A Poem by  Cathal Ó Searcaigh
 

Mount Errigal
(for Derek Ball)



1
Rarely
do you speak –
wrapped in contemplation
guru of my adoration.

Once in a while
a koan might slip
from your mouth
as a gift.

Your word is a rock
of weight,
a mystery
to meditate.

Rarely
do you speak
which is why
heather breaks out

In the space between words

II
On sunny evenings
you exude
pure gold
a cascade of loveliness:
alms bestowed
on the poor

III
Warrior
of the windy gap,
hero
filled with battle sap.

Upstanding, faithful, courageous,
our protection, our heart’s desire,
fighter of storms
and winter’s ire.

Champion of unwavering mind
the moon shield you hold
in your right, in your left the spear of gold.

Standing erect
in battle fury, wild,
what need we fear

you are in the gap of danger
ever alert –
mountain bare.


IV
You are in love
with the sea
but loath to admit it;
the rolling rollicking wave
that speaks to you from day to day
with beguiling sweetness.
Her grey-green lively eyes
bewitch you
the bright curve of her limbs –
tangy breath.
For aeons you hearken
to her flood of chatter
paroxysms of tears.
You can hardly draw a breath
when those buttocks of hers are bared
out there yon by Tory.
You are in love with the sea
and so forever it will be
but here you are
firmly planted in rock
and you’ll never go a-roaming with her
west on the boreen.

(Translated from the Irish by Gabriel Rosenstock)


(More poems by Cathal Ó Searcaigh)



A Poem by Minal Sarosh


Soliloquy of Silence


More than words, it’s your pauses
which fall between bricks,
cement silence, build a wall,
which I’m trying to understand.

Or how the wordless stare
of the enlightened mirror,
reveals everything about me
with just one glassy cold glance.

And my own hushed silences
A mole on the face of the ocean
I frantically try to drown
my unknown unquiet islands.

To the calm with which
time keeps moving, in a clock,
in safe, but uneven hands,
a second not dropped back.

Also the soundless sunflower
arching its petal head, every time
the sun becomes a bow
and day follows without protest.

But Oh mute Grim Reaper
Will I ever understand you?
Or only until I cross over
to where the roots cling
to the soil, grow wordlessly.
 

(More poems by Minal Sarosh)
 


A Poem by Debayudh Chattopadhyay


On her birthday

Once night descends upon Kolkata, a strange scent spreads in all the
four directions.
On the leaves of all the Ashoka trees lying in the city’s corners
rises an aroma unknown,
left there by the spring
Gradually as the April rain makes the sky bleed,
All the talk reaches the lie heralded since birth.

It’s evident that even after such tiring occurrences, we are still
juvenile at some level;
So much remains to be deciphered; it isn’t clear as to
Loving whom, and for whom, there were so many games.

Amidst this cacophony the search for a formless silence continued,
So many questions dissolved into the wind, without any answers.

Only, a birthday arrived like a sudden burst of rain
And took you even closer to death…


Translated from the Original Bengali by Apratim Mukhopadhyay
 

(More poems by Debayudh Chattopadhyay)


A Poem by Divik Ramesh


Grain in House


Though bought with borrowed money
there is grain in the house
tonight.

The lady of the house is happy
she has mud-coated the courtyard
Joyously.

The rolling pin and bread board
are flapping their wings;
the lady is happy.

There are no vegetables to
go with bread,
but the lady is happy.

She will grind salt and pepper together
and garnish it with a pinch of coriander
the stone-slab and mill-stone are thrilled.

Grain, though bought with borrowed money,
the man and his lady are happy.

The walls too are happy-
there will be respite now
from the daily household-bickering.

The children have wiped their noses clean,
the broom smiles like the woman next door.

The house it seems is vibrating,
the wife is happy, and happy her man;
there is finally some grain
in the house tonight.

(More Poems by Divik Ramesh)


A Poem by Shobhana

smile


A white toothed grin bursts from hollowed cheeks. There’s radiance in those eyes. And one thinks this is happiness. Until one looks beyond. Bones beneath it all. Bones that scream for attention from within skin. The tattered clothes tell a tale. Of previous avatars. Handed down in charity. Fulfilling satiated souls, but barely filling those hungry. The smile walks on, carrying the light frame with it. Lighting one’s heart. Igniting guilt. Long after the encounter, what remains is the smile. One born from greater endurance than mere existence. one that gently nudges the thought of benevolence into the shame of living in disparity

( More Poems by shobhana)


A Poem by Joshua Gray



THE UNCLES OF WEST BENGAL


We flew across the Atlantic to see them,

only to find their wives already widowed.

Such a shame the boys will not meet them at all.

What a shame you and I never knew when to say goodbye.


And now, as our hairs begin to gray and our bodies wear,

we fight our way through the streets

to each familiar flat where the widows reside

where you hold their hands and assure them with your eyes.


During each visit after drinks are passed around,

sweets are eaten and gifts given with smiles and laughter.

The pictures we take record the silence we share;

where there is so much to say, we say so little.


As we leave each wife, each long time friend, you doubt

we will see them again. The one uncle, still alive

though not well, the eldest, invokes a certain hope

that this is not the final time to hear their laughs,


feel their eyes warmly clutch an arm.

The chance was minute, yet real, our boys,

oblivious to your angst, would get to know their family,

and put personalities to the stories


that are seared into their minds like memories.

( More Poems by  Joshua Gray)


A poem by Goirick Brahmachari
 


Utopia




Shades of Saffron hide

In a sack full of afternoons

Saffron Soul. Saffron kites. Skin. Soil.

Saffron is a colour.

Saffron Pyre, Saffron Sins

Saffron polity of killings

Death however has no colour.

Saffron lies, Saffron traitors

Saffron salvations of deceit

Rebirth

Saffron is just a name

Misused, time and again

Leaves that turn saffron. Fall

Saffron, a thought

Humble.

Saffron Kids, Saffron monasteries, Saffron chimes. Waves.

Saffron, a feeling

Saffron sands of time.

And so, those who wear

Saffron in their hearts

Cannot kill.

For those who kill

Surely can’t sing saffron.

And those who remain silent,

Are wary- wary of the mistrust.

So they weep.

And in Saffron they seek

In Saffron they sing

Saffron songs

Beyond polity and religion

Beyond race and colours,

Beyond pride

In Saffron

they seek

In Saffron they sing

Saffron songs.


Bio

Goirick works as a consultant for an economics research organisation in New Delhi India. -An ardent follower of Jazz, Blues and Indian classical forms of music. He loves to travel and document places and experiences through his poems. His poems have been published / accepted for Publication in Decanto (February,2013) , Taj Mahal Review (December 2012) , Four Quarters magazine (August 2012), Delhi and other Indian Journals.)


My Voice | Poetry At Our Time | In The Name Of Poetry | Editor's Choice | Our Masters
 
Who We Are | Back Issues | Submission | Contact Us | Home