Genre: Life, living life, living, hopeful, joy, happy, sad, perspective
Symbols and notes I see, I see signs of what’s to be. I’ve seen hearts, wings and babies. I don’t understand them as they appear more so daily. These days go by so quick, I want to enjoy every moment as they come and go by. In my sights of life see more intolerance this is why I want to enjoy this life. These symbols could be more than just a sign, it could very well be what I’ve been missing in my life. True friendships have found me happy and sometimes it makes me cry that’s my life. So why do I wonder what these signs are about. I question it sometimes. Life is a question mark , the answers will come in time. I still have plenty of life to live to make it right. After all this is my life.
Like Tolkien’s Sméagol and Deagol,
Fighting for a ring,
I know two regal beagles,
That consume poop willingly.
Canines inclined,
With impassioned zeal,
Palates refined,
They never yield.
Gains, pains, and yellow stains.
My, how those pups do yearn.
Digging out fecal remains,
Yields the law of diminishing returns.
To some, unspeakable things.
There’s no way to dull it.
Saliva and Polly-O Pooh Strings,
Gliding down the gullet.
Wagging tails for slippery meals.
Who am I to judge?
What makes a puppy right as rain,
For chugging colon sludge?
I’ve tried to intervene at times,
Met only with low growls.
Dependent dog dispensary,
A store of empty bowels.
It takes a special vessel,
A superb specimen of daring.
A nugget to be wrestled.
There is no need for sharing.
.
Slip, slip, sliding.
No deposits on the lawn.
There’s no use in hiding,
The shit eating grins upon their maws.
Ponder, what would inspire one
To recount this commonplace?
The punch line comes at hot lunch end,
When they try to lick my face.
When all leashed up for walks and such,
We make our way outside.
Among flowerbeds and blades of grass,
These pooches squat astride.
If nature calls, they spin and yelp.
The dogs can hardly wait.
When gravity gives a little help,
Each will make a claim.
An angry eye.
An aperture.
Advent surprise.
Of this I’m sure.
The arrival of some sustenance,
From each small creatures bum.
Forgive my writhing countenance,
You know where it’s from.
Make no mistake,
There is no shame, as vile as it seems.
Turds find no earth,
But end in jaws of waiting devotees.
They can’t deny,
A fresh supply of corn-fed loaded nibble.
It seems to me it’s much preferred to,
Homogenized dog kibble.
In all my days,
I never spied such desperate lunchtime dining.
I relent, who am I,
To keep them from their mining?
In spite of me, they side with flies,
When choosing supple suppers.
Bon Appétit! Some slippery meals,
For eager beagle puppers.
Ten thousand days, perhaps more
Now faded forever
Since he first enlightened this lyricist
Guiding my vestal quill
Through undiscovered lands
With the poise of Gandalf
Proffering just enough to arouse one more query
The old man stood bent at the waist
The autumn of his life declared by the deep lines upon his face
His hands unable to conceal a never-ending tremble
He has always appeared ancient to my youth-filled gaze
Silver hair with amber tips
Bespectacled eyes behind thick glass
A wooden cane never leaving his grip
The morning sun greets our kinship
As I help him to our old park bench
Quietly we share the new dawn
I speak first
As oft I do,
Nay, as I always have
I pose my question,
“Where do tears go when they depart my eyes?”
I know they wander down my cheeks
When my emotions I cannot disguise
So, tell me dear sir,
“Where do tears go when they depart my eyes?”
Without a word, he looks at me
A glimpse of sadness breaks upon his face
For he already knows the reason of my query
The healer’s words had no hope to lend
The cancerous centaur
Laughed at the toxic elixir
Spreading its tentacles
Tendering deadly kisses
It seems my time here, is nearing the end
He spoke to me with an ancient whisper
A slithering smile slowly began to appear
He spoke as a teacher
A prophet
A friend
“You have nothing to fear
Soon you will stand in the place He prepared for you
There you will see the glorious truth-
Tears never die or go away
They turn to mist
To be used another day”
“Soon you will understand
He knows every tear that has ever dared to fall
And He will stretch out His hand
And gently wipe them all
That my young friend
Is where the tears go”
If the world would stand against us,
If the mighty men of this world contend against us,
If the goddess of beauty seduce me,
If the mighty ocean king oppress me,
If the hostile Sun should set her fire against me
Not even when the Moon shines brighter than the Sun,
Will I be offended at all these did!
