Symphony

 —Poetry by Mitali Chakravarty, Singapore
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of
Mitali Chakravarty

—Photo by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, 

West Covina, CA

 

 

MORNING—

Birdcalls each dawn
welcome the day. In
Johannesburg, hadidas
cackle strutting on lawns.

In Singapore, roosters, koels,
parakeets and unknown calls
harmonise in a choral symphony
despite interruptions by the traffic.

Bird songs awaken the sky.
Overwhelmed, it blushes at the
applause. The sun intercedes
as humans recede to work. 

 

 

 

—Photo by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

 

PUDDLE

Oh Sun, caught in a puddle,
shine, sparkle like a bit of art,
convert the mundane to evoke
a mirror glued to the path.

We walk looking down at the sun,
and smile at the glitter that reflects
the strangeness of the universe—
where the sky often surfs waves.

In the day, the sun glitters on water.
At night, the moon sprinkles silver
and smiles quavering out of a river.
Has this puddle captured the sky?

 

 

 

 

EVOLUTION?

There was a time when
birds had no names. They
were free to fly.

Pterodactyls soared. Dinos
walked. The moon had already
formed but had no name.

There was no human to give
birds or the moon their names, divide
species, families, genus and more—
classify into boxes to store.

Birds continue free to fly as they please. 

 

 

 

HARMONISING

Parakeets flit from tree to tree,
chattering in raucous voices.
Few peep from holes while
others pirouette on their toes.

Orioles silently fly among the
golden angsanas in bloom.
They rise like flowers in flight,
a streak of golden light.
A yellow butterfly crosses
the street to mingle with
the angsana-orioles and
the noisy parakeets.

The newsreel blares
conflicts, climate crises,
tariffs, wars—all
human constructs. 

 

 

 

 

KINGFISHERS, SKIES AND SEAS

Royal blue streaks across the azure
dotted with cottony white clouds as
kingfishers fly from tree to tree.

Sea waves lap the ocean floor
moving from turquoise to green with
foamy restless edges of white.

The shushing waves dance to
the rush of the breeze. The
undulating skies blend gold-grey.

And yet, the dead are dug up from
rubble torn graves in distant lands,
worn by earthquakes, or war missiles
that fly arbitrarily taking innocent lives.

Safe here amidst the lush green,
sand, seas, birds and butterflies,
I wonder—was all of Earth meant
    to be a non-violent Paradise?

 

 

 

 

CHERRY BLOSSOMS WEEP

Cherry blossoms weep
tears of black snow.
The mandarin duck loses
its colours as doors close

tightened by hate. Guanyin
begs clemency, compassion
for those that had broken
walls to soar the open skies.

But birds still fly uninhibited
singing songs in myriad notes
of freedom, compassion and love. 

 

 

 

 

Today’s LittleNip:
 

UNNAMED
—Mitali Chakravarty

I surround myself with
artifacts from around
the world and make my
home amidst these.

I am of the whole world.
And the whole world belongs to me.  

__________________

—Medusa, thanking Mitali Chakravarty for her fine poetry and photos today, and for the intriguing photo by SnakePal Luis Berriozábal, who Mitali knows through her online journal, borderlessjournal.com/. Small world...

 

 

 

 

A reminder that
Julia Connor, Kit Dwyer
& Maris Juwono read at
Amatoria Fine Art Books
in Sacramento today, 5pm.
For info about this and other
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
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