Horse And Man

Tulips

Tulip Gardens Near Seattle, USA

Tulip Garden Near Seattle, USA

a new leaf

another midday, stretching
mellow egg-yolk yellow.
in a neighbourhood street
a street dog barks.
outside my window
a peepal sapling, slowly
unfurls a new leaf.

A Work in Progress

Still is the Mind Hidden Under the Skin of Turmoil

Another Setting Sun

Flamingo wings are the clouds touched by the lingering fingertips of another setting sun.
As they funnel into the vanishing horizon the waters of the lake mimic the ruby plumage of the sky.
Softly, softly the shadows deepen the husk of the dusk.
At the water's edge the moored boat rocks itself into a dreamless slumber.
A fitful breeze whispers a lullaby through the leaves of tall trees dissolving into the deepening gloom.
Incandescent lights blink their eyes open one by one by one like pinpricks of amber starlight caught in the tangled tresses of a moonless earth.

A Dreaming Dog

(A poem I wrote when my beloved dog Shulky died of old age)

I am the dog they call Shulky, I’ve never figured quite why. Didn’t matter much anyway. Whenever someone yelled "Shulky" – I went. Running. But that was when I used to be young. A young ‘un with a wag in my tail.

That was some years back.

These days, with my hair sprouting like dry tendrils of grass, I’m more circumspect. When called, I lift my head inquiringly, more often than not. More often than not I find that I had been quite right. In not going running. To the called command. My days of nimble running are over. And done with. As you’ve probably gathered –

I’m getting on in years, some.

These days, I go out, with a lumbering gait, and sit in the corner of the garden – The corner that gets the first cool breeze – Under the stunted Laburnum tree – Spraying the sky with golden yellow sprigs. And I look at the egg yolk moon. And something in my now sluggish blood stirs.

A howl swirls in my throat and dies.

I listen instead to the messages being sung – A crescendo of speaking voices from my kith and my kin. Kinfolk all, with singing voices. Singing a symphony in the great opera house. The moon listens too in a yellow hush – And weaves amongst the stars – And suddenly gets caught in the tangled branches of the stunted Laburnum tree.

And the yolk runs fluid all over the dry ash sky.

Summer is here. I lift my nostrils and sniff the air – Not a whisper of a breeze. All is still. The bald earth throbs below with the heat. The sun has gone down but has left behind his pulsing heartbeat. My eyes close shut.

And I doze in a liquid yellow dream.

From far, far away I hear a voice call – "Shulky" – A well known voice from the liquid yellow room behind. And my heart fills with the dry ash of the night and the quiet. My bones are heavy – My breath labored – My eyes dimmed. It is time to rest.

I try to tell that familiar voice calling me.

I hear again – "Shulky" – And though I feel a presence beside me – The voice sounds as if from far, far away. A long, long distance away. The great journey has begun. And it is time to carry on dreaming the dream.

The never-ending dream of a dreaming dog

My thoughts fly like fluttering feathers
caught in silver clouds that
skid against the horizon where
the sky meets jagged mountain tops
My words scatter like sands flung
in a choking desert storm
where the Sun caresses undulating
ochre dunes with fever fingers
My feet tramp on paths known unknown
that meander across the
face of the Earth -
obliterated footstep by footstep
by the careless dust of Time

Rage... Rage... Rage...

Rage... Rage... Rage...
Burn... Slow... Tear a hole... In my Soul...
Implode... Erode... Corrode... Consume... Me...
From within... Me...

I... Am flotsam... A mote... Remote...
Caught... In the Ebb... And Flow
Of the Monster Tides... Of Life...
Time... An Ocean... Oozing green... Frothing white...
Gnashing teeth... Extinguishing Me...
With every breath... I Inhale... Exhale...

Rage... Devour Me... Subsume Me... Consume Me...
Burn... Burn... Burn... A hole... In my Soul...
Obliterate... Me... From within... Me...

