Y's summer so far

Y's summer has been busy. She recently completed her "Behind The Wheel" course and has her official driver's license!! She has been lobbying to take the car to school next year (junior year, 11th grade), and I have been holding the line at 'no.' She started her internship with our school district some time ago, and so far it has been going really great. This is the first time the district has inducted high school interns, and they have been giving them some good projects to work on. I think she will learn a lot.

Y recently won the 1st prize at a local poetry contest. She had submitted on a whim, after I informed her the first prize was $100 :) She hasn't been writing consistently, which is a pity, so it takes a contest or an assignment for her to get over her writer's block. She wrote a poem about social media, which I guess resonated with the judging panel. Here is the poem: 

Post Me Into Memory

I share a thought,

a broken shard of something larger,

held just right to catch the light.

A caption that has been trimmed and rehearsed,

but meant to look effortless.

A photo of my breakfast,

but what I meant was: I am still here.

A sunset flick,

but what I meant was: I wish this peace would last forever.

We chase the dopamine in digital echoes,

Likes captured like fireflies in a jar,

briefly bright,

yet always fading.

But there’s something raw

in this endless reaching-

some deep, human emotions,

woven into pixels and code.

See me. Remember I was here.

It somehow seems like the oldest thing of all-

carving stories into the cave walls,

etching names into the bark,

longing to be forever.

Happy love (poem)

A dire and fractured happiness, this -

that takes fright and flight with every 

calamitous imagining, every  

unspeakable thought and nightmare. 

With slender threads of hope and yearning, 

I tether you to me; yet there are moments 

when I feel you stretching and straining,

feebly venturing, weakly unyoking. 

Does the rope, taut and staunch,

ever waver in its purpose; or does it

spend its entire life trembling 

with the fear of coming undone?

Sometimes our anchor feels heavy with 

my wanting and apprehension; yet it is adrift 

in a waveless sea, that neither you nor I 

know how to swim in yet.

Love is a weightless word, it lands cursorily

and desultorily on our tongues. 

I don't know where to place my dread,

within the beautiful effervescence of our humanity. 

Speaking my truth (poem)

Don't be angry with me, just wait a sec ...

You know I love you, 

but it's hard to keep you in check.

Your whimsy, that foul temper!

The way you are so contrarian!

My dear, do you remember 

the many times I've thought of something to say, 

and you violently disagree? 

You just have to have it your way!

The pen writes not what I want to express, 

but some proposition of your own.  

You know it leads to a lot of stress

when you won't cooperate and collaborate; 

if you put ideas into my head.  

I think it's very immoderate 

of you, to assign to me a beliefs or feeling

that I had no intention of subscribing to.  

You say you are just revealing 

what lies beneath my well-chosen expressions. 

I call it squealing and wheeling-dealing,  

a wanton act of aggression,  

to steal my thoughts and lay them bare 

on the naked page, for all to see. 

But....perhaps you're right and I must prepare

to confront that ugliness inside of me... 

Say what I mean, and mean what I say. 

Be honest to the highest degree.

 

On second thoughts, you are absolutely right 

to have taken me in hand, and asked me 

to reconsider and reappraise and rewrite. 

 

Where would I be without this rectitude,  

this compass, this unseen and unacknowledged beacon;  

it was in danger of decrepitude. 

 

I get it now; you love me too,  

my dear conscience, and you won't let me stray 

too far from the truth; I'm grateful to you.

The present (poem)

 In this alien land, the sense of unbridgeable difference loomed large. 

The very air smelled light; no more the anticipated heaviness of a summer's day. 

The humidity rose and settled in waves around me, burnished with birdsong. 

I strained to hear the familiar sounds of traffic, but only met the thump of basketball against hoop.

My tongue drooled for the annual Alphonso and rebelled at the acid Mexican variety.

Summer brought indecent lushness, a hint of the tropics;

but the tropics I remembered was wilted trees surrendering to the heat.

Strange, unaccustomed land; strange, unaccustomed beings! 

I have to embrace it with open arms; else the remembrance of the absent ones will undo me.  

This is the here and now; the one and only present.

I won't long for the yesteryears and might-have-been;

Welcoming this unexpected gift, I will untie the tangled skeins of an unremarkable life.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening/COVID Parody poem

Thought of doing a parody poem based on Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening". Here is the original poem followed by the parody :)

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.   

His house is in the village though;   

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   

To stop without a farmhouse near   

Between the woods and frozen lake   

The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   

To ask if there is some mistake.   

The only other sound’s the sweep   

Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.

Thinking about COVID on New Year’s eve 

Whose fault this is, we think we know  

There are a lot of theories though; 

Some say nature is striking back - 

2019 sure seems a long time ago. 

