Today the sun was not found
only rain amidst the meadows
Thistle grew, poking through
clouds - til black of nightfall
Dark wingless bird, shadow of stillness
quiet the stars, so long ago forgiveness
and will it come, soon the dawn?
a day to breathe deeply lunged
or fly away my days born of green
ancient as a forest

Today - it came suddenly, like rain it came in sheets, stormy without warning
it left nothing to repair, no way to undo the longing, swift we fell, fumbling
as you flew far, forever and gone  
with no one to find you
again at your home

Somehow I felt you smiling or knew you'd be laughing,
dancing in daisies, barefoot and singing Sinatra
on the other side, sweetly
by now

death is laced with colours no eye can see
i saw it yesterday
resting on a twig
on a cold manhole cover
against which it looked so alive
-- it seemed to be comforted
brown wings pulled close, tips almost touching,
against the tiny white shell of its chest,
speckled with black
a tiny beak welcoming the chance to grab
at an interminable silence
--neither ugly nor morbid
but gently pretty,
the presence of death
affirming life.

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   06.07.2013
   Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

Oh green I sing, of wings and birds across blue morning sky
with summer sounds, willows round the floating pond
dipping gently by.

Warm winds play music soft
through leaves and reeds, they sing
gathering in the transient breeze.

Under leafy trees of sunlight and shadows
all the day I rest my head
breathe sweet the flowering fields
never shall I leave this place
nor want for any sweeter heaven.

Fast her wild days ran tall as forest foxglove,
long the happy sun of wing full prayers and beating drums
grassy knees ripening green on summer's lawn
honeycombed hideouts of laughing stings and bees
running long through wild meadows
pale of butter's milky cream
a child's face soft as flower petals
so quick to bud into full bloom
blushing in her rosy days
a swan soon flies to the wild unknown
there where an hourglass looks on

Water trickling, grooved patterns of bark
darkening drinking up
Bright yellow creeping
maple leaves losing green
fallen or hanging on

A wind gust
little rush of swirls
tiny leaves come to rest -
wakes the nightjar
from her evening nest

Wet wings, flickers fly
stellar jay looks on,
Roses withered, ages gone
petals on the
ground

Ersatz coffee, chicory and dandelion,
a dream of self sufficiency
the town has regained its prominence
reverting to old style timber
chevaux de bois,
a smithy as new
as time unfolding,
the spaces between buildings
allowing the sun to divine down
sentimentality decked on back- stools,
speckled sepia blossoming
a petite fleur coronation crown
becomes renewed strangers.

She stayed up quite late many nights
Pricking her fingers raw sometimes
Telling herself that it did indeed matter.
She would thread a ribbon with such care that it seemed as if the ribbon was her own life
And each stitch with such precision!
Lined with words, with nouns, the adjectives kept together just perfect
Yet no one would wear her sorry stories
No, no one read the tear-stained woven fabrics
In such brilliant hues that even a cardinal would be jealous.
Scarlet after all is such a lovely color.