We survive

burdened with the
thoughts of mundane,
mind can not perceive
what lies in front,
eyes see garbage
where roses bloom.
alas, such are the
ways of life
we need to do,
to survive.
we dream,
and then see
them shattered,
the heart bleeds,
while the eyes
run dry.
we survive.
we survive,
at what cost?

A rose is a rose by any other name

Stay at home is grinding on. Slowly I am losing count of days and dates. From barely a few infected cases in the beginning of March, the United States of America is now the world leader in number of people infected and deaths. We are in a trajectory to surpass the number of US soldiers who laid down their lives in the Vietnam war. Somewhere the story of make America great again (MAGA) has become the story of make America sick again(MASA). All these acronyms remind me of Indian classical ragas, maga, masa, sani, dhasa etc., etc. Ah, but I digress. Politics is like opium, once one is hooked, difficult to get rid of the bad habit.

Through all these, nature had been busy doing her work. Spring is always beautiful and our valley is at her resplendent best during spring. The medows are verdant and myriad blooms grace the area. It seems nature, unburdened by pollution this season, is at her gregarious best. It’s more colorful, more fragrant and more of every adjective one can think of. Ever house frontyards in the neighborhood been blessed with nature’s beauty. Alas, the owners are all inside locked doors. Not that in general there are people milling around in an American suburb. But normally during spring and summer, weekends and holidays bring people out onto the street. I think Corona or COVID-19 took care of that. However for the brave souls who hazard out of the house to take a stroll, it also offered an uninterrupted opportunity to enjoy the bounty of nature in the neighborhood.

Whenever I am out for a walk with my dog, I have my cell phone with me. The nearly deserted streets invite me literally to stop and smell the roses. And when I am at it, I also try to capture a snapshot to augment my memory. As I was scrolling through my phone gallery today, I realized that I have a large collection of photos of flowers many of which I am not familiar with at all. Now my dear readers, you all may be more knowledgeable than me about flora and fauna of your locality but I have no hesitation of sharing my ignorance. In the process I hope I can brighten your day a little. I promise not to share more than one a day and also promise that all subsequent posts will be brief. So without further adieu, here is the first one.

A rose is a rose by any other name.


What’s in a name

By whatever name call thee

You are one and the same

Lonely Rose in Winter : RonovanWrites Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge # 230 Exist & Today

This post is in response to Ronovan’s Weekly Haiku Challenge .

IMG_3823_2
Photograph by author, Dec 4, 2018

Rose lonely today

Alas, winter’s brutal cold

But hope does exist

Changes Inevitable – a set of haikus

Inevitable
Tree leaves turn green to amber
Changes natural

Cyclic seasons turn
Black to grey hairs turn, aging
Coloring futile

Enchanting rose blooms
Heavenly beauty withers
Fragrant memory

A sudden storm blows
Uproots strongest oak tree, dead
Nature impartial

Birth to death, cycle
Changes, process natural
Inevitable

Faith, Creation and Creator

Rose is a rose
By any other name
Creator, not sanctioned by
One’s own faith
Why is not the same

Losing our faith
We stopped seeking
Finding solace in miracles
Allowing us to be fooled
By afterlife’s dreams

Lured by promise
Of redeeming our souls
Of a heaven unseen
We sold ourselves
Committing the original sin

Peddlers of faith
Conquered and plundered
In the name of the creator
Rained unspeakable destruction
Offer us salvation

Where did we go wrong
We all of different faith
Enjoy the same creation
But with daggers drawn
Defend our creator’s name

Manipulated by the unscrupulous
Mortgaging our brains
We dance, celebrating division
In our creator’s name
Who says creator not the same

Game of Love

The game of love

Is not what you think

Takes two to tango

Just one to break up

A spring of dreams

Laid barren by

Midsummer’s sun

Sent to cold storage

Deep Winter’s snow

Yesterday’s rose petals

Withered and blown away

The game of love

Flourishes watered by

Faith and hope

Patience and desire

Compromise makes it bloom

The game of love

Not for the faint hearted

Commitment keeps it alive

Weathering storms of doubt

The game of love

Rich pleasure

For those

Willing for

A slow waltz

Contradictions

A clear blue sky
Lacks definition.
Without a dark night,
For a bright day
There is no appreciation.
Without its spots
Moon won’t be as beautiful,
Road lacking few road bumps,
Journey is uneventful.
A blemish free life
There is no story to tell,
Without the past of Jean Valjean
Les Misérables won’t ring a bell.
Calm sea hides
Deep secrets in its bosom,
Vibrant nature in a moment
Wrecks havoc and destruction.
A world at peace,
Will it be boring?
Thought of violence
To appreciate peace,
It is depressing.
Even without appreciation
Rose will still bloom,
Even if no one looks
Beauty is not doomed.
A bipolar world
May be the norm,
Not an aberration.
Life is a saga
Full of contradictions.

She did not come to steal my heart

‘Do you not hear me calling, white deer with no horns?’—W.B. Yeats

The doe eyed beauty looked up and my heart melt

She walked daintily as if not to leave any mark, full of grace

Nature endowed her with all the beauty, she looked resplendent

A graceful curvaceous body  adorned by a beautiful face

My heart aching to reach out to her but I was afraid

She stole my heart as I looked at her hazel eyes

A red rose from the garden an appropriate gift, I surmised

Thanks I was not expecting but her acceptance  be my prize

Called out to her softly, asked her to wait

My heart beating, gently I went to pluck a rose

Surprised she darted changing her gait

As I saw my devastated garden, my heart froze

Did not wait for my rose, she did not come to steal my heart

After her voracious appetite, my rose garden will need a fresh start
deer (2)
©Pranab2017


This poem is in response to Jane Dougherty’s A Month (November) with Yeats Challenge day Sixteen