An epistle

p.s

Miss Deepti Sreeram

Hyderabad

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Dearest Nahid,

This is an episode. These are episodes.

An episode in a water tight compartment.

Nahid,

Sit by that dresser,

Comb your hair next to my bed,

Throw that wrapper on my floor.

No, I am not needy.

It is just that, Why don't you?

So, it rained yesterday.

I was writing,

Letter was so wet.

No, Not to you. Not that needy.

But, why don't you write to me?

Nahid,

Do you have that kajal with you?

The one that smudges.

I hate it.

But, smudge it more. You look beautiful.

Why don't you?

Mild body lotion bottle in my dustbin,

Scent of that wretched lemon grass.

It was always on me,

Night, day, noon, bus, chair, shelf.

You still have it. I know.

Don't you?

When will you reply?

When will you come for me?

This being an episode,

Episodes built upon daydreams,

Where you are a part of me,

I am signing off.

But, why don't you,(needy am I?)

Come out. Will you?

Yours truly,

When you come.

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D'aaniaa Kharaa

p.s

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If I Were A Tree

 

p.s

Mrs Norma Martiri 

Australia

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What would I do if I were a tree?

I’d regard life in the surrounds.

Mankind would live within nature’s law,

Respecting the natural compounds. 

What would I do if I were a tree?

Regenerate earth’s atmospheres.

Mankind would inhale nature’s fresh breath,

Across the world’s vast hemispheres. 

What would I be if I were a tree?

Majestic and free as I grew.

Mankind would be left to live and grow,

And the earth as one would renew. 

What would I see if I were a tree?

I’d see beauty in life around.

Mankind would see the beauty in me,

In harmony life would abound. 

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Mushroom cloud of disgust

p.s

Kavita Rao

Mumbai 

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Together they watch
while their sweat is charred
but not by toil,
while theirs hearts are crushed
but not by an angry lover,
while their clothes are smeared
but not by the spilt pigments

Together they’re drowning
in a man-made reservoir of hate,
Secretly praying for a raft
that’ll carry them to safety
as they throw their fears overboard,
While constantly listening
to their own silent cries
- their subdued sighs -
fall on deaf ears
with thorny walls of greed

Yet together some day,
their silent cries will reincarnate
as a thundering bellow
and resurface
on calmer waters
of mango smelling summers
and warm rains
of unadulterated love

This poem is  a humble tribute to the people  affected  by the recent terrible blasts in Mumbai…

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