"bulbul" poems
A shaft from the golden sun,
reclined peacefully in my lap.
The amber gleam reflected back,
and gently baked the solemn land.
An ardent whisper furnished the woods
with a viridescent scent that woke up the woods.
Silver songs of sleek streams,
chased the lullabies away;
gently.
Ancient tress cuddled the wind,
their leaves clapped in sheer bliss
The broken winged white eyed bulbul,
warbled hymns to lift the curse.
Scarlet tainted vintage letters resting in the rustic mailbox,
await your tender touch; while they chant for a past long gone.
But lily livered clouds,
they have turned your courage into a yellow illusion.
So now defy the toxic words and the errors you made,
A different person inside your skin, long ago, burned our hearts on the hateful flames.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 6:44 PM UTC
Know throughout as
Mohan the enchanter.
or even Gopala or Govinda
Jagganatha is known as
Shri Krishna appeared in Gokul
Many legends have been told
with skin as Jambul as a jamun
And flute music like the song of a bulbul
Legends and stories carry on
through rasleela, they are known
through Krishna Lila, they are showcased
but all throughout the king is born
His radiance appearance of
Jambul skin and a peacock feather
or even crown in Tribhanga and his flute
with sweets notes of love
As a warrior in the battle of Kurukshetra
Throughout the Mahabharata, he is known
here he shared with Arjuna
what is known as the Bhagavad Geeta
Hare Krishna Hare Krishna,
Krishna Krishna Hare Hare
Hare Rama Hare Rama
Rama Rama Hare Hare
With this, I offer my salutations to you
Oh Lord Krishna,
Please accept my humble
request to thee
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC
Nor thou, Habib, nor I are glad,
when rosy limbs and sweat entwine;
But rapture drowns the sense and self,
the wine the drawer of the wine,
And Him that planted first the grape-
o podex, in thy vault there dwells
A charm to make the member mad,
And shake the marrow of the spine.
O member, in thy stubborn strength
a power avails on podex-sense
To boil the blood in breast and brain;
shudder the nreves incarnadine!
From me thou drawest pearly drink -
and in its pourings both are drunk.
The Iman drives forth the drunken man
from out the marble prayer-shrine.
Blue Mushtari strove with red Mirrikh
which should be master of the night-
But where is Mushtari, where Mirrikh
when in the sky the sun doth shine?
Now El Qahar to Hazif gives
the worship unto poets due : -
But songs are nought and Music all;
what poet music may define?
Allah's the atheist! he owns
no Allah. Sneer, thou dullard churl!
The Sufi worships not, but drinks,
being himself the all-divine.
Come, my Habib, the roses blush,
the waters gleam, the bulbul sings -
To pierce thy podex El Quahar's
urgent and and imminent design!
5.3k
Sitting outside in my grandpa’s veranda,
he passed away before I could appreciate his presence;
he wished for me to come see his art;
his garden, a green maze of trees and bushes,
from marigolds and periwinkle to mango trees and whatnot.
As I lay here on the mat,
close to my grandpa, I might gladly add;
seeing the ants crawl up on the periwinkle blooms
and wild butterflies dancing overhead;
with a bulbul on a mango tree branch
and crows chattering near food dumps;
with a sweet scent of marigold in the air
and crickets chirping in the background;
with a mongoose running on the broad fence
and a squirrel eating rice that my grandma kept;
with the sun rays hitting my face through the trees
and a couple of flies hovering beside my novel;
with a moment of pure serenity,
that brings a peaceful calm to this tranquil space;
my heart feels full and my soul at ease.
As a gentle breeze whispers by,
my hair seems to be afloat.
As the fresh air clears my mind,
I feel alive like never before.
As I hear children playing nearby,
memories of my childhood days come alive;
one of the best moments of my life;
in this veranda forever entwined.
As I feel a soft breath of crispness on my face,
I reminisce about the times I had lived with him;
the village isn't as bad as it seemed.
This is the land where my ancestors lived;
and where I feel his presence still,
he must be smiling sitting on the chair beside me;
finally, content that I appreciate his accomplishment.
Apr 3, 2023
Apr 3, 2023 at 4:03 PM UTC
A rain cloud, I was
in one of my incarnations,
heavy and pregnant with water,
it was proud,
billowing, adorned with
lightening's golden thread,
it poured in torrents,
with roars of thunder,
then sped through the fields,
that became fertile,
farmers with their ploughs
and bullocks came out,
the fields were bright green
with dancing rice saplings
Some other time
I was an ecstatic bulbul,
mango blooms told me amorous tales,
I voiced each in snorous ghazals,
The rice fields were ripe,
musky scent was ******
Women came in waves
and harvested the rice,
their songs were on romance,
ardent love and parting
hearing the bulbul
they perfected their singing.
