Sunny Nights And Wintry Days

By Sulekha Tewari

You are showering dews of melody,

Dribbling inside the shadowy walls of my ears,

Slender, soft rivers of voice,

Gushing through my nerves after years.

With my dropped eyelids, I stood awake,

And flushed outside tip-toed,

Balletic petals were released from flowerets,

Dancing with the tiny gourd.

Blood bloomed and made them blush,

Round the Emerald-tinged mangoes,

Crooked hands made the bells swing,

Delighted with the Zephyrus that blows.

The spirits returned to their hungry tombs,

Bringer of life to the hearts that moan,

But the tombs refused to drink the potion of growth,

In the middle of night, let our spirits groan.

Pearls shed their peels with age,

To burst and ooze the green gem out,

Sharing their secret roots intertwined,

Beneath the pearlescent cloud.

The moon sat in its blazing chariot,

Ruling over its solitude,

The gloomy darkness sucking the silver streams of smoke,

Falling from an altitude.

The loosely knit jingling trumpets of Marigold,

Sprinkling its vermilion kiss on my cheeks,

Painting its art over my skin,

Chained my dermis with a slight tweak.

My child, where are you? A voice came forth,

I twirled and looked my mother calling,

Came back to complete the rest of my sleep,

O God! The voice is still crawling.

It was the voice of cuckoo that took my sleep,

Splashed golden dew over my eyelashes,

Time was more than midnight,12:24,

Gave me views which in my dream flashes.

Helios dwelling in the blue cradle,

Peeping through the eyes of my roof,

The walls suffering perspiration,

Can poverty be a proof?

Our well lost its tears,

With vast treasures of barren spots,

Parched and scorched were the patterns curved on my mother’s heels,

By moistening the earthen pots.

A creeper’s temper is distempered,

Draped strands of golden hair ran,

There was no cure of this contagious malady,

To shield my father’s skin from burning tan.

I was waiting at the depot plain,

And saw the spying vice nearing,

She was pride, trying to fade my fortitude,

By touching my patience of hearing.

I want to sense the warmth of ink flowing,

To pour the honey out of honeysuckles through my lines,

Let the mourning silence drain out of my heart,

I took a fancy to fill the paper with grapevines.

Look! A river, a river downpouring sympathies from a height,

I will not let even a single sphere to touch my skin,

The blank pages are snowing its merriments over the earth,

Let me hold my pen and play the violin.

The Sunny nights are always there to soothe my exertion,

But the Wintry days blesses me with pain,

What a deceitful world it is!

With deception flowing in every vein.

By Sulekha Tewari