminine terms the epics do graciously describe,
while simultaneously killing Thadaka forests matricentric tribe.
When uprooted subaltern lives are in headlong chaos,
epic heroes and demigods rejoice without pathos.

Today's demigods are nature-devouring corporate capitalists
who send native-dwellers to the top of endangered species lists.
What weapons are there to set the world free?
From where roots this capitalist killing spree?
It roots not from violence but from sick philosophy.
Reconceptualizing with peaceful guts the only working key!
To unlock ill-fed mono-conceptual minds, of what use are guns?
Guns will regain only geographic spaces, not epistemic ones.


(More poems by Aasai Theeppori)

A Poem by Satish Verma

A Poem by Thampi Jaysingh


Beauticia

Alone, I was sitting by a brook

In the silent setting of an eve.

Odor of jasmine rubbed my nose

And slowly approached a tender foot step.

An angel was standing in my front

As her velvet curly hair

Dancing in the wind.



A black spotted yellow gown

The tender Beauticia wore.

Her grapy eyes lively glanced

To take a secret, silent bath

That thrilled my heart and soul.



Now her little playful hands

Gently untied the cloak,

It creped down rustling,

Rubbing the bosoms, the thighs-

Beauty, beauty….



Now a passenger bus passed by

On my back!

When I turned again,

I saw a dancing pine tree

In front of the brook!

 

( More poems by  Sakthi S.Ravichandran )