Words can offend and pollute me,
A yes is positive,
A no will kill suicide,
Please beauty, end the misery and call the shots,
My love for you is for all eternity and a day,
When I say I love you, the stars were jealous,
The Angels that guard you were offended at my words,
They plan evil to possess my body just to have a taste of mortal love,
I’m not moved,
Your shine silenced the shine of the sun,
Will you then not take me forever with you?
Men, wake up
Our women are branching new flowers
Flowers of a new way,
new independence
Independence is taking new roots
in their souls
Souls guiding them to more love –
a different love
Love they want from us, but love
they are not finding
Finding new fissures to seek the water
their souls need
Men, wake up
Climb from our roles, and grow
Grow from the provider role,
the leader role
Roles that are needed,
but not like before
Before we hunted and gathered,
filling an archetype passed by
our fathers – Be Strong Like Wolves!
Fathers now are teaching the same
to their sons
Men, wake up
Be Strong Like Wolves!
Be keen and swift
Work together for your pack
and don’t carry yours alone
Gather and provide
See through all ranges
And, gather strength from
your women.
Men, wake up
This strength is going to be different
We cannot rely on past roles
passed down from our pack leaders
We need to provide what their
new independence needs
We need to provide an emotional connection,
a connection not watered down by the
stresses of the range
Men, Be Strong Like Wolves
But, be connected
Else your pack will head a new direction,
led by the independent woman.
Laughter echoes over her mind
Quietened by the aching heart to wind
Time froze and disintegrated into tears
Accompanied by profound disdainful fears
Was he truthful to her innocent true love?
She pondered over her commitment to resolve
Questions surged with answers to find
But the aching heart crumpled her spirit to grind
The long forgotten true love lay dying
As she resolved to face the man who was honestly lying
Gathering strength from her burning tears of betrayal
Evolved has she into a woman of survival
Fearless and undeterred she ran towards the sun
And her free spirit blissfully screamed that she has just begun.
I am afraid to let you in
I am afraid of what this love would bring
I am scared of this unknown light
So with your love my heart daily fights
I am afraid to let your love be
I am scared to set your love free in me
So i close the eyes of my heart pretending not to see
That your love has completely saturated me
Your love got in without a key
And began loving me softly
I am afraid that your loving me
Is just to much for me……. to be
The streets
the surviving trees and
the wandering moon,
are they still the same
or changed?
The dusty locality
with twisted lanes/leaning houses,
the neighbours sitting outside, chatting
in the yellow sun, curs barking, kids fighting
over the ball?
Do the wooden doors always open these days
or shut on your face in alarm?
The summer breeze
evening/night; morning/day/afternoon lazing around
the bends in the uneven streets and crowded bazaars?
Does Ma’s wrinkled visage lights up, when someone
knocks in the late evenings; temple bells chiming in the background; her eyes searching the dim courtyard?
Does she still call out my name in the sedated sleep?
How does the water taste from that rusted hand-pump, near the Tulsi plant?
And the guava tree in the compound?
Do folks automatically smile and greet passing strangers in our dusty town or, have become terrified by the odd looks and dresses worn by them?
Are the old-world courtesies and customs remain the same?
Or, has the sweet town also changed and shut down?
———————————————-
Bio:
Sunil Sharma is Mumbai-based senior academic, critic, literary editor and author with 18 published books: Six collections of poetry; two of short fiction; one novel; a critical study of the novel, and, eight joint anthologies on prose, poetry and criticism. He is a recipient of the UK-based Destiny Poets’ inaugural Poet of the Year award—2012. His poems were published in the prestigious UN project: Happiness: The Delight-Tree: An Anthology of Contemporary International Poetry, in the year 2015.
I edit my life
clothesline pins & clips
hang to dry,
dirty laundry,
I turn poetic hedonistic
in my early 70’s
reviewing the joys
and the sorrows
of my journey.
I find myself wanting
a new review, a new product,
a new time machine,
a new internet space,
a new planet where
we small, wee creative
creatures can grow.
POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film. 