It's not everyday that the rooster stands

atop the roof and hails the day,

and when that happens they know,

it's their day.

They come to sit in the porch

and bask in the light,

their hearts sing

and their feet tap to the rhythm of the day

They watch the sunlight stream on a carpet of gold

and they dream some idle dream.

Their house has windows, innumerable, wise,

withe the wisdom and the knowledge when to open,

how much light to let in and when to shut and call it a day.

Ancestral houses are like the washed clothes drying in the sun and smelling of the seasons gone by.

Sushama Karnik

Thanks Danielle Chany for the image

Daniele Chany updated her cover photo.

JtulrygdS pcfoom2r8ndm,h sen2on0nred20  · 

Yeh woh raat hai

 यह रात है

जब तारे एक अकेले चाँद का अनुसरण करते हैं

और परियां नाव में कूद जाती हैं

आकाश में घर लौटने के लिए अंतिम नौका पकड़ने के लिए।

मैं बेदम हूँ

हवा का पीछा।

गति कम करो;

मुझे पकड़ने दो।

चलो भागो नहीं।

बारिश मेरी पीठ पर वार कर रही है;

मैं लथपथ हूँ, हड्डियों से काँप रहा हूँ।

अविवेकी, बारिश का स्पर्श,

एक सारथी की तरह अभिनय किया,

मुझे आपके शब्द का अनुमान लगाने के लिए कह रहा है

एक सुराग के लिए सिर्फ एक स्पर्श छोड़कर।

This Is The Night

 This is the night

when the stars follow a lonely moon

and fairies jump into a boat m

to catch the last ferry to return to home in the sky.

I am breathless

following the wind.

Slow down;

let me catch up.

Walk, do not run.

The rain is beating upon my back;

I am soaked, shivering to the bones.

Indiscreet, the touch of rain,

like a charade acted out,

asking me to guess your word

leaving just a touch for a clue.

6Arun Patil, Larry Marr and 4 others

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There are people and there are people...

 There are people and there are people

And there are those who are unforgettable

There is happiness when we meet,

sorrow when we part.

Love is a malady we have to suffer.

There is no cure.

There is an irony when love makes a visitation

from an unknown sphere.

It brings tears

It brings lessons,

unavoidable.

It washes away all regrets.

Washes away hatred and malice

from which we suffered

over those caused by others

and those we caused to others.

Like the monsoon in a city

it washes the sky clean

and parts with the season

leaving no traces on the streets

but leaving behind

an indelible mark on our being.

When the sky is clear and the sunshine real...

 When the sky is clear,

and the sunshine real

take on wings.

Fly more,

and hear the wind roar.

Follow the tracks the sun has left in the sea.

Fly till the dusk falls and clears the tracks.

But whatever happens to the sun and the sea,

keep your wings free.

Thanks for the image: Aris Daioglou

It's raining...the night sky is raining

 It's raining

The night sky is raining

raining in unceasing flow

of twilight and stars.

the cats on the roof top

sedate under the impact of moon.

The midnight opens the pages of the book

of the magic which some witch once wrote.

Since then the dynasties of cats have carried it in their genes.

Some prowl mysteriously haunted,

howling to the tune of a mad rhapsody;

some fall silent suddenly and dream of the ancient witch

whose secret potion carried

the drops of moonlight fused with rain

A Dream Castle

 A Dream Castle

The castle dreams of a moon

that will wax and never wane.

And the moon dreams of the casements

that open and will not close again.

On one such night the castle will cast no shadow.

The shimmering silhouette will draw the moon

and hold it captive in the sky.

The organ will sing a maidens song,

and the moon will cross the abyss and sink

in the night's arboreal arms.

Sushama Karnik (c)

August 7, 2020

Westward flows the light

 Westward flows the light

as the east is set to sink in the tide of the night.

The sun lights a candle in the silent waves,

The spectacle of the sun parting thus,

happens and will happen till eternity,

and yet the dance, the silence of the sea,

and the passion of the embrace,

as if the whisper of the last adieu.

Hope is the rock of the silent dance of eternity.

Sushama Karnik

Pensive and silent is the sea...

 Pensive and silent is the sea at night;

by the day it was full of rage.

The boats that rocked and the winds that swayed the masts

were like images seen in a dream.

Now the sea is calm

like a thought that wandered and came back tired

to feel its own sound, the whistle of the restless gale.

Here on the shore she would always come

to spend some moments in the thought,

now audible in the starlight and the quiet sea.

Thinking in the presence of the sea

is not a matter of being lonely and sad;

it's a matter of choice,

a matter of feeling what the sea would feel

when a solitary heron would sail on the wings of some massive cloud

and come to watch with solicitude

the woman and the sea, and the deep calm.

Sushama Karnik (c)

Once upon a fallthey met...

 Once upon a fall

they happened to meet

on a lonesome road

lined by trees and beneath their feet

a carpet of gold. The sun was smiling warm

as the two exchanged pleasantries.

The weather, O so good, and children,

O they are doing well.

The youngest is still not in school,

and the eldest doing fine.

Come, sit awhile; the one said dangling her foot

as she sat in an idle manner on the bench.

Some other time, she said. I have to reach home soon.

And thus they shared the moments

on a certain afternoon

when the season of fall made everything feel so good.

Sushama Karnik.

Flickriver: Photoset 'John Atkinson Grimshaw

Photo album Apt John Atkinson Grimshaw

Out of the morning mist...

 Out of the morning mist

a road will emerge.

Around the bend,

a hoarding will shine.

That is the bend where roadsters stop

confused after the passage through the night.

A sudden turn and the traveler halts.

The bends around the corner always hold

the traveler, and the path plunges in a renewed dark.

I love these bends on the sudden mornings on the roads,

the markers, the signs, the clearing of the mist;

they fill me with wonder. They are the reason why we travel

on and on, wakeful through the sleepless nights.