The Bud

Every bud
brings a message of hope,
A mystery to be unraveled,
What it holds
Tightly in its chest;
As it blooms, spreads
Beauty and fragrance,
It does not know
Will it be plucked
Or just wither away,
It blooms,
It’s in its nature,
Tomorrow is another day.
We move forward,
Carrying that message,
Cherishing the good,
And spread,
Love and warmth
All around.


Featured image photo by author

Wild Jasmine : A Ghazal

Couple of days back I posted a poem in Assamese (Axomiya) in my Facebook timeline ” খৰিকাজাইঃ এটি অসমীয়া গজল” with a brief forward. My daughter tried to do a Facebook translation of the piece and the result, to say the least, was hilarious. Suffice is to say that if it was permissible to sue for loss in translation, then it would have been OK to do that for murdering the language. It is our fault that though my kids understand Assamese and can speak, at least the oldest and the youngest,they can’t write or read the language. So it is for their benefit that I translated the piece along with the brief forward.

I like to listen to ghazals. To tell the truth, as I don’t understand many Urdu words, sometimes I miss out in understanding the real meaning of many ghazals. I still listen. Whether correct or not, I do hum the tunes in the bathroom. Sometimes while working in the kitchen, I do whistle over the ridicules of my better half. As per her, there is no one in the world who is a worse off-tune singer than me. Oh well, I am not aspiring to be a Jagjit Singh*. Anyway, till about four years ago this was my only relationship with ghazal. About four years ago, on my blog I read an English ghazal written by my fellow blogger, Jane Dougherty( Jane Dougherty Writes ) whose blog I follow. I had no inkling that ghazals were also written in English. In short, it was through Jane that I made my entry to the world of writing ghazals. I first started writing in English and then translating to Assamese and now I write sometimes in both language. I do not have any formal training in writing ghazals and so traditionalists may say that my writings are not ghazals at all. Well, I have not stopped humming even though my better half insists that I sing off tune, so why stop writing even if someone says it is not traditional. I am not dreaming about becoming a Ghalib.
The original Assamese ghazal was written a couple of days back.

Wild Jasmine : A Ghazal

Opened the window, wafted in with the breeze your fragrance,
Memories of a rosebud of spring bygone with your fragrance.

Remember the parched earth caressed by the first rain, that subtle sweet fragrance,
Scented wild jasmines bathed by the rain smelled of your fragrance.

Wind is blowing strong scattering the books on the table all around,
Shrivelled petals of wild jasmine inside the open pages, I smell your fragrance.

Closed the book gently, lest the jasmine blew away
Futile attempt, heart filled with jasmines saturated with your fragrance.

I shut the window or the storm may cleanse my heart,
How shall I live a lonely life if wild jasmines lose your fragrance?

You are long gone, address unknown, do not know where you are now,
Poet’s heart is empty and like a madman searching in jasmines your fragrance.

July 24, 2020
San Jose, CA


*Jagjit Singh, the “King of Ghazals” was an Indian ghazal singer who passed away in 2011

Eternity Waits -a set of haiku

You gave me your hand

roses bloomed in the desert

and I lost my mind

*****

River runs to sea

confluence waits eagerly

oblivion waits

*****

Tumultuous sea

dark sky embraces the waves

horizon waits dawn

*****

As gentle waves crash

hot sands wait the cooling touch

thirst unquenchable

*****

Eternity waits

roses fragrance desert nights

time has no meaning


featured image by the author.

Chinese privet- Local Flora – Stay at home stroll – 16

This is a series about the neighborhood flowers and flowering trees that I saw and enjoyed on my walk in the neighborhood during the stay at home months.  Many of the flowers I don’t know much about and depend on Google lens to get a name.  If there are mistakes, apologize for my ignorance.

I just don’t understand who names plants.  No rhyme and reason at all.  Not sure why this is called Chinese privet unless the person in charge of naming this first saw this in China.  In fact this is so ubiquitous in our area that I would have completely missed it except for the loud humming of myriads of bees as I was walking by the side of a house.  People use it in many homes as boundary dividers or as ornamental hedge.  I walk by these every day and never give them a second glance.  But the humming of the bees made me look to my side and I found the hedges erupting with this beautiful and very mildly fragrant flowers.  Later on I read that the small berry like fruits that the plant produce are poisonous.  No wonder people use this as boundary hedges.

stayathomestroll16

thy sublime beauty

hides a mystery

fruits you produce, if eaten

will cause misery


A Rose is a rose

 

 

 

Wasted

Somewhere between aspiration and expectation,

The river of life got dammed.

The stale water is pungent now,

Ripe to be fished by the powerful

To fulfill their ulterior motivation.

A bud that did not flower, never came to fruition,

Lost forever to humanity, a malodorous fragrance, putrid,

Wasted blood caked dry by the blazing sun.

As the hypocrites  responsible for the mayhem rejoice,

Shouting to the high heavens for the glory of the martyred,

Somewhere a lonely heart weeps for the wasted soul.

Lost butterfly

Enchanted by earthy fragrance

I hop from flower to flower

Oblivious to the expansive emptiness

of the open sky

I seek solace 

In confines of the known

And when the night falls

In darkness

Stars glitter

I rue

That I clipped my wings,and

Lost the trail

Bargained for peace, but

Forever condemned

To the cocoon

Of my comfort

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