Kanmani (Creation)

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She held her palms open on a blue,

blue day, while the sky poured open

in honour of her mind.

A wistful grey cloud lay out beyond.

The cracking whip of a thunder and

cold whispers, tore into the

Nodes of her guileless heart.

She sought for answers amidst

What she grew to never be her own.

The damp air reaffirmed what she

never thought would have.

And there lay, like a curveball, even before

It’s life began, a hatched young lifeless bird,

The membrane of its creation, holding

every untold story of it, in her skin.

Pale, opaque beak that almost formed to sing and shut eyes that almost opened to forage,

Thin filaments of wings, that would

One day be strong to fly away, far away,

And beat the strongest of winds, up to ascension.

Though now, here it lay, in her hands, pointless, waiting to be salvaged into the earth,

That has brought all of us here.

She threw a piece of her heart, and trowelled

a lump of mud heavier than her breathe, and

Placed this lithe creation, which was here,

If only for a drop in the expanse of time,

A few inches deeper into the circle of life.

And as her praying hands buried the esse,

As deftly as she does with her dreams,

The ritual of love gave away, the embers,

The tears wrung from tired eyes, called

Another mother, who perched on the

highest branch and cooed away all the hope

She held in herself, once upon a time,

and sang a solemn requiem,

for her soul below.

December

Little bird.

Are you lost amongst the thorny brambles

That are knitting up the winter sky.

Are you hungry

For the grains, the kind, placid strangers of summer

Threw your way.

Are you looking for the  voice 

That was once used for singing

The tragic ballads of autumn love

That died along with them

Leaves.

You know,

I am here

Waiting with a basin 

Full of love and tears of a bygone 

Year.

Soaking the seeds of tomorrow,

A much brighter morning, 

A much calmer noon,

In the soil of my little strength.

Don’t leave me a trinket.

It is nothing but 

Another memory of you 

Owing me something.

You must have heard this 

But my love knows no 

Gratitude,

Or simple words.

Only pay me a visit,

Or pay me a flutter

Of your beautiful wings,

And those colourful plumes.

For to see

Your beating bosom,

Throbbing with a million 

Dreams and,

And your eyes 

Meeting a million

Destinies,

Beats a thousand rhythm of 

Lives,

In my heart and

December thoughts.