Poetry Corner
Kisan
Komalroop Kaler
Zorawar, is it you?
my farmer son returns, I am sipping the warm tea, running to the door
my cracked feet collect soil, udasi in his two eyes, he is too skinny now
the kettle turns on, flaming under to make heat, the warmth dries my lips
I hold my words in, and roll my tongue in my mouth, blinking my two eyes
into the teacup, I am looking at my old face, trying to smile big
clove and cardamom, they swirl around my wrinkled mouth, I sip the warm tea
I tug the silvers off his beard, Zorawar’s face reminds me, bent backs, mustard fields moist, damp, turban sweat, collecting crops in sunlight, dirt houses itself into my palms mud houses melting, I light oil lamps in the monsoon, I need to feed them
the rivers are dry, orange sky now vermilion, I need to feed them
farmers hang from trees, my feet giving up on me, I need to feed them
I sip the cold tea, I am fading and crumbling, like fine wheat powder
blown away with wind, Zorawar touches my hand, I shake and sit down
I cannot leave here, taking a sip from warm tea, We need to feed them
my farmer son waves, I give him mango pickle and corn bread, his apparition fades
A Second Chance
Sherry Eskander
Summer has come to an end
And the autumn colours descend
Leaves slowly trickle to the lands
Marking the changing seasons
And the changing tides
And the changing year
With some excitement and fear
It is sometimes hard to endure
Facing challenges that are obscure
But one thing is for sure
Even if we crumble
We still can rise and bundle
Like a phoenix from ashes
Flying like an eagle
Soaring amongst the clouds
My Pendulous Ways
Andrew Paul
What key shall resolve my pendulous ways?
Here I reside like a foe to my soul
Bearing the heat of Caeser’s purple blaze,
And the mystic’s trance, truer than our goal.
I, wandering far from the common fold,
And became caged by truth—my limbs grew stale,
Fair-faced Eros saw I had grown so pale.
And pricked my flesh with his arrow of gold.
With fervent joys I boarded the train back.
The fresh pulse of my heart broke old shackles,
Climbing out of the abyss’ jaws of regret.
Heaven slept as I gladly drank cognac.
My renewed youth, and lofty debacles,
Lock hands in seas of promising lanterns
Even though I am alone I hear fine tales
Of once dazed lads commanding godly gales.
