of on a call
Dreamed that you were dreaming about me;
asked you to meet me in the morning
beside the blooming grandiflora.
Wet pavements witness shaft of the sun;
a promise in a dream can hardly
be broken without a touch of truth.
The dog whimpers at the bend, it seems
the magnolia grandiflora
is a flaming dress, grandeur is
in its design. I let the dog go.
They sense miracles. It is a gift.
=© 2009-Copyright reserved Kushal Poddar (reprinting is absolutely prohibited, without permission)
purple moss on a hand
The veins are thick, dark bluish green and flowing.
Mother's hand, see through skin, veins have spilled something;
inside it grow, a spreading patch. I watch it,
dark purple moss guiding the lost scout of time.
Words do not matter. Again they do, sometimes.
As I follow those thick veins I can see time
taking words for its winter reserve. Mother
clearly remembers that my first word was ‘No’.
A negative one. Time is taking that too.
Time streaming through a deep forest of old age
has my friend, Richard’s poems sent by a mail,
read to my mother who pretends to listen
though she doesn’t know English. Words do not matter.
=© 2009-Copyright reserved Kushal Poddar (reprinting is absolutely prohibited, without permission)
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Comments: 100
I loved this..."a promise in a dream can hardly
be broken without a touch of truth."
The other is a beautiful take on how the meanings of words, beginning with the first utterance, soften with time and become less important than their sounds.
purple moss on a hand
Hugs, Barbie
Featured in the Triple Name Club.
Thanks.
I do remember being born, I remember being a baby, my first and second B-day(though I forgot the rest until 7), the people, the weather, the sky. I remember.
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I think that humans are the mail sent to the person who can't read it. I liked these.
I think that humans are the mail sent to the person who can't read it.
fantastic sentence brother poet!
This is sheer genius.
Both of these are fine. Your time shared with your Mother will continue to inform your experience though it can certainly be tedious and the spreading of purple moss beneath the skin (as elders are often no longer such rolling stones) is a wonderful metaphor from life.
I love dreamscape meetings and use that medium for being with others often. Makes for interesting writing.
Thanks for posting to my group, Anythingwriting
I wiped tears upon reading your purple moss.
The other morning my granddaughter and I were sitting at the kitchen table discussing life when suddenly she took my hand turned it over and back and while I was still under her gaze asked: "Gramma why are you all spotty?" I was just thankful that she is such a discerning child. As you are Prince Poddar. never grow up.
And, Barbara, your story is precious and a wonderful memory.
Communication is what counts. We can communicate with words and without but it is important to know when to use each method.
This will be FEATURED in Artistic Minds®.
I'm lucky enough to see and speak to my mom everyday, but all of my grandparents have passed away. I do miss them.
Thank you for sharing your lovely poetry with us.
You are such a gift to so many, me included. Your mother has the gift of the sound of your voice and that is important. She knows she has a son that loves her enough to read to her, in a gentle voice.
Featured in the group, Poets, New and Old.
Because you are a gift, to me.
Marilyn
The second poem was very deep.
I like how your Mother listens to the poems, though she does not speak the language.
Beautiful perspective you have, Poddar. Lovely work.
shades of belief