Egyptian Pyramid/Front of Basilica/San Giovanni
—Poetry and Photos by Mitali Chakravarty,
Singapore
Singapore
ROME…
Monuments drip in
every nook of Rome.
Squeezed between buildings,
and dancing with wildflowers,
History, spanning the passage
of civilisations that rose and fell,
smiles sunrises, besides modernity.
Next to the Termini,
the temple of Minerva
soars enclosing the sky.
The 3000-year-old obelisk
brought from Egypt stands
next to the cafe serving
breakfast to zillion worshippers,
who gaze in awe at the city
named after a wolf child.
They gather in droves
between the artifacts
from Egypt and Rome,
in front of a basilica
that smiles benevolence
at the ancient Colosseum
peeping from between
young buildings that reside
graciously with the old.
Monuments drip in
every nook of Rome.
Squeezed between buildings,
and dancing with wildflowers,
History, spanning the passage
of civilisations that rose and fell,
smiles sunrises, besides modernity.
Next to the Termini,
the temple of Minerva
soars enclosing the sky.
The 3000-year-old obelisk
brought from Egypt stands
next to the cafe serving
breakfast to zillion worshippers,
who gaze in awe at the city
named after a wolf child.
They gather in droves
between the artifacts
from Egypt and Rome,
in front of a basilica
that smiles benevolence
at the ancient Colosseum
peeping from between
young buildings that reside
graciously with the old.
Inside the Colosseum
IN THE COLOSSEUM
On an ancient rock I sit.
Thus, must have waited
adoring fans for their
favourite gladiator.
Here they collected
water that bathed
the muscled warriors,
watched them fight.
I sit here and wonder,
the open skies stretch
like a blue awning, as
tourists come and go.
A seagull muses in the
shade of a tree at a
distance from walls
that grew history.
It stares at streams
that pour to gape at
unyielding bricks
reminiscent of yore.
I sit and gaze at the
blue skies, waft on
a cloud that defies
time, sprays sunshine.
Dome, Vatican
AT THE SISTINE CHAPEL
Under Michelangelo’s skies,
Hundreds of people glide.
Spellbound by the creator,
do they sigh over mortal art
or the power that inspired
devotion born of expulsion?
Do they wonder as a voice
blesses with compassion,
reviving with sonorous psalms,
ringing a sense of calm?
The Sistine smiles at the crowds
hushing to sense peace and love.
River Arno, Florence
UNDULATING
Clouds float
in the waters of Arno
while parakeets
flit across.
On Tiber,
seagulls swoop,
to settle
as a lone moorhen
paddles
against
the current.
Rivers flow
with memories—
history, art, life
—both past and present.
Bridges that survived wars,
floods, over eons,
gaze at sunbathers.
An island—linked
by legends long ago,
and bricks—
smiles at tourists in the sun.
Tuscan stories mingle
with waves
like Roman ones—
waves that lap shores
to empty into the sea,
undulating—but connecting—
time, people and geographies.
Flagstones/Rickshaw Tours
FIRENZE*
She reposes by the shores
of Arno—ringing in stories
from the past, dreaming of life
and Tuscan pizzas that delight.
Though known by the Nightingale’s name
--- no nightingales ever sing here—
only Michelangelo and Galileo
lie buried in the silent Croce.
You can see sunbathers now,
far from the tourist-filled basilicas
lazing in the unrelenting sun.
Dogs swim to beat the heat.
Arno flows lapping distant hills
dotted with cottages and pines.
The sun sets behind the Ufizzi
silhouetting its magnificence.
Calmly, Firenze glows
lost in dreams of yore.
Life pauses by its shores.
Assimilating the past, visitors move on.
*Firenze is the Italian name of Florence.
EPIPHANY
An epiphany rings forth—
a moment of truth as a
benediction prays peace.
Who is it that dares speak
peace as wars on walls
and ceilings of Sistine
colour current tides?
While people weep and die
of hunger, poverty, war, while
many are killed by bombs,
who dares dream peace?
Seas foment in anger.
Climate change wreaks
havoc as flames and floods
together ravage Earth.
And yet, this voice speaks
peace, benediction to the few
that can make it into
the pristine Sistine?
Can peace be found in life?
Can it be found strewn amidst
blood and gore of battle scenes?
Oh, tell me please, where can
I find peace?
_________________
Today’s LittleNip:
IN ITALY…
—Mitali Chakravarty
Flagstones of old
watch centuries
walk the same
cobbled path.
_________________
SnakePal Mitali Chakravarty traveled to Italy recently, and when she got back, she sent us these poems—thank you, Mitali! Mitali wafted on the cloud and came to rest of the one where she found borderlessjournal.com. She also has three books of poems, the latest being, From Calcutta to Kolkata: City of Dreams.
_________________
—Medusa
Mitali on her cloud~
—Public Domain Illustration Courtesy of Medusa
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work from all over the world—including
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Just remember:
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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—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column on the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.
Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
