A Few Drops of Dew - Arkaydass Chaudhury: Please Comment!
Few Drops of Dew
By a lesser known
Scientific theory
Propounded by none
Other than you,
The particles of darkness
Of my existence
Got crystallized into
Fertile dew drops.
By a lesser known
Scientific theory
Propounded by none
Other than you,
The particles of darkness
Of my existence
Got crystallized into
Fertile dew drops.
Bound by earth and sky
The thin clouds of scattered dew-drops
In the womb of an unfathomable vacuum
Assembled in ones and twos
Over my semi-bald head
Promising a heavy downpour
On the pale leaves of the grass
At my feet
I was really touched to perceive
That mere dew-drops
Could regenerate
So much greenery
Here, there, everywhere
And even on my now-bald head.
At a distant horizon
On the dark boughs
Of a parched gulmohar tree
Red petals appeared and
Singing birds perched
And surprisingly I could hold the
Fragrance of thin hairs
Grown around your nape
With a solid passion
While singing nursery-rhymes
To utmost perfection.
In the empty corridors of my ribs
Broken desires and disabled opportunities
Raised their wrinkled scalps
For a few drops
And I marvelled
At the sight of those dew drops
Having such multiple colours
And creating a cascading effect
In their beauty and significance,
Which I adored
And many a times imbibed.
But, alas! I didn’t know
Such ethereal dew-drops
Could feel so insecure
Merely at the sight
Of a pregnant eastern sky.
posted by Princess Joya | 1:36 am
5 Comments:
Hey - why don't you write what *you* think about this poetry? I've been getting random emails too from people who want me to read their poems. Enough of RKDas yaar!
I already send him my comments by email. You haven't commented, come to think about it! I'll put up my own poetry from now. been meaning to for a while. Gareth gave me a brilliant idea I shall write about it tomorrow. I miss you!
This poem is much better than the previous one. Its more original, and spontaneous, and doesn't seem like a hack. Although, I must say, too much has been written on dew drops already, and too little on what he is trying to convey. Somewhat muddled I think!! I don't consider myself a poet, or even a writer for that matter. But here is something I scribbled in a mood of melancholy:
Sick In New York
The dawn was over
And I lay in my bed
Sick and burning like fire
Coughing and exuding phlem
The sun shone through my window
And familiar sounds creeped in
Shades and sounds that seemed familiar
From a distant past
Old memories flooded the gates of my head
Memories of Bombay
Memories of family
Some sad but most happy
And the rays struck my face
And were refracted through my tears
Streaming round the contours of my cheek
And dropping like a waterfall on my neck
Its like a shroud was removed
From a dim and distant past
A past once forgotten
But a past now alive.
Ms. Aranyi,
Let's get back to writers with mojo.
I wrote something about universal stories, you might want to comment/ contribute.
Awww!!!!
I always miiss home when I'm sick... although when i'm actually sick AT home I'm usually bored out of my MIND!
Maybe we'll make you a poet yet!
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