By
Daipayan Nair
THE SWAN
The words search the quill
Ready to pour they are
like the Nevada falls of stares keen
To hold back is a step forbidden
To shed is a mystery gifted
Perceptions are crimes forgiven,
for the veil desires to be lifted.
A poet I am now
as I have always been
And I shall kiss the dust as one
Be it the tease by the loving lilies
or the ripples of savagery
Reach the bank, will the swan.
MARIGOLD’S FEAST
To Marigold’s feast
am I invited
The roses and the jasmines
in brooches and bouquets coloured
To Marigold’s feast
am I invited
Even the dry marshes seem flowered.
The gladioluses of many a chord, shed perfumed tears
Lips of hibiscus smiling; alluring many a gul mohar,
Majestic sunflowers wearing crowns anew
The stares of lilies, hard to bear!
Some exquisitely bright like the Irish moss white
Holding cups of vine, making pastures shine
Be it camellia or be it the yellow gowned dahlia
To none do they offer their wine.
The cord grasses furry and slender, sprinkling zephyrs romantic
Assisted by the dragon flies of silken wings,
The saccharined pollens served with grace
The violin inside the thrush sings.
To Marigold’s feast
am I invited
I turn to leave
only to watch the orchids grieve
To Marigold’s feast
am I invited
A reality, rejected by many,
for realities are hard to believe.
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