#pachegaonkar - Hello Poetry

Dark ,wet leaves part for my lantern. I hear the hushed applause of rain on leaves,and follow the welcome carpet of light unrolled from the open door across the soft grass. Smoke pours down from the chimney to embrace me. Wet leaves cling to my shoes. Two rabbits dance back and forth like happy children and a face pale as the moon peers from the door in greeting

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Aug 20, 2014

Aug 20, 2014 at 5:17 AM UTC

krishnapachegonkar

A Rainy Night in Ranikhet

Dark ,wet leaves part for my lantern. I hear the hushed applause of rain on leaves,and follow the welcome carpet of light unrolled from the open door across the soft grass. Smoke pours down from the chimney to embrace me. Wet leaves cling to my shoes. Two rabbits dance back and forth like happy children and a face pale as the moon peers from the door in greeting

9

Their togetherness had become an island, surrounded by strange waters .She contributes to its noise unendingly.He often makes grand, defiant gestures withering away like luckless roots. Only a ruthless need survives.Years have turned dreams into plain consolations. Even hope is a necessary drudgery.Fears grow like parasites on their passions. Yet a reluctance persists-- reluctance to expand, the turbulence or claim of waters does not surprise, some playful waves struggle to the sand, watching them, they become unconcerned, as the skies Should they be called happy? The question sounds hollow.They have raised walls around their beings, a happy captivity of the sun, while their lives dance as dolls immaculate

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Aug 19, 2014

Aug 19, 2014 at 5:26 AM UTC

krishnapachegonkar

A Married Couple

Their togetherness had become an island, surrounded by strange waters .She contributes to its noise unendingly.He often makes grand, defiant gestures withering away like luckless roots. Only a ruthless need survives.Years have turned dreams into plain consolations. Even hope is a necessary drudgery.Fears grow like parasites on their passions. Yet a reluctance persists-- reluctance to expand, the turbulence or claim of waters does not surprise, some playful waves struggle to the sand, watching them, they become unconcerned, as the skies Should they be called happy? The question sounds hollow.They have raised walls around their beings, a happy captivity of the sun, while their lives dance as dolls immaculate

16

When her husband glances at me; I observe tiny highlights of speculation glittering on the treacherous surface of his intelligence. My open smile defuses him. He blast the ready pores of his suspicion, of course her animation appeals to other men: she's attractive, high-spirited in conversation. But my pleasure find new edge to the tale of an axe returned sharper than it was.

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Aug 19, 2014

Aug 19, 2014 at 5:09 AM UTC

krishnapachegonkar

When her husband glaces at me

When her husband glances at me; I observe tiny highlights of speculation glittering on the treacherous surface of his intelligence. My open smile defuses him. He blast the ready pores of his suspicion, of course her animation appeals to other men: she's attractive, high-spirited in conversation. But my pleasure find new edge to the tale of an axe returned sharper than it was.

12

When she died, I thought I'd just grow old Shutting myself in the old house alone,with memories and the mirror that she had looked in one bright day like gold in the miser's chest.

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Aug 19, 2014

Aug 19, 2014 at 4:56 AM UTC

krishnapachegonkar

Epigraph Written on Her Death

When she died, I thought I'd just grow old Shutting myself in the old house alone,with memories and the mirror that she had looked in one bright day like gold in the miser's chest.

6

The birds fly away from the evergreen pines As I stir out of bed And open the window to see The mountains still asleep Behind the thick veil of fog. I fix the binoculars, Adjust the lenses Pierce through them And lo, the mountains now seem awake: They glide on the wide plains. A hide-and seek goes on between us; Till the start of the rain When the vision melts, Like the words of love The time will wear slowly away.

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Aug 19, 2014

Aug 19, 2014 at 4:39 AM UTC

krishnapachegonkar

In the Lidder-Sindhu Valley, Kashmir

The birds fly away from the evergreen pines As I stir out of bed And open the window to see The mountains still asleep Behind the thick veil of fog. I fix the binoculars, Adjust the lenses Pierce through them And lo, the mountains now seem awake: They glide on the wide plains. A hide-and seek goes on between us; Till the start of the rain When the vision melts, Like the words of love The time will wear slowly away.

15