Moon Blossoms

The unblinking Jupiter sulks in the pearly grandeur of the night sky. There is moonness on the petals of tree jasmines and oleanders, deep in the seed sac of the flowers where jewels of light wait to be sexed by the inebriated nocturnal insects.  I carry home wild flowers and leave them in my room.

Deep darkness of night
in sprigs of flowers from garden
the moon has blossomed.

Big Tent Poetry ( Write a Haibun)

Haiku My Heart Friday
from Recuerda Mi Corazon
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Mithyā

I collect the debris in the hem of my skirt:
stones, glass, clay – they fit into my frame.
Stones  go to make the backbone,
one below the other like the cobbled path in the garden;
ash settles in the crevices, blown from the sea
where death remains docked; smoke like clouds,
evidence of dissolution, fills the nose and eyes;
swarm of desires embellished by answers unsought
crumbles, turns powder in my hands.
Then the child that I bore in the silence of my self
lights the flame and pours clarified butter, 
priest chants of things temporary that unmake the universe.  

(To know the meaning of the Sanskrit word ‘Mithyā’ please go here and here.
To understand the Sankrit word ‘Mithyā’ as it occurs in the Vedanta go
here.)

Big Tent Poetry

A Blessing

Leave my door open just a crack,
a needle eye for the silk thread of dawn
like jade dull and clouded to slant in. Darkness

end to end on the wall of my insides
stir milky and turbid as I sit at my table with tea.
Melancholy like fish gasps, gulping nuggets of grey:
foolishly preying while it perishes.

Fist ball of pearly light rolls under my feet,
petrified at the blessing that falls on my lap
I put away my cup.

The first line of the poem is borrowed from ‘Fireflies’ by Owl City.
Listen to the beautiful song here.

We Write Poems

Inured

Walls of moonbeams hide the silver threads of age,
crystal of pain like amber in the night glows;
she throws the stone at me, walks away without looking back –
her beautiful hair a cascade of quartz on a silted river bed.

Threads weave dreams of colour
from where the butterfly bursts forth dipping its wings.
Earth opens and I breathe beauty in the knotted river of lava
while my lacy wings get incinerated. There,

I am now a wingless insect. Still, let me tell you
I will not give my all to you.

(Process notes: Three things that I want to tell of myself – 
I am of this earth.
I breathe beauty.
I will not give my all to you.

The rest gets veiled in images.)

We Write Poems