HOLI HAI!

The moon is a disk..round and full..in the scented sky...

It’s the eve of Holi…

Bonfires are burning…orange-red tongues of fire...leap in the smoky air

Crackling sparks fly like red hot stars into the night

Bald brown coconuts are roasting...turning black

Holika is burning in the fizzing hissing spitting twigs and leaves

Sooty hot pulp is extracted and eaten from

Smouldering shells… tasting sweet and nutty

And Madana is incinerated by the smouldering fires

Of Shiva's wrathful eye…

The sacred black ash smeared on laughing faces milling around

When the dawn colours the sky pink.. on the morrow

Dark skinned Krishna comes out to play

He aims his playful pichkari

On his beloved Radha's fair face

Turning her radiant as a blooming marigold

And the forests of Brindavan

Resound with the peals of laughter

Of gopis as they sing dance and rejoice

In the clouds of gulal their Lord flings at them

Neighbourhoods erupt in play

Narrow lanes and streets are filled..With

riotous people going wild..Yelling..Holi Hai!

Throwing smearing flinging spraying colour

On each other…Until everyone is a mish-mash of laughing hues…And

one neighbour cannot recognize another…

Hands faces hair clothes turn…pink green orange purple,,,The riotous

joyous colours of Holi..

And everyone shouts, Holi Hai!

Winter is gone…The hills and plains are swept by warm winds

It’s Holi! The festival of colour! The festival of joy!

It’s the festival of Spring! It’s the festival of gladness…!

The festival of dazzling madness...!

It’s the festival of renewals rebirths rejoicings…!

Saffron coloured jalebis dripping with sugar syrup

Are eaten by the platefulls…!

Intoxicating bhang is gulped by the glassfulls…!

Gujjias stuffed with cardamom flavoured khoya and coconut

Are devoured…by the mouthfulls…!

Pedhas gulab-jamuns and halwas

Are savoured…by the fistfulls…!

The trees are clad in new green leaves

Where birds are chirping singing…

Insects are birthing crawling

Flowers are bursting in myriad bloom

The air is redolent with their perfume

The mango tree is in bud

Soon the branches will hang low

With ripening fruit

Grapes are sprouting on their vines

Fattening in the toasting sun

Fields are writhing with their harvest

And the Flame of the Forest is in full crimson blossom

And in the forests…And in the trees lining mirthful streets

The koyal is alone, calling to her hidden love...

In a longing voice she says…Coo-oo Coo-oo…

Love is in the air…Oh Heart…! Coo-oo Coo-oo…

Come to me.. Join me.. Merge with me… My Love…! Coo-oo Coo-oo..!

Let us rejoice in bursts of joy merriment and glee… Oh Beloved…! Coo-oo…!

And smear each other with fresh splashes of love’s colours! Coo-oo!

Holi Hai!

-by Rita Putatunda

The sick room

They keep watch

in carbolic-acid suspense

by the sick bed---

cold, still, papery eyelids

shunning life---


Outside,

a boy-child’s voice

suddenly erupts –

shrill  rhapsodic rapt

in his childhood---

pounding childish fists

against stubborn walls

brimful of endless vitality

confident in his indestructibility---


The funereal air inside

the sick room

crackles awake with

the unexpected incandescence

of imperishable joy---


-by Rita Putatunda

Rascal Moon

as the musk of dusk

sprayed the sky

with a heady perfume

and the wine

of the setting sun

drenched the rooftops

with magenta gold hues

and the evening stars

popped out one by one

like bursting balloons

the rascal moon hopped

on to the branches of

the gulmohar outside

my window


peeping in with an impish blink

he gave me a naughty wink

slithering down the dark trunk

a shadowy gliding silver snake

he slopped into my room

through the window

i had left carelessly ajar


his naked feet splotched

all over my floor

skidding gliding sliding

he crept up close to me

and sloshed his silver dreams

all over my eyelids


sauntering out nonchalantly

his careless feet

sloshing and splotching jauntily

through the sleeping streets

whistling a tuneless tune

his pockets stuffed

with my stolen sleep

-by Rita Putatunda

How Then What When Why We Was

Therewas Somewas Thenwas the Longpause

Then Everwhy Whyeverthen Whateverfor?

