suntannedapples

Thursday, April 28, 2022

There, I saw some godly beings

in robes of pink,

their bodies, drawn in a hazy ink.
I saw them fly past a sacred ring.

I saw them: a lady emerging in the greyish dawn,
her wisdom-child walking along, touching the brim of morning light.
As if someone had drawn them with the evening hues
and waited through the dark for the night to end.

In the light of the dawn, they flew
unfettered on the wings of the swan.

Sushama Karnik.
28/04/2021

Friday, April 22, 2022

Certain mornings come

with a confusion on mind. I wake up late;
the trees are quiet; no birds sing.
I missed the hour of gratitude.
The hours are a drag, a push and pull.
I just want to go back to sleep and dream. 

Such quiet on a morning
in this bustling town!
It's not in keeping with my city!
I remind myself, it's not good! It is the lockdown. 
Keep the windows shut or open, as you please. 
Pick up the phone, say a few words,
make a video call, connect.
Connect with the world.

Such a weird word, "Connect"!
I feel guilty at every point I missed
not having done those  little things,
too much embroiled as I was in anxiety.
Yesterday, riding alone in the auto, 
mindful of what I had to do
on my way to my vaccination,
a lad came to sell something
as the vehicle paused at the signal.
He kept chasing me;
I can't forget my guilt as he said,
Buy it for ten; ok; buy for eight.
I'm hungry."

I couldn't make up my mind
because I was nearing the place where I had to take a turn,
And I had better not make a mistake and  miss that turn.
I didn't even look at his face. But his voice still lingers in my mind.

Throughout the day I was regretful
May God have given him some customer 
who fulfilled his need.
God bless him.

Françoise Dhulesia

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Tuesday, March 29, 2022

Seek not the toys which the child forgot. Published on March 29 2021

Seek not the toys which the child forgot.

The paper boat, if you unravel the folds,
still bears the date of the newspaper
in the crumpled corner of the edge.
This was the one which the child saved
from the foolishness
of letting it into the water.
It stands still on the bookshelf among the books,
crisp, dry, intact from the impact of time.