A Fantasy
Dozing on a hammock
Strung between two towering pines
With the sky above-
colour washed in turquoise blue
and the waters below
reflecting that heavenly hue,
you came to me
sailing in a dream
like the strains of a symphony
causing endless vibrations
in my solitary heart
you showed up
all too sudden
like a rainbow on my vacant sky
after a cloud burst of cloistered grief
to blaze it with iridescent shades
Your smile
embalmed my bruised spirit
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poem by Valsa George
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Delusions
A thousand bees never settling down
buzzed within his head
Their confused drone, into a ruffled rumble grew,
lengthening into frenzied drum beats,
taking the might of roaring waves
or gaining the momentum
of a plane, prior to take off.
Mind lacking coordination
Limbs receiving discordant commands
He suddenly hurtled in to the streets
Stepping out from regimented norms
And breaking loose the tether of reason,
Never walking, never running
But scuttling from side to side
Like a piece of drift wood over the current.
Hearing the cawing of a crow
Suddenly, he into a prophet grew
Stood with arms outstretched
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poem by Valsa George
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A Sermon from the Wild
On a stone wall, by the pavement
Annoyed and angry,
With daggers drawn at everyone
Sat he dejected and depressed.
Eyes so cold, mind so blank
His vision, blurred by a hazy mist,
His gaze, fixed on the horizon far
Stationed he like a block of stone
From a distance, came a barking sound
From the dog that followed its master's trail
Seeing a rodent, behind the bush
The dog was barking on and on
The mangy animal, once so loved
Now left wantonly uncared,
Violently disturbing the calm around
Irked the man, otherwise annoyed
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poem by Valsa George
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A fool?
I set out on a long trip,
In a train that spans from end to end.
Out through the window flashed past,
Assorted scenes one by one.
Sky scrapers and mud hovels,
Steaming cities and peaceful hamlets,
Row upon row of maize and wheat,
Bent down under the weight of grain.
Cars gliding along crowded streets
Children school bound in crisp uniforms
Cattle grazing on distant hills
Cadets on parade beside their tented camps
Smoke coiling up from tall chimneys
Sizzling cascades from the heights
Swirling streams and glistening rivulets
Silky meadows and tall mountains
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poem by Valsa George
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The Death of a Poet
Far from the din of madding crowd,
And away from the bustle of city streets,
I withdrew into a solitary spot,
To turn my thoughts into dazzling verse.
Shelley and Shakespeare came in view,
Emily and Eliot fell in line,
Their verse ringing loud and clear,
Their energy fanning fire within.
I dreamt of putting proper words,
To clothe my thoughts in striking notes,
Longed to pour my loaded heart,
In powerful verse to move the hearts.
But as I started scrawling down,
All that I had stored in hoards -
Ebbed out into mere froth and foam,
Leaving bits of broken thoughts.
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poem by Valsa George
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Morning Musings
Over the East, the globe of light luminously gleamed
And bid the nebulous vapours fly
Changing the murky gloom into radiant blaze
And cheering the languid drowsy sky
Lying in bed, I looked around
And saw my room so cozily set
With things just enough to make it fit
For a sweet haven for me to rest
Each little thing in it began to muse
In a language discernible for me to grasp
Of the secret of success so elusive to man
Which striving to catch, slips out from his clasp
The clock ticking away on the wall
Alerted in a tone of rhythmic resonance
That ‘each minute is precious and dear'
And not to waste time in trifling appurtenance
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poem by Valsa George
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The Eerie Little House
Wandering lonely through the forest track,
An eerie little house, I saw.
Its tiled roof and tall chimney,
Peered through the foliage of leaves.
Pacing down a dark ravine,
I found myself before a latched gate,
With a creaking sound, the latch gave way,
Letting me into a dilapidated house.
Its walls were painted grey and white.
The plaster on them bore cracks and marks.
It stood aloof on a small hillock.
The air around bore a strange scent.
Owls were heard hooting aloud,
Desolate it was with none to care,
Thorny shrubs grew all around,
And tall trees shut it out from view.
Dark and dreary it stood remote,
And I sensed it to be a haunted house.
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poem by Valsa George
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The Phoenix
Working against heavy odds
A little hovel, he did build
In a verdant stretch of fertile land
Off the noisy, frenzied crowd
With sheaves of hay, he thatched its roof
With reed and bamboo, its walls were made
With mud and charcoal, its floor was glazed
With wooden planks, its entrance laid.
At dusk, when birds to their nests depart
And beasts, to their covert burrows and dens
After the days toil, weary and weak
He curls into the cozy comfort of his home
Through months and years, it gave him succour
Sheltered him from storm and rain
Made him differ from the gypsy tribe
Lent him a footing in this populous world
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poem by Valsa George
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Face of the City
The glow of a late Autumn Sunset,
Gleamed over the dense city streets.
Rushing wheels and honking horns,
Halted awhile for the traffic signs.
Through the rows of rushing motors,
Men on bikes ploughed their way.
They squished and squeezed through every gap,
Caring a naught for the traffic rules.
With jarring siren, the Ambulance jeep,
Speeded past for Emergency aid.
The patient inside, in writhing pain,
Lay stressed on every hurdle raced.
Ladies holding children in hands,
And people bent with growing age,
Remained planted at the zebra cross,
Waiting to move to the opposite side.
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poem by Valsa George
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Lone Traveller
I am now a lone traveller,
Roaming to find my filial roots.
Long begun this endless search,
From the days I started to think and feel.
In the roaring crowd that moves along,
And all the faces I chance to glance,
I search for a ‘Mother’, who cast me out,
Into the dark hide out of a vacant street,
Still smelling of new born blood,
And still fresh with severed chord,
To be eaten away by ants and rats,
Or to be trampled over or crushed beneath.
Did she do it with a quivering heart?
Or was it in her hurry to rid?
Who would tell me who she was?
What she did and where she lived?
Was she so beggarly made?
Or was she bearing a bastard child?
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poem by Valsa George
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