Spilt Purple Wine Sunset

The past, the present, the future
Held in a snapshot moment
As the sun sinks into the horizon
Steeped in spilt purple wine -

Time flowing, disintegrating, regenerating
All that has been, all that is, all that is about to be
Caught in an unending dance of life - inexorably
changing, remaining, becoming, dying
The end of each re-birthing
Steeped in spilt purple wine -

My Mind's Countryside

Lotuslands entwined with dust roads, pot-holed roads,
stony soil, stippled now
with pulsing sap greens turning inexorably into ochre browns,
brushed across pthalo blue hills and violet valleys;
the horizon etched like twisted wire fencing impasto starry nights.
Gnarled banyans with their snarled roots snaking into the subsoil,
glowing gulmohars spray their fiery flowers in unruly bouquets,
prickly thorn-brush pierce through paper thin top soil, un-named weeds,
un-tamed, tumble in the blowing breeze,
their smoky scent infusing silent forests.

Aqua-tinted daubs of dreams
stain Van Dyke brown plateaus where crimson poinsettias spread
their poisoned leaves that pretend to be flowers;
dancing datura, peppery capsicum, narcotic narcissus,
bursting bougainvilleas, writhe, grasp, burrow
in the underbrush.

Shadowy creatures silhouetted against painted memories.
Brittle bones lie strewn across dying river-beds. A path disappears
into the unknown.

A road sign says slow down, sharp turn ahead.

-by Rita Putatunda

Shades Of Grey

In shades of grey, the clouds
Fill the air with a breath caught in the throat
Hide the sky in fogs of silence
Wrap the mountains with tender tendrils of misty veil
Attire the flowering bush, the young sapling, the dead tree stump
surrounded by bursting shoots
In teardrops of pearls, diamonds, rubies and rust
Mirror themselves in shades of grey
On the crinkled face of the opaque lake

I Your Poem

From beyond the edges
Of a dark night
With a question
In his eyes
My poem came to me

And said . . .

Find the words for me
Write a song for me

I am that moon
Which has no sky
I am the Sun
Which has lost his light
I am the flower without fragrance
I am the tree without its roots

I told my poem . . .

Where can I find the words
To write a song for you

Me, I am that song
Which has lost its melody
I am the night
Which cannot find her stars
I am the river which has lost its way
I am the cloud which bears no rain

Said my poem to me . . .

If that be so
You'll be my sky
My fragrance my root
You'll be my Sun
You'll be light
And I'll be your melody
Your stars your rain
And I'll forge the course
For your waters to flow
And together we'll find words
And together we'll write songs

You my Words
I your Poem

The Gulmohar and the Dark Cloud

She didn’t know how she came to be there. Perhaps as a seed she was blown there by a wayward wind. Perhaps a bird had dropped her accidentally. Or maybe she had just drifted there in the flow of some monsoon torrent.

The earth was moist. The rains had come and were on their way out in the endless journey of changing seasons. There was a stirring in the seed. A feathery root took tentative hold in the loamy soil. A tiny shoot poked hesitantly out – Into a world of giants.