A long time ago
I was a goat's kid,
I sprang around and danced
in the harvested field,
the cloud wanted to pet me
but she was so far,
bulbl sung a special tune
for me for a while
Looking at the green grass
on the other side of the fence
I would think wistfully,
what life would bring.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
അ** Getting closer, to the just bloomed flower
that bewitched him in an instant,
the honey bee gets intoxicated
by the web of love,
the sweet flower threw around,
it felt more like a gentle caress
to which his heart jumped!
He starts to do an ecstatic dance,
never thought he could,
till this sweet moment arrived,
merely touching her soft petals
he flies high as if to proclaim his pleasure
buzzing a new tune he composed
for this special moment,
he circles the flower
as if to adore her beauty
form all possible angles
making the moments of love
so special for them both..
ആ** A butterfly enchanted by the flower,next
has a dance of love so different,
he would flit around and hover above
adore her beauty in a more relaxed pace,
he appreciates her silence to his soft declarations,
his love songs have no words, on air written
by the sprightly moves of his colorful wings,
he knows she loves it and his dance tells it all.
Like a kite on the waves of wind, he bobs on air
gently descending,looking at her eyes.
ഇ** The tailor bird who never misses
mother nature's children all,big and small,
in their myriad ways of loving and living
watches what's going on,
without batting an eye lid,
she has a doubt
"Who among these
lovers are more intense?"
she thinks aloud.**
ഈ** The sonorous singer,
Bulbul watching it all
from the hanging branch
of a Champak, flowered in
riotous profusion answers:
ഉ "Both are poets, no doubt,
of distinction too,
each of their deeds
spontaneous demonstrates,
with hearts full of love
they wave poetry around us
in ways ingenious
paired with flowers.
why compare them?
Mother nature's brush
dexterous paints each one of us
with such loving care and kindness
to infuse celebratory spirit,to the world,
never forget that,learn from the bees and butterflies."*
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 12:07 AM UTC
In the greenery of the courtyard
Nested the Bulbul
Always in hide, but at times
A shine of the black beak
The crested headgear
Or a glowing red garland.
A flash now and then
Of the crimson tail-vent
The bird of ************
Of the rustic legends
Said old granny
The sight of the bird brings
Cyclic periods to woman
‘Bathe bathe bathe’
Babbles the bird.
Before the tomcat wakes up
From the ashy hearth
Into the nest everyday
I steal a peak.
Soft and tiny, dotted pink
Two cute eggs…
Later with slit-open eyes
Open beaks sticking out
But with no wings…
Today the nest is empty
Slaughtered by the cat
Or the wings bloomed?
The sound of ritual ‘kurava’
Announced a wonder news
The neighborhood twin girls
Have attained puberty together.
The crook tomcat
Should be exiled
In a gunny bag
Out of sight afar
Across the river.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC
Perches on my window
My mustached friend bulbul,
Finds me shaving,
A stray bird and I call it a miracle,
It pecks from my hand tidbits of food
Not scared at all
Looks deep into my eyes
And plants there a sunrise,
Asks the bird, ‘why do you shave,
And not save your beard
For the time it would fit your sunken face
When it would tell
There aren’t any of us around,
No miracle of waking up each morn
With our sounds’!
It knows miracles are drying up.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 12:34 PM UTC
Secret bridal shelter.
~~~~
"There is a legend about a bird
which sings just once in its life,
more sweetly than any
other creature on the face of the earth.
From the moment it leaves the nest
it searches for a thorn tree, and
does not rest until it has found one."
And singing among it's savage branches it impales itself
Upon it's sharpest longest spine;
bleeding, and unaware
of it's dying it sings to out Carol
the Lark and the Nightingale!
A song so beautiful God in heaven
smiles, for the best it's only bought
at the price of great pain
and sacrifice.
~~~~~
I voice love timely tonight
with cards left at hand.
Our inner feelings and thoughts
We ink new dreams on wings.
We are each others flame souls.
Never too late not too soon for us.
Lullaby hulla bulbul dear.
I love you! worship you!
I give my life to save yours,
if only you ask.
We betted bought love
at the cost of great pain
sacrificing a lifetime in longing
unrequited lost and now found.
He rules with heart of gold.
My king of hearts and I.
~~~~~~~~
By:: Karijinbba
8/21.
Aug 12, 2021
Aug 12, 2021 at 6:47 PM UTC
The birds visiting me
Now I don’t feed.
Blame it on my cats’ greed!
Doel, bulbul, myna
All having fallen prey to
These snoopy lurky hyena!
These petty filthy abductors
Prowling pouncing predators
Have everything that takes
To break my feathered friends’ necks!
Now I know it does them no good
Birds coming in lure of my food
And be bitten and eaten!
