want can't won't want

i would if you could want
you want even if you won't want
how can i if you can't want
you won't even if you can want
can't won't if won't can't want
i could if i would want want
you can't even if you want want
how can't i if you can want
you won't even if you can want
won't can't if can't won't want
want won't if won't can't want
want can't won't want want

Paper Poem

O, yes, I know, I’m just a piece of paper

Bereft I am of the pulse

Of feeling, thought, pangs of pain

Or, so you say, my friend

But, O my friend, before belittling me

So heartlessly, Do not forget

What I once was –

Once I was

A tree standing tall

My branches, home to nesting birds

Kissed the moon and the stars

My leaves glittered emerald

And my blooms spattered bright colours

In forests and streets and pretty vases

Once sap ran green in my veins

My roots grew deep, drank life

From the womb of Mother Earth

But, Alas! O friend, One day they came

And cut me down with cruel saw blades

They trampled me, crushed me

Killed my leaves, killed my blooms

Dried my sap, And turned me into

Blank paper –

O, many are my uses, my friend

I am now wrapping on your food

Boxes to store your things

Tissue to wipe your dirt, sometimes tears

Newspapers, books, roadmaps

Think about it, O friend

How many are my uses!

And sometimes, O friend

You use me to write

Of your heart’s longing

With your pen flowing

With your heart’s blood

Sometimes you strew flowers

In the words you pen

On my blank heart

Sometimes you drench it with tears

And after all that, O friend

Whether wrapping, newspaper, roadmap

Or a page of poetry – you crumple me

Trample me, crush me, belittle me

And throw me with the other rubbish

In your garbage bin!

O yes, I know, I’m just a piece of paper

But forget not, O friend

It is on my heart

That you write of your heart!

-by Rita Putatunda

Unseen, Unread, Unspoken

Clouds gather, only to dissolve

Raindrops form, only to evaporate

A new leaf is born, an old leaf lies dead

On the ground

The earth, moist, is getting drunk

On monsoon cloudbursts

But, soon, its heart will split, crack, parched

For a rain long gone

And the trees will stand alone, listless

Their leaves will rustle, restless

As they yellow and fall, one by one

And birdsong will fade away

Into some lost distance

And the sky, the earth, the moon

Will be filled with the silence

Of dead things

And the stars will go blind

And the sightless night will be engulfed

In darkness, everlasting

And on the shores

Of the edges of life

Oceans and seas will be voiceless

On their sands, on stony rocks

On lifeless barks of trees

On the broken walls of empty ruins

 Poems which had been written

By some unknown hand

Will remain, forever

Unseen, unread, unspoken

-by Rita Putatunda

Break of day

The night debates
With dawn
It it’s time yet
To let
The morning sun
Paint the sky red
The impetuous sun
Thrusts his
Impatient head
Between the night
And dawn’s argument
And with wild abandon
Flings hues of gold
Saffron and pink
In the sky
Shades of green
On trees
On blades of grass
Daubs of magenta
Bright red, yellow, purple
On flowers
Rivers, streams, oceans
Of blue hues
Splashes of burnt ochre
Brown, russet, bronze, earth
He flings, he blends, he smears
All over his canvas
Spread across vast vistas
Of another – Break of day

-by Rita Putatunda

The Songless Guitar and the Flower

The songless guitar on a far star said to the flower

(Growing in the earth of another world)

A stranger you are, O Flower, yet nearer to me than any love

I wonder with wondering heart

Can ever you and I, come together

You so far away, in your distant world

Blooming fragrantly, radiantly

I, alone, in this desolate land

A songless guitar

There you are, O Flower, with a question unspoken on your lips

And here am I, a songless guitar, a question hidden in my silent strings

We stand facing each other – Worlds apart, Worlds apart

I know with the knowledge of the knowing heart

Whatever I can give you, Whatever I can offer you

With both arms outstretched, Will be less than it should be

If I offer you a song, a song loses its meaning

With time falls silent – falls silent

If I offer you a poem, written with the tender petals of my heart

Petals fade and wither, Poems get lost,

Hearts stop beating, in the dusty pages of lost time – lost time

And time itself, Crumples into the dust – into the dust

There you are, O Flower, with a question unspoken on your lips

And here I am, a songless guitar, a question hidden in my silent strings

We stand facing each other – Worlds apart, Worlds apart

-by Rita Putatunda

Lost for Words

Lost for words. Those trusty companions. That stood by me. In all my times. In the times I laughed. In the times I cried. In the times I needed to fight. In the times I needed to love. They were always ready. To do my bidding. But now. When I read your words.  I am lost for words.

Your words. That shower like flower petals. Your words. That cascade like the monsoon rain. Your words. That glimmer like silver moonbeams. Your words. That render me. Speechless. I am lost for words.

Where have they all gone. I seek with fever in my soul. I seek with tremble in my heart. To put pieces of my heart. Into words. Steady, Steady. My mind says. But how can I steady. This boat. Caught in this storm. Of your words. I am lost for words.

Where have they all gone. My old friends. My familiar companions. That came tumbling out. To do my bidding. Rapier sharp. Witty. Clever. My words. But now. When I read your words. I am left without words.

I am suspended between the sky and earth. Flailing my limbs. I try to become a bird. Flapping my tattered wings. I try to soar. I seek in the clouds. I search for answers. In the trees below. A river flows like a silver thread. My eyes follow. Searching. Seeking. In vain. I am left without words.

I reach inside. The womb of Time. The old. Is a distant memory. I feel new life. Stirring. Surging. Throbbing. Half revealed revelations. That have no words. It seems I have to relearn. It seems I have to re-dream. The language of Life. I am lost for words.

The slate is wiped clean. I trace new words. New memories. With a hesitant heart. The halting alphabets. The faltering phrase. The stumbling sentence. Get caught again. In your words. Over and over. I am lost for words.

-by Rita Putatunda

the apple

the apple doesn't know it
but there is a worm
secretly burrowing inside
secretly destroying
the flavour
in its soft white pulp

the apple doesn't know it
it continues to glow bright red
in the green leafed
golden sun