Saturday, August 31, 2013
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
The Moon and Her Reflection
The Moon traversing
The vast dark sky – alone
In her own world
Chanced upon her own vision
Reflected on the cloudy face
Of a pond –
In wonder, for she knew not
Who this beauteous apparition was,
The Moon asked of her own reflection:
O beautiful one, who are you?
Why are you so beautiful?
Her reflection replied:
O Moon, I am you
I am beautiful, because you are beautiful.
-by Rita Putatunda
Monday, March 25, 2013
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
Sunday, January 20, 2013
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
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
Thursday, January 17, 2013
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
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
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