Oddity

Poetry and Picture ©️ Vibina Narayan

In this interlace
Between the branches
Of a hundred deserted trees
Where the light chose
To shine into
Their deep marsh
Underbelly of unknown.
Here life has arrived again
Into another year,
Into her,
As she learnt to
Melt into time
And smile from
Within her heart-
The warmth for her winter.
At this oddity called
Time.

Infinite

Image ©️ Vibina Narayan

There is a reason why everything happens.

A reason why you are born.

A reason for why you were born on the day you were born.

A reason for the home or street that brings you up.

A reason for your existence.

One for the way you are.

And the unavoidable one for how your life turns out to be.

Every emotion, every thought, every act, every word- spoken or not, is accounted for with a reason not always known to the limited consciousness of our human minds.

Like all these rivulets, we are pooled into nothing but the sea of humanity.

And then all these reasons, at an uncalled vertex of moment, will flood into your awareness of making any sense at all with vague words for explanation.

Why they were always there in the beginning.

And why they will always be there till the end.

Nothing is a coincidence, and yet everything is.

Luna

Poetry by Vibina Narayan @soulofscheherazade. Image by Shweta Kallianpurkar @a_tad_askew

I prayed.

A little block of

the burdened sky

dropped down.

And the sun blushed,

In the West End of

my bizarre idea of

Paradise.

Letting be, and

a trickle of

Letting go.

All for me, and

All for mine.

I chased

another bubble of hope,

and threw

another reckless of a wish,

to the brooding

handover of twilight.

Fancying always the

Canny, crescent smile

of an obscured shadow

of the two faced

lunar,

(A full blue moon only to usurp my heart)

Upon the transitioning palette of dreams

of tonight.

And it brought me

to you (once again),

And a song humming in me

all week long.

While the winter’s fire

and the abandoned echo

of a child’s laugh

down the long road home,

crooned away the passing

of this evening,

Walking all the miles in

thoughts between

the hearts of

You and I.

December

Just re-visiting an old favourite poem of mine simply titled, ‘December’. Hope you like 🙂

Image and poem copyright Vibina Narayan

Little bird.

Are you lost amongst

the thorny brambles

knitting up the clear freezing sky.

Are you hungry?

For the grains, the kind, placid strangers of summer

Once threw your way.

Are you searching for the voice

that you once used for

singing the forlorn ballads of

autumn love that

died along with their leaves.

You know, I am here

Waiting with a basin full

of love and salt, shed

this bygone year.

Soaking in them the

seeds of tomorrow for

a much brighter morning,

a much silent noon,

to plant in the soil

of my little strength.

Don’t leave me a trinket.

It is nothing but another memory of you.

Another memory of you

Owing me something.

You may have heard of this,

But my love knows no debts,

or simple words of gratitude.

Just pay me a visit,

A flutter of your beautiful wings,

And those colourful plumes

to frenzy my ill heart.

For to see your beating bosom,

Throbbing with a million unsung songs to be proud of,

And your eyes meeting a million friends

amongst yours or otherwise,

Bring a thousand rhythms of joy,

to my winter soul and

December thoughts.

November

Image and poem copyright of Vibina Narayan

In the passing of the thin day,

In the midst of this whirlwind

where I stand,

An axis held by tutored lungfuls

of cold, hard, breath,

Presides over the leftover will

in my tortuous veins.

(Like an autumn leaf that refuses to fall)

My eyes,

Marbles of fading memories,

are guided to the tremulous stance of a robin,

her chest, an orange crescent

in this bluegray, beaming pride

of a relentless November.

(Like an autumn leaf that refuses to fall).

The moon rises early

Her soft cream of translucency

Diluting the pitch dark of winter-

The silhouettes of the night

A still reminder of

Seasons and friends

that come and go,

and the ones that remain to fill my home.

(Like an autumn leaf that refuses to fall).

And for this,

I shall stay,

Rooted to the changing firmament of time,

My young, forming, learning, oak

The visceral bearer of

Life and her slow disclosures.

The rings and lines upon this trunk of mine,

An adage of all the stories

seen and untold.

(Like an autumn leaf that refuses to fall).

Wild Woman

Picture and Poem copyright of Vibina Narayan

The weathered marks of yesterday’s

sorrow summers have

left an indelible pattern to

long for something

Forever.

Little droplets of jewels

kiss the leaf tips a little longer

yearned and adorned in

another life.

Telling fairytales of the

untouched trials of

a damp, damp heart.

Frost numbs, and sunshine blinds (which do you prefer?)

Stood in the wet grass

dazed, squared, and still,

skin of a strong, dry bone memory upon,

a jaded rose quartz,

bare and labile flesh amongst the weeds,

in an overgrown backyard,

reminding, remaining, and

remembering

a young girl in the

wild woman’s art.

Hypnagogia

20200720_105927

 

Clouds are drifting away

Like a dream.

The frame in this movie

Guilded by golden

green leaves.

Sunshine percolates through

Our veins.

The day’s honey seeps

Into the gold of

Your iris, as I watch (you).

We watch the blue sky

And hear it telling us

A story (of ours).

 

We are now somewhere

Hanging in between scenes

Of a timeless motion between

The thresholds of a

Slow and sweet slumber. And summer.

To piano keys and

seconds of cogwheels.

The evening has yet again

greeted us with

A fairweather smile.

Abiding into night,

abiding into something

We are going to lose.

Like this date.

 

So long as we dance again

In the music of

Each another’s

Wholesome silence,

Our brief interludes

In the twilight and

Waking hours of the other’s

Will and desire,

Time and space,

Will run the

Rest of our show here.

In the garden built

On the loose soil of

Our love.

Kanmani (Creation)

IMG_20200703_100723_185

 

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.

Here

IMG_20191230_193509_185

 

 

Sunshine streams through the heavy clouds above

Like a call of conscience from heaven.

Life outside moves with a horizontal vector

While I’m sat here, static and in inertia of limbo.

The lilacs I always looked up to for respite

Have grown pale into the spite of existence grey.

Time moves inch by inch, every swipe of the needle

But a smudge on our longevity and dent in our breath.

I have not spent much here, yet I feel like

I have been home forever, 

The shadow of a stranger in the glass,

Some long lost friend.

I fix my gaze upon nothing yet I’m lost

Even the field of dandelions held like 

Beads of crystal in the softness of dusk tried to call me out.

Maybe that is what it is. To be here and now.

When you are really no where any how.