Music break
The wrinkles on her
coffee colored face
transform into signs
and musical notes.
She thinks of those tunes
sung while harvesting,
sung when reaping,
sung in lazy noons,
sung on the road to
the jungle for wood
and for wild honey,
when waking Gods,
during marriages.
A drop of rain comes
to touch her forehead.
The cloudy tune breaks
the hush of her death.
=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar
Mute
A covert house, barely can be seen from the dirt road.
Crisscross shadows on the porch is her sign language,
ways to speak; ways to urge him silently, “Come early.”
Fingers whisper. He nods curtly and sets on his way.
The house becomes quiet. It has been, of course, soundless.
She works on her own; the kitchen turns aromatic.
Noonshine dances about these images, to and fro.
She cannot really know of a stalking stranger;
the stranger enters. The net-door, kept ajar, flutters.
The mute world; she cannot cry in her sign language…
She turns her head. Spring is a strange season after all.
=© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar
recommend this
email
print
link to this page
Comments: 63
Featured in the Triple Name Club.
The second piece is a wonderful peek into the life of another. I'm always amazed by your ability to depict of female characters, Kushal.
Thank you for posting to The Surreal Circus.
You made this one personal. For me, it's my mom's deathbed and her passing which I missed and whose scene I can only imagine. But it is a good imagining. Thanks Kushal.
Invocative! What a sentence.
Tribute to Craftsmen
:+)
touching.
GREAT, of course-BUT I like the 2nd one better. The 2nd one, am I mistaken is rather a tragedy though?
These are uncharacteristically hopeless, Poddar.
Well-written. They drew me in!
that's chilling...I couldn't imagine being mute and can't scream. I bet spring scares her the most. I loved both of these poems. Both of the poems make me count my blessings that I have.
The second poem sends a shiver. The last sentence is chilling. Excellent.
:) wishing you laughter
Having read again this morning with the wind in mind, and the net door fluttering, it does fit. Thinking wind means a fright and then relief and a little giggle for having been so scared for a second. I like it.
This is what is so good about your poetry. It can be read with different realities and each one works. But still, I always like to know the author's reality, otherwise I am always only confined to my own little world, and what good is that? In sharing, we free ourselves. Thank you.
The second~chilling
Thanks for posting to my group, Anythingwriting
These poetics are marvelous in many ways ~ reaching into the depths of the soul if one is able to hear the words speak clearly to the crevices of places pushed into the background...
This is FEATURED in Artistic Minds®.
Remember to howl
I'll check it out!
You carry me away into your metaphors...thanks