a feeling ...

I keep hearing footfalls
behind me,
tapping, tiptoeing,
following;
if I am asleep or I am awake,
whether through a melting sunlight
or a cascading curtain of rainfall.

Looking back would only destroy all hope.

image - http://dversepoets.com/2011/08/27/poetics-third-eye-open/

passion...

across the boundary ...

A golden land with eucalyptus grove,

blue screaming birds in the yellow sky,

America; the land of dreams
peep through cedars and dazzling roads.

"Mother should come and stay with us,

isn't it lonely for her there?

And then, life is so troublesome in this land,

slogging and struggling to collect every penny,
coming home, cooking and washing

and now the baby!

We need someone to take care,

Afterall, you can't trust anyone here!"

Above, the sky bleeds its last red tinge

and the sea gives up to the dark.

Mother waits;

the longing in her eyes, fettered

among the green smell of a far away land of the Ganges.

The perfect round red circle on her forehead

reflects paddy field and a smell of raw undug soil.

For Mother, the rising Sun, at once its setting seven seas across,

history, flapping like a serpentile forked tongue in her heaving chest.

Between the lands, time ticked away.

Her tongue, a stiff embarrassment in her mouth;

her hasty wiping away of tears,

"dearest son, take me back to my land, my house needs me"

hangs like the bewildered clock;

her eyes wait

beyond the gurgling waves of the ocean,

for someone

to take her home,

where she was born.

http://amolife.com/image/art/victor-cyganov-incredible-paintings.html

Notes: - the diasporic plight for the elderly generation is still strongly prevalent even in this present day close knit global structure. They would have their longing for their homeland, struggling and striving to adjust with a foreign tongue and an alien society, caught perpetually into an in-between nowhere zone. After all home is wherein lies the heart and not the foot.

posted for http://dversepoets.com/

We who forgot to live ...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Kuoleman_puutarha_Tampereen_tuomiokirkko.jpg

I step out of myself

and watch her

staggering and numb

casting and recasting herself

wrinkled and sore feet;

her ... and him ...

 them and

everyone;

 I watch you all

passive and pale

half smiles

rolling down your cheeks.

So many people

so much more dead

than all those corpses.

They have all died

without cremation

without burial.

Poem for the dead ...

I dedicate this to all of them who have died at Mumbai, Oslo ...

 

image - www.amolife/image.com

posted for http://dversepoets.com/
http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2011/08/poetry-pantry-is-now-open-61.html