Birthday Birds

“Birthday Birds”

A spectacular annual phenomenon:
hundreds of birds flocking onto my Facebook tree,
summoned by an admonition of the illusive cyber jungle.

The extravagant display of glitter-coated feathers.
The sweet voices of professional singers.
The lyrical dance of nostalgia on my aging branch.
They all fuse into one
sensual expression of nothingness.

As quickly as they came, they flee
for other trees where fruits of relevance ripen,
leaving behind a few adults and fledglings,
whose wings are too faithful to fly,
or too weak to escape.

The moment that pitying of doves departs,
and the song of celebration fades into distance,
a murder of crows lands on my lone branch.
Softly yet surely they sing,
a beautiful song of lamentation.

A perfect present
from my birthday birds.

18 November 2014

(Photo by David Sim, Flickr.com)

How to Eat Rice?

“How to Eat Rice?”

The sweetest answer is:
tenderly.
Let it lead you
to the field of yesterdays,
where hopes and fears were planted.

Listen, carefully,
for the burst of histories,
as they reveal themselves
grain by grain,
bite by bite,
breath by breath.

Hold its hands,
as it morphs
into the mother of milk,
heavily pregnant
with memories,
aromas,
missions.

Do not swallow;
let her flow
to the playground of time,
where the child of tomorrows
awaits,
grows,
multiplies.

15 November 2014

(Photo by Charles Haynes, Flickr.com, modified and distributed under the same CC license)

Tamarind Tree

“Tamarind Tree”

Extend thy hands to pull me, my beloved Tamarind,
away from the fickleness that plagues this cold land.
Enchant me with thy golden blossoms and feathers,
that once cradled me above the sun-ripened sand.

Comfort my ears with the symphony of thy cicadas,
whose gentle voices may erase these eerie rumbles
of the mechanised monsters that blind and baffle me;
only thy lullaby may rectify these rambling shambles.

Hold me in thy sure arms, aged with timeless wisdom;
protect me from the soulless insects, black and bold,
that colonise the white screens of my tired windows;
and from the phantom of papers, so tall none can hold.

Let me taste the flesh of thy fruits, fresh and fragrant,
to cleanse my weary soul of the bitter doubts herein.
Anchor me by thy solid trunk to keep me grounded;
and reveal thy secret of growing warmth from within.

10 November 2014
Cambridge

(Photo by pranav, Flickr.com)