waiting
for home bound birds
late evening tea
***
clock ticks
old photos
measuring time
Our world’s perceived through our constructs (one lump, or two?). (We welcome Jharna to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of her madness on her new page – check it out.) – mh clay
His egg days were thrice a week
and somehow he could divine;
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.
Just at eight, he would crouch near the kitchen,
– a chocolate-puff Chinese spaniel –
meditating on Sartre’s Being and Nothingness.
Sharp at eight, the cook would come out
with the egg, and place it in his bowl.
He proceeded with all dignity, slowly and gently,
sat close to it, legs stretched in a perfect yoga pose.
He drew it to the floor, held it tenderly
in between his paws and kept looking at it
– (we had counted, for two minutes at a stretch) –
savouring the beauty of the little orb.
His eyes, as if they had grown into a tongue, licking it
with all his being. He fondled it, played with it,
– a lover’s besotted craving.
He rested his head on his paws,
his choco brown fleece guarding his boon.
Then came the moment of revelation.
Golden moon emerged from the cloud.
Bingo sat still. A wistful sigh,
– you have to let all good things pass –
and he gulped the yolk
not letting it suffer the ignominy
of an eclipsed moon.
With the utter disdain of a monk
who knows the futility of the world,
he finished chewing on the white nothingness;
wagged his tail and languidly walked back
to his dog’s destined life.
He had left not a morsel behind, except,
as Mother used to say, –a lesson:
the art of savouring your boon!
Enlightened canine carries the “Yes!” Savour! – mh clay
ice-cream wrapper…
midnight sorts
love and parting
***
mangrove tree
tied by roots…
saws snarling
***
I am stuck…
scampering squirrel
flips travel brochure
Little said, much conveyed; sort, saw, unstuck become. – mh clay