I no more feed
The cats’ greed.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 8:13 AM UTC
*Yellow with white butterflies
Fluttering over the flowers
Big bee comes flirting with a buzz
Amidst my conversation with
Rose, the flower queen
Giggling of her friends being a response
Red whiskered bulbul sings vociferously
Please to meet you in our kingdom
Never beautiful but humble the black crow
Bringing some fruits honouring her guest
Wishing me hi from aloft the Sun
A pleasant morning with nature
Made my day a beautiful creation*
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 11:43 PM UTC
When I see the clouds shined by sunset,
I have to go home now.
When I see the bird’s shade,
I have to go home now.
I have to go home.
It is sad.
Why does today end here?
See you tomorrow?
Tomorrow and today are
Different.
Today is only today.
Tomorrow is different.
Today’s me doesn’t exist
In tomorrow anymore
And, neither does today’s you.
There doesn’t exist
Today’s touch anymore.
Nobody knows that
Today and tomorrow are completely different.
That’s why
I cry
In this evening.
In the shiny bright evening,
Today is closed.
In this time,
When a bulbul’s voice
Slashes the sky,
It is the same feeling.
All that I’ve earned,
I don’t need.
The annual fleabane’s white bouquet
That I gathered
Is withering
In the hands
Like the letter that was never read.
I’ll throw it away onto the meadow
And run away
In order not to be seen by the first star.
To be honest,
I want to be absorbed in the dark sky
And disappear
Because I can view the uninhabited vacancy
From the sky forever
And I might even see today’s back there.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
I lay on bed waiting for that moment,
The night guard passed on his last round
Mournfully whistling another night was spent,
Though the night was still lulled by weary crickets’ sound.
My windowpane like a ***** lover clung darkness tight
If that would let him hold onto the night
Unwilling to let go the stars out of sight
Fearful his secret would be cracked by daylight.
I waited in bated breath that inevitable moment
Eyeing the glass to catch the transition
A bulbul called to say another night was spent
Other hopeful voices broke out in unison.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 3:07 AM UTC
Rustling leaves on trees,
Bulbul chirps near my window
Cool breeze greets my mood
A soothing background music,
And a cup of red coffee.
©sim
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 5:54 PM UTC
#*
Peaceful and quiet
The night
Occasionally the crickets chirp
Dusk and dawn, duties they perform
The red vented bulbul is first to sing
Awaits the sky to be blue again
While the morning star, dons the golden robe
Promising a brand new day*
🌿✨✨🌿
Aug 27, 2020
Aug 27, 2020 at 8:47 PM UTC
Why don’t you come now
To the plot of blue river shore
Where we would
In an intense chocolate mood
Sit in a sun rise satisfaction
On the grainy sand
And create pearl drops of time
From the rhymes of waves
With the vibrancy we behaved
Exchanging those fine chimes
From our moonbeam dialectics
And converging synthesis
Of our hilltop thoughts and marine activities
After a diamond quest
Like the river
Or inside the river too?
How wonderfully we regressed and progressed
Making those radiant rings of time
Sometime winged
Sometime pink tinged
Time is bland and monochrome
Unless from your chromosome
You paint it like Van Gogh
Arresting the wayward clock
During which
Regardless of Greenwich
Taking colours from our river-wave flowers
Taking flavours from our cellular tremors
Taking sounds from our nascent heart pounds
Yours and mine
In our proximity alkaline
Would paint the wavelets
In the cups and plates
Opening the normally closed gates
Of sweet sweats
From each pore
And millions of such pores
From smiling to laughing in a petrichor
Unlocking the thousand doors
Of a colour continuum
From San Francisco to Baltimore
As we exchange our breath
From our deepening cores
Raising a rivulet
In the blue pigeon’s breast
And the bulbul’s beautiful crest
A supreme rest
In a purple tumult
Shadows lengthen in ecstasy
As sessions come to a termination
(No termination is possible though
What happens is a slow transformation
Of one melody to another music
Speeches flowing into lyrics
The sounds into stillness mystic)
So therefore
Bringing to the fore
From the amalgamated core
A flower of fusion
Pure and fresh
Out of the flood
No mire or mud
Looking at us conveying greetings
We look too
And from the meeting
A poem is born
Why don’t you come any more
Very often I look through the eye hole
Of my expectant door
The wishes naturally soar
In case I may see you coming
Dulcet sounds your feet strumming
But it’s all mist
I almost don’t exist
I miss the oasis
Of the cleansing catharsis
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 10:58 AM UTC
Bulbul's early mornings
Her rich, throaty songs
Welcome another day
Not far away she and I find happiness
By Wyle
Singapore
Feb 24, 2019
Feb 24, 2019 at 4:36 AM UTC