Poems by Geethanjali Dilip

Poems by Geethanjali Dilip
 
 
Muddled verses
 
Sometimes when a gentle breeze wafts up,
From behind hedges that found roots in alien soil,
Having traveled seas in scurvy gusts and barnacled tides,
And withstood storms and sleets,
They want to actually start up a conversation with your feet,
That are curiously looking for stories in the syllables of the morning gust,
 
They would tell you of little humming birds that made the hedge realise,
That they bore fragrant flowers brimming with nectar they made,
Having marinated them in feisty summers,
And soaked in autumnal rain, withering at their feet shedding heather and purple haze,
 
Then a little wisp tickles your nose as you sneeze,
Prompted by mulch shavings that were once forests housing songbirds,
Now disintegrated residue of exotic tree barks, barely reflecting shadows of winged souls,
Neatly laid out in trails to thresholds and ground where no plants blossom,
 
A feather of a squeaking cardinal flutters towards the thicket,
Hoping a wayfarer would write a few verses of its adventures,
Of having lent its ears to sagas of sparrows that soared to blue skies,
Thinking they were kites and eagles,
Flocking in a single winged geometry racing to familiar clusters,
As they trace their realms crossing gales,
 
My feet now brimming with such tales that I conjured up,
For that’s what the humankind does in beaten paths,
As I wave out to strangers who feign familiarity in a defence friendship,
And aromas of tortillas tell me epics of ears of corn, pulverised to a fine mesh,
Zip locked and sitting in freezers of stores,
They too can’t wait to be thrown into ovens as much as stomachs long for them,
And the morning gets brighter and the sun bears down on my head bobbing in a sharp shadow of muddled verses.
 
©️®️ Geethanjali Dilip
 
 
 
The silence of wordlessness
 
That silence following the lull when the tide recedes from the shore,
As if I’m watching a poem unfold and I suddenly comprehend what the words are actually screaming,
And that smile which curves like the horizon when I realise the rotundity of creation ,
All that goes around to make contact with everything from where it all started,
That moment of silence.
 
Like brine that froths over only to break into bubbles that pop knowing of their death to soon come,
Yet revelling in that rainbow moment that splashes colour within bubble eyes,
Bulging yet limpid knowing how dry they can become,
For want of blinking, as if awed at how even an ocean can go mute leaving its sigh in conch shells,
 
That moment of noiselessness when summer flips a page with the nightfall,
Leaving the once lush trees bare and skeletal staring at deflections on sleety glazed earth,
And that all of the foliage around us is but skin and colour and language that winds carry ,
From one point of a dream till eyes open to daylight when all is forgotten ,
Except the quietude of the clock within, beating to eke its time and rendering its own poem… Life and death and death and life,
In beaten orbits where lie new stories time and time again.
The silence of wordlessness.
 
©️®️ Geethanjali Dilip

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