At first I found it very queer 

To see people masked from ear to ear; 

Finding toilet paper and sanitizer 

At the grocery was cause for cheer.

Some people had a different take; 

That the whole thing was a conspiracy, a fake 

Some decided to take up hobbies,  

Insta was full of sourdough and cake.  

The scars of 2020 will go deep  

Making a vaccine, was a mighty leap 

The price we paid was very steep, 

There are miles to go before we sleep.    

There are miles to go before we sleep.    

Cacophony (poem)

Cross-published on Medium. 

They tumble over themselves,  

coming in through the door.

The silence births a manic cacophony.

What a scene! They arrive jostling, 

and shoving, and vying for attention. 

“One at a time, please!”, I cry

“Let us be organized, gentle and calm.

There is time and space for everyone. 

I invite you, my dear friends,  

and acquaintances of long-standing. 

Welcome to my home, do come in.” 

Doubt flashes past me, rudely and abruptly;   

thrusting fear, anger, and envy ahead of her.

She is a hydra, funneling up up malice and hurt,

even as I frantically chop off her serpent heads. 

“Stop! Stop! I cannot deal with this!

This disarray, this confusion!” 

I plaster a smile on my face;  

I am still learning how to entertain.  

Let them come - doubt and fear and anger,  

and envy and malice and hurt. 

The pain you give me, I am grateful for. 

The cold is nothing without the heat; 

the sweet nothing without the bitter. 

And finally, my now-mellow guests, 

they shuffle past in an orderly fashion.

Like a good hostess, I spend time with everyone.

I enquire about their well-being. 

Love, kindness, and empathy were at the back of the line-  

no wonder I hadn’t spotted them. 

We really need to spend more time together.  

“I’ll call you.” I tell them earnestly.

“Let’s meet again soon.”

I take a deep breath, 

and open my eyes.  

Toadstool

I saw some lovely toadstools on my walk and wrote a poem :) Aren't they gorgeous?

Hey, you guys!

I see you on my morning walk.

I exclaim in delight,

at the splash of white on green;

dew glinting off you, 

evaporating quickly in the warm sun.

Okay, you're just poisonous fungi, 

but you remind me of my childhood

 

The book of fairies, the wishing chair,

the enchanted wood. 

The world I inhabited yesterday,

briefly, was mine again.

 

Nothing (poem)

You were nothing really. 

Just a fuzzy dot on an ultrasound screen;  

unexpected and unwelcome 

It was too early. 

I was too young. 

I did not want your responsibility.

You were nothing really. 

A mere fragment.

Sure you existed, a collection of atoms;   

but only as a wisp, a nonentity.

Unreal but substantial

in my fevered imagination. 

You were nothing really. 

Yet I painted your face with my lips.

My nose, his eyes, 

my smile, his laughs.

I walked carefully and fearfully. 

I did not jostle you even in my dreams.  

You were nothing really. 

Some blood and fluid, that’s all.

Merely a distant longing. 

An imperceptible wish, yet you seemed 

fully formed, mentally fashioned    

into solid physicality. 

 

You were nothing really. 

You grew, but you didn’t-

that’s what they said. 

It happens, they said, more often than you know.

It’s not your fault.

Its nothing that you did.

 

You were nothing really.

Zero, chimera, delusion.  

Then why did my heart break? 

How funny that it should cry 

over something that was 

nothing, absolutely nothing, really. 

Arcadia (poem)

More than 20 years ago, I visited my to-be parents-in-laws home in rural Tamil Nadu. These are impressions from that visit.

The swing creaked, makeshift and lonesome; 

rough twine lashing it to sturdy tree.

It gazed at the rambling house,

all wooden shutters and rattan chairs, 

the very picture of tropical leisure. 

The mansion, proud of its substantialness, 

and consequence, lay suspended like the swing, 

amidst straggling flora, sun-baked grass;  

the gardeners’ hose spluttering and competing 

with the twitter of birds, croak of frogs.  

The jacaranda bloomed, 

scattering indigo carpet on the mud. 

Inside the house, rooms sprawled

hither and thither…

Enticing simian intruders into their sleepy corners, 

or into the kitchen with its cornucopia of goodies. 

They monkey around, jumping from tree branch

to tree branch, swinging and gibbering.

What divine hand fashioned this beguiling abode, 

this enchanting Arcadia, I wonder….

To me, urban child, sadly accustomed 

to traffic, crowds, chaos; 

this was unaccustomed paradise. 

My few days there stolen from my other life;  

suspended, like the house, and the swing

in that bucolic other-world, 

in that ethereal eternal summer. 

