Archive for ‘poetry’

May 17, 2024

Postcards from a Plymouth Summer

The still asleep river
Meets the early morning sea
A snake of mist melts away

I went for my twenty minutes morning walk. The sky was clear, except for what looked like a thick white mist over the Tamar valley. Where the river met the sea, so did the river mist. But it continued in a long white line, like a serpent made of smoke, slowly disappearing in the sea breeze.

Sunlight dances
Friday morning at park
On orange dino hat

Friday’s are my stay at home father day. If the weather is good we try to go to the park early. Before there are lots of kids. My son loves getting on the swing. The little kids swing, always the one on the right. He points to the twin swing on the left and says baby swing – as if he is on the big kids swing. Both are exactly the same, but he always insists on going to the one on the right. If there are others, we wait for our turn, even if the one of the left is free.

Yellow chu chu train
A thousand humans buzz
Happy summer sun

Little one and his mom are on the yellow chu chu train. There are three of them. Yellow, red and blue. Primary coloured. Little one always insists on going on the yellow. It’s his favourite. He always insists on going with his mom. She is his favourite.
I sit and wait on one of the wooden picnic tables nearby. The sun is warm on my back. I semi close my eyes and listen to the sounds.
The sea breeze forms a soft background noise. People talking. Laughing. Children playing in the park. Shouting. Running after the ball. Cars driving by. Everything blends together into a joyous summer afternoon drone, like something coming from a happy insect colony. Punctuated every now and then by the raucous cries of the ever present seagulls.

Red sky, yellow sky
Zippy has turned amber
Bedtime, little one

Zippy is a sleep timer we have got for the little one. It stays blue during the day. When its his bed time it turns amber. If the clouds aren’t there, the sky to the west has turned red and yellow by this time. Red sky! yellow sky! little one shouts. We say red sky yellow sky means…we pause..he says sun bedtime! Yeeees, sun bedtime, Adi bedtime we say. Sometimes he listens, sometimes he doesn’t.

October 2, 2023

Waking up one autumn night

The midnight moon. Dissolves in silver smoke. Leaving only clouds

August 16, 2023

A missed daily prompt – What brings me peace

What brings you peace?

Feeling the little hands of my toddler against my face

Gazing at the stars and wondering at the vastness of space

Walking alone in the night rain, when no one else is out

Dozing off in the sun, listening to the seagulls shout

Holding my breath under water, in the swimming pool

Tender coconut water, in the hot summer shade, to cool

Endless waves crashing on the shore

Music in my ears when doing some boring chore

Desolate ancient ruins, where history breathes

Winds rustling through the pine leaves

Those rare moments, when I can give riding my thoughts a miss.

And feel glimpses of the truth. The existence, the consciousness and the bliss

March 17, 2023

Last Light [Fiction]

She was born alone. Unlike the others.

Unlike the others, when she opened her eyes, there wasn’t this dazzling dance of creation all around her which had inspired awe and wonder it the multitudes before her.

If she did feel awe and wonder, it must have been at the utter absolute loneliness of her situation. But she wouldn’t have known she was lonely. To know that she would have to know that there was the possibility of others. She would have to know that the infinite unchanging darkness stretching in all directions to infinity and beyond wasn’t the only state of being.

Maybe she looked inwards and found peace in herself. Maybe she found companionship in those little bodies whizzing past her at the speed of light. Briefly illuminated by her brilliance and then turning to darkness.

She was the last of her kind. She was also my favourite. She was small and weak, compared to the giants who had come before. But she didn’t know that. She was a tragic figure who was doomed the moment she was born. But she didn’t know that. So she fought anyway.

She was the last of her kind. She was also my favourite. My lone warrior who did not give up halfway. My little redhead who was determined to live a full life just like the countless others before her. Not letting her fate snuff out her brightness.

But now she is gone. There is only darkness. Eternal and unchanging. There will be nothing more. And the nothing will stretch for so long that eventually it will feel like it was nothing all along. All memories will fade. Hers will be the last to go. But even hers would be gone one day.

My little red one. My last light.

***

“..Our cosmos is currently 13.77 billion years old, and galaxies throughout the universe will continue making new stars for many years to come. But eventually—roughly one trillion years from now—the last star will be born. That star will likely be a small red dwarf, barely a fraction of our sun’s mass. Red dwarf stars live fantastically long lives, gently sipping on hydrogen to power a slow but steady fusion reaction. But eventually, all stars, including the red dwarfs, will come to an end. In roughly 100 trillion years, the last light will go out..”

