She sings by the fields
she is so beautiful
and soft haired
ran through as mother and daughter
Now black haired
dancing with fine skin
watched the eyes of the evil
bad god of the underworld
The evil
the dark one,
brother to thee best
and keeper of the dead
brother to thee best
and keeper of the dead
He took her away
took her away one summers day
The stars in the sky shine
One for ever breath taking moment
I had but a few
Before I met you
The clouds in the sky gather
For every tear filled night
Only a sprinkle or two
Before I met you
The flowers in the fields grow
A petal for every smile filled laughter
A couple would do
Before I met you
For every bright star lit, a cloud to hide behind.
For every stormy night,
A flower to bloom.
You light up my night's sky.
You flood my mind.
And drip petals from my awakened body.
On the brim of dawn,
on the battle torn fields,
where the lilacs flow,
we will never yield.
Swords may clash,
with the shield I wield,
but we will never run,
we will never yield.
Flesh meets with sword,
sword meets with shield.
Battle cries are shrieked,
we will never yield.
And when sunsets,
on this bloody, beaten field.
We will stand tall,
we will never yield.
Am I
Lost again?
uncertain
In my own world
Splashing in puddles.
happily
While dancing in these tempestuous fields of my life I am now aware that
I am not lost
I am found
Wrapped in wind,
Sun kissing skin...
Racing down the road,
Stop pedalling to coast...
Flying downhill,
Sunday morning thrill...
Communing with God,
Love never forgot...
Birds fly above,
Country I love...
Rolling fields and farms,
Red painted barns...
Wrapped in wind,
Sun kissing skin...
Through the pastoral serenity of rolling fields
with forests, hills and dancing streams,
We calmly flowed in golds, greens, and misty blues
and were captured under moonlit beams.
A winding stone path led to a wooden porch
that kept our home and heart philosophically one,
For it was there our poetry and dreams were shared
spoken by candle but forged by night's sun.
Aged patina gently warmed the heart of pine
beneath our feet and fireplace of stone,
There a craftfully hand carved mantlepiece
held our book of dreams in our final home.
The little cares that fretted me,
I lost them yesterday,
Among the fields, above the sea,
Among the winds at play;
Among the lowing of the herds,
The rustling of the trees;
Among the singing of the birds,
The humming of the bees.
The foolish fears of what may happen,
I cast them all away
Among the clover-scented grass,
Among the new-mown hay;
Among the rustling of the corn,
Where drowsy poppies nod,
Where ill thoughts die and good are born
Out in the fields with God.
* Elizabeth Barrett Browning*
He undertook
Such a jolly folly
To search for his heart's twin
O'er plain, and peak
Never sparing daring
Mad quest he did begin
He careless spent
All his funny money
For he spared no expense
Heard of a man
said to uncover lovers
Without a recompense
"He's only known
as the Giant Bryant"
For there were none bigger
So off he went
For how dare-he tarry
With the greatest vigor
Within one moon
He did righted sighted
The giant's stone castle
And cautious stepped
Midst the towers flowers
For he was quite facile
With guarded prose
Lest he adverse converse
Relayed his quest of years
And though none be
A more mighter blighter
Tall Bryant shed six tears
"Your search for love"
Reflects gallant talent
And will surely quench thirst
In yonder vale
In a deeping sleeping
A daughter who's born first
A true love's heart
And hair flaxen waxen
Braids tressed with a blue fleur
She longs for love
To keep-her deeper
Hope steels her to endure
It was just so
For he found-her sounder
In the vale with fields green
Her braided hair
In breeze saving waving
With the suns golden sheen
As he held her
In their blissing kissing
Knew he'd ne'er search again
For in her eyes
Shown a growing knowing
Reflecting his hearts twin
The North facing windows
of my mother’s house
watch me leave
as I glide over the
fields like the
masts on a
nameless
ghost ship.
I never felt
I was tied to the place;
I could leave
when I wanted.
But when your
blood and your
tears and your
grief spills over
onto territory
that birthed you,
opinions once
black and white
seep into grey.
I do not feel a loss.
Coaxed by new tastes
on a disused tongue
now active in
words and play and
sensation,
I can keep my
head above water
long enough to
breathe a few
short
sharp
breaths.
One step,
a million miles.
There are no games
in growing up
and out,
only sorry players.
Now the South
of my mother’s house
gets the sun.
Nothing lands here anymore
Except swallows and sparrows:
The fields cannot remember
The last airplane that landed
On what was once an airport.
The runways have slowly yielded
Inch by inch, every corner,
To hungry weeds and silent woods;
The tufts of coarse September grass
Have reclaimed most of the land.
The wind blows through the wild grass.
Twittering larks have replaced
The cough of busy engines;
Only wild flowers and prickly weeds
Bear testimony to this change.
In the overgrown sal thickets
An owl proclaims what is obvious:
Nothing really was meant to last.
In the end there’s always change.
And that is fair compensation.
Diptesh Ghosh
