Poems by Lily Swarn

Poems by Lily Swarn
She opened the old tin trunk
Somewhat lopsided with a dent here and there
Paint peeling off in straggly strips
Her thick glasses stained with food splotches
Clothes hanging like borrowed plumes on a scarecrow
Many sizes large for her emaciated and petite frame
Beeji was seriously ill and dying
She knew it would be a matter of days now
She struggled with the rusty iron lock
That she had put on the trunk almost sixty years ago when she became
A young widow
The rattling might wake the household she worried
Her toothless gums bared a she succeeded in her wrestling with the lock
Her son always thought it was her valuables that she guarded like a cobra over a treasure trove
She put her hand into the trunk in the blinding darkness and drew out a bundle
A fading saffron satin cloth covering
Tattered sheets of paper written in a strong handwriting
These were the letters her young
long dead husband had written to her
From a picket high up in the Himalayas
Where he died fighting for his motherland
Wives of soldiers clinging to memories are a usual sight
Most die unsung unheard
Alone and loveless
I salute you all brave sons of all the countries
For life has far more value than some vague ideology
However jazzily you might colour it !
Copyright Lily Swarn 20.1.2017
Rap tap tap
When love comes knocking
A rap tap tap
Sonorous as the Tibetan drums
Reverberating deep inside
The monasteries perched precariously
In cold bleak Ladakh
Open the door slowly
And let the incense laden winds
Lift you up from somnolence
And shake off your ennui
Love has no directory or address
It knows not hovels or mansions
It is a blind man’s bluff
Stopping at any door
That it wants to grace
With its titanic presence
Striding across the corridors
Of your blood soaked
Loyally pumping heart
It’s the jolt that awakens the senses
Pouring adrenaline in the veins
Widening the third eye
Lying supine in utter repose
Often it has no name
It enters without the butler
Having to announce it in
Unheralded ,unchaperoned
Love swoops in with the flight
Of a soaring eagle having found its
Nesting place
It’s arena is wide open
It is A Colossus of its own kind
Yet it won’t trample
Only tenderly whisper
Often soundlessly
It cuts the cut of the
Woodcutter deep in the jungle
One fatal strike
And you fall
Cooyright Lily Swarn 18.1.2017

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