A Waking Dream!
As if the horrors of the day weren’t enough,
The night comes with it’s reprisal of torment,
Where nothing stirs in its darkest depths,
But the waking dream of a sullen heart.
A dream that eludes by the day,
Shies away in the world’s ghastly stare,
By the horns night wrestles it to stay,
The waking is what I cannot bare.
If not for the dark night.
Is taken for granted- the sunlight,
IWho would ponder on the sting of the blight?
If not for the rain’s delight.
Who could afford to lay a dream?
If not for those sublime celestial things.
If not for those flights of the mind,
Who would dare soar over those mundane things?
As every ray casts a shadow and a doubt;
One is always needed to balance the other out.
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poem by Seema joglekar
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Your Absence
Life scuttles by like a vulgar film with a holy message,
In the film the horses are the heroes &the princes the foes.
I’m beginning to relate to the ill-formed matrix of men
Running hoarse-breathed to nowhere.
Where their mouths pour forth cement
And every perfection is turned to a flaw.
A day gallops by like a boxer with grave intentions to cripple,
A bolting swear seems like an invocation,
To beat monotony clings like an oil-slick,
Those hurled bricks, the subtleties of my life,
Seem by far indulgences to steer clear to you.
As seasons pace the months,
Paltry things & agony cling to the bed-posts
Dregs of memory like a pulse-beat reside on unpaid rent
To lighten the shocking numb I lament.
I am close to indulging in an unwise vice,
As metaphors live for me with the power of mechanical laws,
It no longer troubles me that my allies are long gone,
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poem by Seema joglekar
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A Birthday Sequel!
Dawn break gently across the glen,
That those, to whom you make a difference, may be born again,
Mists make way, run,
A brand new day tied with all my hopes comes undone,
Trees bow not any lower,
Up you sway with the life of all things fluttering at the core,
Bloom little flower pour from your golden chalice,
Let your perfumes kindle a memory in the one across the seas,
Sing on sweet bird, not of the humdrum,
Bubble with songs of sweet hope and good things to come,
Winds keep your shrieks low, stir not the old woe,
That let the past night’s darkness swallow,
Curl on new leaf, this day you embrace,
Let him add abundance to our grace,
Hills- shield him with my prayers, majestically tower,
In thy shadows lie my dreams waiting to soar,
Buzz a tune bumble bee,
That reminds him of our promises at least once, daily
Clouds gather your skirts, head away,
One who sets my face beaming it's his birthday.
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poem by Seema joglekar
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House-broken Sparrow
HOUSE-BROKEN SPARROW
Twitter twitter tweet,
Life on the off-beat,
Sparrow shuddering in all seasons,
Bundled like a dropp or a blister of pain for no reason.
Spawns in home’s for human warmth,
With tiny leftovers of someone else’s mirth,
While it’s country cousin flies in the opposite direction
In search of another higher hearth.
Bawling their daily needs of socks, groceries& milk bottles,
Screaming platitudes for shunning chores, in trees.
Twitter twitter tweet,
For a crumb of bread or a grain of wheat
An inch off a ledge can suffice for yesterday’s sour things &today’s house-warming,
Witness to broken homes, neglected porches, overflowing taps, faulty plumbing,
The man of the house in this century has gone missing,
While the kids await manhood with his picture in fine dressing.
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poem by Seema joglekar
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What Is This Between You And Me?
When dawn arrives, sun rises,
And daylight bristles awake,
Never asks; Who leaves an ache as keepsake? ,
Grateful for each day, that he didn’t forsake.
When it rains, the cuckoo sings,
The forest echoes with his cravings,
Never asks; Whose soul-wrenching greetings the rain brings?
Tying her mute existence with what heartstrings?
When the wind moans in sweet whispers,
In ripe orchards, where the fruit anchors,
Never asks; With what sweet nothings he casts his doubts? ,
But in deeper shades she flushes.
When the moon returns on the rung of stars,
The night in obeisance crawls, like hungry jaguars,
Never asks-questions about his whereabouts, all that in the darkness chars,
But steers to him on the shoulder's of the lodestar.
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poem by Seema joglekar
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Lady On The Loom!
In the old folk lore, at her loom the old lady in the sky,
Spins dreams and wisps of clouds in the blink of an eye,
One of them could have been mine,
Not to believe in anything is no longer a comfort but a whine.