Last supper (poem)

There were some words 

unspoken between us; 

we left them on the table 

when you asked for the check.

I saw them, lying there. 

They begged to rise onto my tongue.

But I couldn't bear to have them 

come to rest atop my vile bile. 

I think you hesitated too, 

as the waiter cleared away the dishes. 

But perhaps you felt it was better

that we wipe the slate clean. 

We sloughed off those dead years 

We shed our last public tears. 

I knew grief would wrap around me 

later, like that muggy afternoon air.

The exhaust from your bike 

pumped smoke into my face. 

I inhaled gladly, my last fill

of our noxious past. 

Sometimes I wonder, what if

we had lingered, over that last meal? 

Would you have fondly fed me, 

once again with your delicious lies?

Outside (poem)

A poem on all the fauna that inhabits and passes through our backyard :)

The fox saunters, nonchalantly;

a daub of red across lawn-green,  

White tail-tip flashing. 

He (she?) looks up at cerulean blue sky, 

where another flash of red flits past.

A red cardinal alights on a branch,

alongside his drab-hued mate.

The squirrel is an old friend, atleast she thought so, 

as she decided to move into my attic with her little ones.

I wasn’t really ready for this new phase in our relationship.

Scampering, scooting, rustling, 

they made themselves at home 

and invited their friends over. 

Soon the patio and yard were filled

with merrymaking chipmunks, 

fighting for first dibs on the bird feeder.

Amazon claimed it was squirrel proof; 

A spurious claim, for it crashed to the ground 

as the squirrels dangled from it.  

The blue jay waits patiently for his turn,

flitting from branch to branch 

and swooping down to peck dropped seeds.  

I watch a baby hare from my window, 

as it creeps towards the treeline. 

My heart is in my mouth, as I watch  

fearfully, for cruel predators.

It scampers off, seeing a groundhog 

who serenely sniffs the ground, black nose twitching. 

What does he smell, I wonder?

Grass roots and earth, detritus 

from last fall and winter. 

I wish the deer would chomp my weeds

as they move across the yard, all light and grace. 

Doe-eyes scan the house….

They are poised, ready to dart away 

with the faintest sound of my blinds.   

I meditate to the music of the songbirds, 

the rustle of the leaves, the lilt of the breeze. 

The chimes I have hung where the birdfeeder used to be,  

tinkle against the twit-twit of the cardinal. 

I stare up at the cumulus, willing myself 

to tuck these sensations into my being;  

insert these sounds and sights 

into the appropriate slots of the brain.

May they rest there forever, just not ephemeral 

like the fireflies that twinkle briefly

only in the summertime twilight.

An ode to 20 years (poem)

As the memories flood back, let me just narrate 

what happened to us on this red-letter date.  

The invitations to the relatives and associates 

told them just when and where to congregate. 

For it was on this date that we tied the knot

There wasn't all this technology then, 

No AC in the hall, and believe me it was hot!

Bear with me as I relive it all again. 

I'd been roused at an unearthly hour
for makeup and hair, that important stuff. 

But excitement was the emotion du jour; 

for staving off sleep, it was enough.

The guests yapped, the priests droned;
I was kind of hungry, but demurely I sat.
Outwardly smiled, inwardly groaned,
filling the time with inconsequential chat 

With the future spouse; 
we joked and laughed, eliciting a scold
from the priest who had a grouse;
apparently, we weren't doing what we were told.

The rituals are almost over, we think.
But wait! this is a tambrahm wedding, 
and it simply cannot be this quick.
This is exactly what we'd been dreading.

As the thaali was tied,
my father, with enthusiasm multiplied
pulled my elaborate braid to the side. 
That was the beginning of the sartorial downslide.

The makeup turned oily and smeared
all over my face, which looked purple.
The nine-yard drape crushed, it appeared
like I had been travelling in a Virar local.

My poor bridegroom fared worse;
his dhoti had risen up to his knees. 
This garment, with attitude perverse, 
defying gravity, now resembled a pair of capris.

The photos were hideous, the video hilarious.
Our kids really need to see it sometime.
It beats Noah and Seinfeld, I am serious.
Thusly, we became partners in crime.

The wedding is but one day, for all the fuss that's made.
Picture-perfect or not, how does it matter?
Now our faces have lines, and our hair has greyed.
He is thinner, and I am fatter :(

Its been 20 years, believe it or not
since that sweltering summer's day.
It's fair to say we learnt a lot
as we walked together along life's way.

The truth is, it's been a blast.
We've had our bumps and lows for sure.
But this partnership was built to last;
succeed thrive and endure.

Now that I've used up my limited stock of verse, 
it's time to end this composition.
Though I have been less than terse, 
I hope you enjoyed this disquisition!