Whenhow Hownow Thathow so now

Anywhat Neverwhat Everwhat?

Somewhy Everwhy Funnywhy I cry

Anywhen Everwhen Wheneverwhen!

Howwhen Hownever Neverwhen Everwhen

Neverafter Foreverafter Thereverafter.

Ifthen Whatwas Whythen How was

Whywas What then?

How Then What When Why We Was

-by Rita Putatunda

like a sip of wine

like a sip of wine

glinting ruby red

I whisper your name

it is unfamiliar to my tongue

I let it roll around in my mouth

I feel the tang of exhilaration

that creeps into hidden folds and crevices

sometimes sweet sometimes a little bitter

I try to divine hidden flavours

that I have never known before

it tastes of the ripened sun

then it feels like a flower

slowly unfolding

exuding its frothy fumes

slippery smooth petal by petal

I roll it on my tongue

round and round it flows

on my tingling stinging singeing skin

it tastes of crushed fruit

which has felt the touch

of some effervescent earth

the caress of fermenting  breezes

blowing in some other sky

under some other moon

with a deep breath

I inhale -

I am light headed

intoxicated -

like a lick of slime

I lisper your name

-by Rita Putatunda

Thinking Of You

I will be reading

A book in my cane chair outside.

Quiet. Sometimes interrupting.

To watch the kites wheeling high.

Lazy. Round and round and round.

Endless circlings.

Spun. In a cloudless sky.

Reading a book perhaps

Of travel to some far off land.

Or perhaps a poem about forgotten love.

Suddenly. Your face will come

Crowding crowding crowding.

Speaking to me through the page

I’ve been reading from.

I will be writing

Composing lines in my cane chair outside.

Quiet. Sometimes stopping.

To listen to the pigeons talking.

Lazy. Mumbling mumbling mumbling.

Endless grumblings.

Above. Sitting on the ledge outstretched.

Composing lines without structure or plot

Or rhyme. Delving into stray thoughts.

Or perhaps a memory of something said.

Suddenly. Your face will come

Crowding crowding crowding.

Speaking to me from the page

I’ve been writing on.

-by Rita Putatunda

Summer’s Endings

The clouds were dark. The sky was heavy.
The distant thunder heralded summer’s endings.

With his soft hair streaming,
his walk a jaunty leap against the wind,
he came to her waiting in the empty road,
under the sool babool tree.

She looked at him with soft eyes,
and passed a light hand over his hair;
it had been a while;
she had missed him.

He gave her a quick kiss; but did not take her hand as he usually did,
as they walked side by side.

It was a long accustomed route they took.
The road narrowed to a path when it entered the brush forest;
their usual hideout from prying eyes.
They walked in deep. They walked in silence. She felt comfortable.

They reached the riverbed by which they usually sat.
The river had turned into a thin summer trickle in the silk-smooth sand.
She sat on the rotting log, as usual.
He seemed restless. He walked up to the ribbon of water,
and looked in the distance, as if searching for something.

It was getting dark. The rain was imminent.

“So?” she said.

“What... Oh..” He replied absently. He turned and came and sat beside her.

The log was old and broad. Soft moss made it almost downy.
He lay down and put his head on her lap. Like he always did.

“This is bliss,” he said, breathing her in. She smelled of the old moss, log wood,
and the citrus scent she always used.

She wrapped him in her arms. The kiss was long,
as if it had to last for all time.

“This is bliss,” he muttered again in her breast.

She caressed his hair.
The wind picked up. The trees rustled.
The trickle of water rippled restlessly.
Soon it would be a gushing torrent.

“So?” She asked again, after a while.

“It’s no, you know,” he replied in a rush.

She was still. He was still wrapped in her arms.
In the distance the dark Thunder God erupted.
It began to rain.

-by Rita Putatunda