The Tamarind stood sinister on her right, in her knotted branches nested cawing crows. To her left a spreading Banyan put down her tentacles, where her daughter trees took root. In front grew a Sool Babool, tall and straight, where Mynah families tended their growing chicks crying cheep-cheep from dawn to dusk. A vast Neem rustled behind, the wind caught in its bitter leaves. And she was just a tiny shoot in this frightening world of giants, the dark forest, which was to be her home.
But as the days went by she grew. From a little sapling, turning into a treeling. The tender green skin on her stem hardening into a trunk covered with tough bark. Her branches growing spreading into feathery fronds. A cuckoo bird, glossy black, nestled in her branches calling – Coo-oo Coo-oo – And still she grew until –
Bedecked like a shy bride she stood. Her ornaments flaming blood red blooms. Wearing her new dress of lush green leaves. The Gulmohar stirred her flowering boughs. Youthful sap coursing through her veins. Awakening strange urgings. A gentle breeze whispering through her lacy locks. Her branches swaying in a sensuous dance, rustling with a longing sigh.
A passing cloud dark and heavy with moist seed, seeing the beauteous
Gulmohar, her fiery flowers flaming in the dark forest, is smitten by her lovely charms. Bewitched by her swaying dance he comes to her and clasps her in his misty arms. Entwining himself within her waving fronds.
The Gulmohar, her twigs crackling, shining in green delight, clasps her dark moist lover to her heaving breast. Grasps him within her trembling limbs. And together they play the game of love. Day passes into night, night into day. And still together they play the game of love. Oblivious to every other. Insensible to passing time.
But soon, too soon, the time comes. For her love the Dark Cloud to leave
for other lands. The season of love is over. Here, where his lovely Gulmohar lives. With heavy heart, unwilling limbs, he pulls himself free
from her pliant cling. It is time for him to leave he pleads.
His Gulmohar sobs into the blowing winds. To her Dark Cloud she says,
‘Do not forsake me my love – Stay here forever in my arms – I’ll whisper
tender words in your ears – With gentle fingers I’ll soothe your brow’
The Dark Cloud calls to her instead. ‘My lovely Gulmohar – Come with me – We’ll travel over mountains, oceans, fields together – Together we’ll soar where the eagle flies – Together we will glide over forest glades – Come with me!’
The Gulmohar besotted by her love’s dark passion, sighs and sways and
says, ‘Oh Beloved – That cannot be – For I am rooted to my mother the
Earth – From whom I cannot break free – So Beloved – Come down here to me – And I will hold you forever in my verdant arms – And together
forever we will play the game of love’ - And her branches spread heavy with yearning towards her lover the Dark Cloud. And her flowers flamed deep blood red with longing.
The Dark Cloud rumbling with black thunder, flashing blue lightning anger said, ‘To the Earth I bestow life fertile – But belong I to the sky – And in the sky I must stay free – If with me you long to be – In the sky you must come and be free – Like me’ -- To which the Gulmohar made no reply. For she could not break free to be by her lover’s side.
So without a backward glance the Dark Cloud sped away from the sorrowing face of his lovely Gulmohar. And the sun rose high and the skies were an empty blue once more - the forest a jaded green. For the Dark Cloud, he was no more. Without a backward glance he had sped away from her sorrowing face.
And the Gulmohar in her grief, sighed and moaned and sobbed. A dry wind swept through her restless pain. And the plaintive call of the Cuckoo
hidden in her branches rent the silent forest with its mournful cry –
Coo-oo Coo-oo –
To her mother the Earth the Gulmohar beseeched, ‘O Mother – Let go of me – Set me free – For with my love the Dark Cloud – I must be’
The Earth, her mother replied, ‘Daughter – That cannot be – For you belong here to me – Your roots hold me together – And keep my moisture within me – If you should leave me – My daughter – Barren and lifeless I
will be’
The Gulmohar was deaf to her mother’s plea. With her love the Dark Cloud she had to be. But try as she might, straining her branches towards the empty sky, her leaves trembling fluttering, from her mother the Earth
she could not break free.
In despair she threw down her blood red ornaments to the Earth and said, ‘Take these O Mother – They are of no more use to me – For my love has
gone away from me’
Her mother sorrowing at her daughter’s grieving, consoled, ‘Fret not dear daughter – Fear not – Soon my brother the Monsoon Wind will bring your love back to you. The Dark Cloud – He will return soon’ -
So the Gulmohar waited – And the Cuckoo hidden in her branches called – Coo-oo Coo-oo – And Autumn, Winter, Spring – One by one they came and to the Gulmohar’s heart laid claim. But to each in turn she said, ‘To my love the Dark Cloud – Only to him do I belong’
And then the mighty Summer arrived. He saw the lovely Gulmohar, her
ornaments flaming red, her garment tender green. Burning molten golden heat, with imperious voice he said to the Gulmohar that to him she must belong. But she spurned his advances with her angry branches – ‘To my
love the Dark Cloud – Only to him do I belong’ – She cried. But he laughed a cruel laugh and said no puny cloud could withstand his summer heat. ‘Come ignorant girl’ – He said, ‘Be mine’.
She ignored him. She rebuffed him. He burned hot rage. Red fire he blazed. He lashed her with choking dust-laden winds. Tore into her with
his searing power. Possessed her against her will.