The warp- the foundation thread stretches, languidly lengthwise on the loom,
While the weft thread entwines in the arms of the warp,
for different types of cloths allowing room,
The trees chastised by the wind gather strength, so is the warp beaten.
To analyze the relation of line to line, that stretches from skyline to horizon
Without considering the texture, is an artistic affection,
Now place line on line braid the textures of the fecund threatening clouds,
Where necessary interlace with the Seraphic cross-sectional symbols,
Brilliant Sun, honeyed Moon, the burst of stars, under it let the flowers assemble,
Kill that moment there & postpone the problem of the next,
Let’s run from tree to tree, till the last hard veer from each other, so dressed.
That step, the binding thread from sensualism to irrevocable cynicism binds us together,
A piece of disjunctivity—where form, matter &texture hadn’t coincided.
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poem by Seema joglekar
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My Itinerary! !
MY ITINERARY
Like an old melody straying down a deserted subway at night,
My itinerary goes around for a spin & falls around me like sawdust,
I start to live on borrowed breathe,
With the moan of a bee & the onion undraped.
All small talk gathers a morass of solemn dignity,
With nobody’s pride slashed or losing an identity,
All gossip has no objective correlativity,
Giving no notion of who or what is ripped.
A friendly smile is taken as an affront,
A jostle received in a crowd needs no effort,
I wave off the day in broad daylight,
Cover away from light, I walk through a shadow.
Along with the hum of daily static, I hear the quiet of my bones,
Wallow in a memory that creaks &groans to feel it’s presence,
I draw on an identical thirst of an absence,
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poem by Seema joglekar
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A Hankie- (A Ditty)
When the moon trails like a wiped yellow smear,
When paths have crossed & you still take the one's that veer,
When the night is spent & sleep is nowhere near,
When the eyes run rivers in a downpour.
When all hope is lost &there is still left a prayer,
When the rains gnaw an old wound that wakes up to stare,
When the river has run it's course & the land lies bare,
When the stars write a name that your lips would'nt dare.
When you live on borrowed charge &spent all your powder,
When prosperity comes sloshing out of the skies with the cries of storm water,
When in grips of frustation, the wind knows so much more than the little it whispers in your ear,
When you see one serious virtue, not narcissism, but a brief wish to be better.
When costly is defeat, not soothed by greater consciousness,
When wasteful is profit, with not the courage to employ it,
When one does not grow, but pays more for remaining the same,
When the evening T.V batters into stupidity the sense of the sensual,
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poem by Seema joglekar
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Aloft In Zephyr's Reign!
Zephyr's silken caress, muffled prayer in arid faraway morn,
His eerie glide through forests murmured of no scorn,
Or rapturous chant of adoration, birds flights adorn,
Over hills veiled in vapor like earth's purple dream born.
In lover's quandary while parting, demur greens writhed,
In hide ‘n seek of tumultuous time, earth's screen clouds shift,
Storm's mad cadence hijack waves to wreck a foaming end,
Seeds and petals spirals odors, lairs left for journey's untold
But denied me his privileges;
As a wave thrash my incredulity o'er cliffs where gulls hovered,
Or break your chains, caught in lost hours, in a gale's fuss,
A fleeing cloud, bereft rain, bridge the space between us,
Forget your absences, as a tree does its dross fallin leaves.
Instead uproots ‘n flings me in a labyrinth of murky waters
Daylight flinches to enter, dares not leave shadow in cankers,
Night too aghast returns, the sad years like its stars fall dusty,
Wonder will I get another chance to tempt eternity.
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poem by Seema joglekar
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I Hear You Call My Name!
In the unfurling of the brilliant robes of the sun,
Squandering her splendors, through the cloudy curtains;
In the hurting light that jolts awake,
In every bud, the unseen urge of new life
I hear you call my name.
In the dew teetering on the edge of petals, Dropping its wine into the flower cup;
In the songbirds foretelling the fortunes,
Of the climbing day, with visions of his largesse,
I hear you call my name.
In the mist, snubbing the vistas, for its foibles,
Liberally drawing them into her blur;
In the mad rush of daffy grass, with rocks
Over their heads, vying with the trees,
I hear you call my name.
In the hues of waking blossoms,
Footprints left by the radiance of morning light;
In the rooster’s loud pompous strut,
Flaunting the swank parade of the day,
I hear you call my name.
In the passing wooly clouds, their knitted train
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poem by Seema joglekar
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