Poems by Dr Santosh Bakaya

Poems by Dr Santosh Bakaya

 

MURMURS

The moon in its full bodied splendor
Is perched on the lush canopy of a tree
From which an owl, tawny
Emits a series of quavering notes
Long- drawn.
The dawn is still a long way off.
There is darkness, despairing and dismal
in the woman’s heart in the hovel with the tin roof.
“Woof, woof”, goes the mongrel, the self- styled guard
Sitting outside the hovel.
The skeletal woman, hunched over her child scrawny
Murmurs, “Come, sweetheart, I will fight
this heavy darkness with you.”
Toohoo oo , goes the owl tawny.
The child shivers.
The night spreads its dark quilt, covering the child.

In the mansion nearby, a bonny baby bursts into staccato bursts of mirth
Snug in his expensive quilt, a gift from an aunt on his birth.

 

HAS HE COME?

The colours of desolation shine through the crevices
Of the old couple’s face
Waiting every day for the elusive footfall of their son
Relentlessly following his dreams in a far- off land.
They get up at night, shuddering.
Muttering, what if Death comes calling,
And their only son is not around?
Sunny, they called him, he was that bright.
Dismay, rage, outrage, dread
Gut wrenching, toe curling anger,
Indignation.
Teeth –gnashing frustration.
Why is he so callous – this only son of theirs?
Choking grip of a scary darkness, of scary nightmares.
And the night is over, at last!
To begin again at the crack of dawn.
Will he come? Will he call?
Just one single call?
Maybe he will give them a surprise.
Suddenly come from behind and startle them
Like he did in those happy days?
Maybe …..ah, the phone rings…..
Is it that long-awaited call?
On arthritic feet, the octogenarians stumble
Tumble towards the phone,
Gnarled fingers supporting their backs
Only to halt in their tracks,
As the phone stops ringing
On the third ring.

It was not many years back
That the red of the snowman’s nose
Would send him into a tizzy
And the purring of furry Lizzy
And the patches of opal blue peeping through
the green foliage of the pine trees ..and ..and …
so many other things .
The happy, happy breeze
The birds chirping with a joyous simultaneity
From that long forgotten tree.
Now he is moved only by the colour of money.
Ah, their sunny boy.

Maybe he will give them a surprise
Suddenly come from behind and startle them
Like he did in those happy days?
Maybe …..ah, the phone rings…..
Is it that long-awaited call?
On arthritic feet, the octogenarians stumble
Tumble towards the phone,
Gnarled fingers supporting their backs
Only to halt in their tracks,
As the phone stops ringing
On the third ring.

 

CALCIFIED MEMORIES

Those memories now nostalgia – flecked
unspool unchecked, in mutinous bulks.
When we were not innocent kids, but audacious crooks
Skulking in quiet, silhouetted nooks.
Under the luxuriant foliage, the verdant boughs
Of sleepy, surreal troughs.
Eyes peering through that juvenile hedge
Now fossilized.
When we serenaded ourselves with
Enchanting, soulful songs.
How long ago was that?
A voice mature with age
Rises and caresses its interiors.
There were no saline goodbyes
No last tango, no farewell
Just stumbling into an unknown future
Pell-mell.
My fingers feverishly hunt for those chunks
of our tiny selves left behind in its nooks and crevices.
My sighs stir the darkness, rustle its many layers.
Those carefree days, now just a sepia haze.
When tiny fingers traced the sky’s elusive contours.
And tiny feet raced with the sailing clouds.
When carefree bodies lounged on the verdant lawn.
Counting the stars, munching on chocolate bars.
Tethered to those memories
I want to fly with my feathered friends
To that lost land where sat that tiny dove
on the wall which did not divide
but multiplied love .

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One thought on “Poems by Dr Santosh Bakaya

  1. Beautiful poems, Mam..! Nicely composed and beautiful coining of words makes it worth enjoying. Lovely expression!

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