The Gulmohar - She cried out and she tried to break free from the cruel tyrant’s scorching grip. Her lovely limbs tearing, breaking, flying in the hot winds. But he held her fast in his relentless grasp and there she lay sobbing bitter tears. Her leaves shedding. Her flowers' blazing dulled - smothered in the heat and dust.
To the Earth, her mother, she cried, ‘O Mother – All is lost – My beauty
the Summer has taken' - Her mother replied, ‘Fret not dear daughter – Fear not – For strong you must be – And withstand the Summer’s heat – Soon the Dark Cloud – He will return – And set you free – And again beautiful verdant you will be – Be strong’
So the Gulmohar, she blazed blood red again, and defied she the Summer’s smouldering heat. And she waited – And the Cuckoo hidden in her branches called – Coo-oo Coo-oo – Into the dry forest air. Day passed into night. Night into day.
But her love the Dark Cloud, he did not return.
The Dark Cloud, he roamed, he roved. He drifted, circled, soared. Over
mountain over river. Across seas over fields. In alien lands he sought
alien loves. He blew his moisture laden breath through other green leaves. And intertwined he lay in the arms of other branches.
But to no avail. The Gulmohar shimmering green, her ornaments flaming red, he could not forget.
To his brother the Monsoon Wind he said, ‘Weary am I of wandering –Disenchanted am I of drifting – Through these foreign skies and alien lands – No other has the flaming splendour of my lovely Gulmohar –
Will you my friend to her take me back?’
So the Dark Cloud returned to the land where dwelt his Gulmohar. Only to see the Earth prostrate under the cruel Sun. Her fertile soil scorched in his fearsome heat. And his lovely Gulmohar silent forlorn in his burning grip. Her flowers blazing defiant blood red. The Cuckoo hidden in her branches calling plaintively – Coo-oo Coo-oo –
The Dark Cloud, rumbling black thunder. Flashing blue lightning anger.
Swirling billowing storming. Tearing into the Summer. Wrenching him away from his love. Pouring sheets of torrential rain. Forcing him to flee.
Then great rejoicing was there in the land where the Gulmohar dwelt. The Dark Cloud had brought back rain and life to the arid plains. Rivers swelled and flowed swift and fast. And the drenched Earth burst forth
again fertile and green.
And the Gulmohar erupted in passionate flames. Swinging her branches to and fro in joyful gladness. Bursting with love’s madness. Clasping her
thundering rumbling Dark Cloud flashing blue lightning close to her
heaving breast. And together they played the game of love.

(The beautiful Gulmohar, also called the "Flame of the Forest", is a
common tree that grows all over India. Its distinctive red flowers blaze
almost all year round. And of course who hasn’t heard of the famous
monsoon season of our part of the world. This is a whimsical poem that erupted when I looked out at the Gulmohar tree in my garden when a pre-monsoon shower drenched it at the end of a scorching summer season.)

The beautiful gulmohar. The flame of the forest. I created this with photoshop. A poem I wrote about this gorgeous tree, whose flaming red-orange hued flowers sprinkle the streets and bylanes of India, will follow soon.

Sky - silver, grey, ultramarine
Heavy with rain - the clouds
Bird winging across - silent
A plume of smoke - whispers
About disappearing
Into thin air

Sky - Silver, grey, ultramarine
Clouds - Heaving with rain  

Bird winging across - Whisperingly
A plume of smoke - Hovers
Disappears - Into thin air