I read the above quote in Popular Mechanics, which made me think of the story of the last star. My version is what you see above.

**

Then I thought I will ask ChatGPT to write the story. I gave it the following prompt first.

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This is what it wrote..

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Then I asked it..

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Not a bad effort. I would say. I love it that the first story starts with “once upon a time..” almost as if its a fairly tale, or something written by a child. And certainly both seem to have a more upbeat positive ending..

February 24, 2023

The Tree and The Creeper

We were young
“We will reach for the sky together”, you had said
No one had said that to me before.
There were others, but no one had come close
No one had said “together” before
There were others, but I had been rooted to my spot
I was a tree after all, what else do you expect
No exactly great at going close
But you had come near, and the two of us had dreamt

Of reaching for the sky together.
That was your dream. Of putting down roots together
That had been mine
We had dreamt together, not knowing we were dreaming separate
We thought we could do both
How naïve we had been
We had thought love will make everything possible
How naïve we had been

We are no longer young
Though you don’t like hearing that
“Age is all in the mind” You say
But I can feel it my branches
The weight of unfulfilled dreams, yours and mine
My roots grow weak, the roots I once wanted to return to
And the sky grows grey, the sky you once wanted to touch

We are no longer young, but still we soldier on
Now more than ever. For the sake of the little one
Passers by see us.
See, how beautiful. They say.
Growing old together. So much in love
And we forget for the moment
And think yes, how beautiful
Growing old together. The two who never really met
The tree and the creeper..

November 6, 2022

More autumn haiku, just when everyone thought enough is enough..

Dried leaves
Cover half the sky –
Autumn puddle

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Autumn sunset
Over the ancient lands of Plymouth –
Like the eye of Sauron

October 30, 2022

Memories of childhood

Memories are funny. Something triggers something. And there, a picture from long ago, buried somewhere deep, comes to life.

Smoky conch shells
Call the hazy sun home
Winter evening

There is a chill in the air. Some of the children left already. The smooth concrete of the slide feels cold. The swings are free at last; swinging by themselves. The grass feels damp. Smoke from wood fire hangs still in the air. Conch shells signal the sondha (evening) prayer. Its time to go home..

October 30, 2022

Autumn Morning Gale

Waves in the grass
A crow tries hard to land
Autumn morning gale

***

A crow tries –
Hard to land on the rock;
Autumn morning gale

October 29, 2022

Isn’t This Enough?

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Isn’t this enough?

Is this all there is? I ask.

This crunching of autumn leaves under your feet. This soft sunshine. This cool shadow of the trees. Isn’t this enough? The voice says.

The white sailed boats out on the horizon. The sparkling blue sea. The breeze in your hair. Isn’t this enough? The voice says.

The dogs out running. The children out playing. The segulls out soaring. Isn’t this enough? The voice says.

The innocence in your son’s smile. The gurgling laughter. The joy in his eyes . Isn’t this enough. The voice says.

The warm tear on your cheek. The silence between the two breaths. The flower which blooms for one night. Isn’t this enough. The voice says.

This moment, which is all there is. Isn’t this enough. The voice says.

October 7, 2022

Doing nothing in particular – one lazy autumn afternoon

There must be a break in the clouds on the horizon. For the patch of sea right at the end is golden yellow. Like a golden border between the sea and the sky.

The wind is strong. Autumn leaves come tumbling by my balcony. Tumbling from life to death. Always one at a time. Everyone goes to death alone.

Red and white geraniums still line the balcony glass. A branch of the whites have managed to find a gap in the glass and hang outside onto the street. Over the heads of unsuspecting passers by.

A seagull is inspecting something on the roof of a black Hyundai parked on the opposite side of the road. A learners car. There is a big red L on a white square stuck on the black background.

An old couple walks by side by side. Two dogs. Identical black poodles with curly rug like coats. One on heel. The other straining on its leash a few feet in front

My sons toys strewn all around the floor. It looks like a little hurricane has passed through the room.

The hurricane has finally slept. I can hear gentle reassuring snores beside me. Time for a little afternoon nap.

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