Sunday, July 22, 2012

Two poems in Vayavya

Vayavya, a literary journal, is an initiative of Mihir Vatsa, a young Delhi University literature student. I am glad he asked me to send my poems for this issue, which happens to be the fourth. The journal is creditable, do check it (and my poems) out here.  (delighted at my newly acquired skill of putting hyperlinks, I like to show off :-) )

I am also putting the poems below. Old ones, these, but old favourites :-)


From a sober olive green
dark, sombre, brooding jealousy
to bright emerald which screams
its insecurities to your face
to jade- moss- parrot green
to the sickly green pallor
of vomiting food or
unpalatable emotions.
I have turned all
greened all, screamed
from the pain of burning
a yellow-red-orange flame
which I try to simmer down,
swallow down, green-it-down
before it rages and runs amuck.
I wonder what's green about

How to Make a Juda

A wealth of hair
wound around my hand
twisted, just so
with a flip movement, there.
And then there's the inner filling
the stuffing
which must be put in
just right, neither caving in
nor protruding
ouch! That was tricky!
A cautious patting of the bun
to affirm its roundness
its smoothness, neatness
And the wooden stick
with its carved, crowning head
is now inserted
at just the right angle.
Or a pencil or a paintbrush
would do as well
if sticks are few.
Holding up a mass of hair
with a single stick
and grace
that comes from minimalism
The art of juda making
like the art of poetry
is of delicate precision

Three Poems in Muse India

Three poems are up in the July-August issue of Muse India  which deals with the theme of  Monsoon- 'Varsha Ritu'. You can see them here.  (let me mention here that I am vastly proud of my newly acquired skills in putting hyperlinks and on top of the world)

I am also putting the poems below :-)


The amaltas in the distance glows yellow
The newly washed world is sparkling and clean
The rain has clothed it with a rainbow hued sheen
Splashing and tweeting in puddles flock sparrows.

Parakeets stick their heads from tree hollows
The gulmohur leaves laugh verdant green
Forming a feathery, whispery screen
The orange melons in the fields dream mellow.

Here and there you can spy ripe mangoes
I wish a blue throated peacock would preen
That would be a splendid sight to have seen
Eagerly pecking at the fruits crowd crows.

With the stormy winds I want to dance
Filling each pore with a touch of romance.


It was a gift
To lose myself in Landour greens
In the june heat
A gift of blue purple rain clouds
Raintrees rain birds in the mountains
And rivers making love to the sky
It was a gift of song and laughter
Ruskined epiphanies
Bonding unsullied Garhwal beauty
It was a mother’s gift
To her daughter at sixteen.

Years later I was to know
Of your Landour trips
And to treasure the fact
Landour desires oozing out of me.


Music of the aeolian harp
melody of flute and lyre
It is the sound of heavens laughing
the thunder is the tabla beating
destroying habit
enforced freedom from routine
I tune in with the rhythms of this dance
to be set free.