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Well before the commencement of the spring
The British cuckoo or the Indian koel starts singing
With its sweet and natural melody
Some fools and children try to make a parody

It does not care somebody is listening
Or some others enjoying its singing
Or some fools and children start mocking
It goes on singing and singing in response to the mocking
Some fools think the koel suffer from some mania
but the fools suffer from xenophobia

They don’t like any thing new or sweet
And are not ready to give their hearty treat
They suffer from their foolish pride
and which they can never hide

You can’t become great by mocking at a cuckoo
It betrays your inner sick view
Among the seasons undoubtedly spring is the king
The melodious cuckoo or koel invariably does sing
In the morning I heard  the Koel’s melodious call
It is a sure sign of Sneaking autumn’s fall
What a striking difference between winter and spring
It is undoubtedly  season’s eternal king

I love nature’s green saree
She smiles with an uncontrollable spree
Her saree is full of beautiful flowers
there are very many different colours

Nature’s Bindi is the glorious sun
Her hair pin is the shining moon
She cools herself with her natural fan
Her stay here might be of a little span

She sits with an yellow sarree in the palanquin
The bride groom looks at her as if she were a queen
Her beauty and shyness is her divine pride
She is a newly married mesmerizing bride
the villages are replete with ripe corn
All the birds enjoy this beautiful morn
O MY LOVE, COME WITH ME,
LET’S CLIMB THE MANGO TREE,
ITS GOLDEN FRUITS ARE RIPE,
FULL OF SWEET MEMORY,
LET ME LIFT YOU GENTLY,
TILL YOUR HANDS GET A HOLD,
THIS WARM ZEPHYR HAS MADE ME,
SO STRONG AND SO BOLD,
LET US CLIMB WITHOUT SCRATCHING
YOUR FLAWLESS IVORY SKIN,
MY LOVE WILL GUIDE YOU THROUGH
BRANCHES THICK AND THIN,
YOUR RAVEN HAIR CASCADING ON
TO YOUR NECK SO SLENDER,
SHINY NEW LEAVES OF THE MANGO,
SO DELICATE, AND SO TENDER,
SIT CLOSE TO ME ON A LOFTY BRANCH
TO HEAR THE SOULFUL KOEL SING,
LET'S SWAY WITH THE BREEZE
LIKE SOULS ON A SILKEN STRING,
MY HEAD ON YOUR SHOULDER
YOUR LOVELY FACE SO CLOSE,
SUN BEAMS DANCE ON YOUR LASHES
MY PRECIOUS VELVET ROSE,
YOUR FRAIL HANDS ENCIRCLE ME
LIKE CREEPERS HUGGING THE BOUGH,
YOUR WARM EMBRACE ENTHRALLS ME
TO KISS YOUR SHAPELY BROW,
YOUR SWEET FRAGRANCE INTOXICATES
AND AMONG THE CLOUDS I FLOAT,
LIKE A BUTTERFLY EMERGING FROM
A CATERPILLAR’S UGLY COAT,
WE SIT THERE FOR A LONG TIME
SUSPENDED IN SPACE,
I AM BUT A CONTENT SLAVE
TO YOUR HEAVENLY GRACE
LET MY LIPS LINGER ON
YOUR SOFT PETALS SOME MORE,
TILL I ETCH IN MY MIND,
EVERY BIT OF YOU TO THE CORE,
OH MANGO TREE WE NESTLE
IN YOUR MASSIVE ARMS,
LOST IN THE MYRIAD MISTS
OF ONE ANOTHERS CHARMS,
WHEN OUR YEARS ARE GONE ONE DAY
WHEN WE ARE AGED AND SPENT,
UNDER THIS GREAT MANGO TREE,
WE SHALL PITCH OUR FINAL TENT,
UNDER ITS VAST CANOPY WE SHALL LIE
LOOKING AT THE STARS,
OUR BONY FINGERS ACHING YET
TENDING TO OUR SCARS,
MY MIND’S EYE SEES YOUR WRINKLED FACE
SMOOTH WITH AN INNER GLOW,
SOFT AND BEAUTIFUL AS EVER IT WAS,
AND YOUR LOVELY DARK HAIR FLOW
YOUR FLESH AGAINST MINE
FEELS JUST AS YOUNG AND WARM,
OUR HEART BEATS MERGE
LIKE BEES FLYING IN THE SWARM
COLD TOMBS ARE NOT FOR US
NEITHER MARBLE NOR GRANITE,
UNDER THE LIVING MANGO TREE
FOREVER WE SHALL UNITE
OH MY LOVE, COME WITH ME,
LET’S CLIMB THE MANGO TREE,
YOU ARE LIKE ITS GOLDEN FRUIT,
AND FOREVER YOU WILL BE.
Valsa George Mar 2018
Arise! Oh Heart, from the catacombs of the dead
Shake off the dust, for Life beckons you like a buddy
Peel off the weariness that wraps you like a shroud
And walk to the open to perceive the light.

Arise! Oh Heart, from the dungeons of gloom
The dawn is at your door step, waiting to break
Sing with the koel, merrily warbling in the woods
Dance with the billows, wildly prancing on the deep.

Arise! Oh Heart, from the ghettoes of *******
Break loose the ropes that moor you to the past
Dart through the panorama of the cerulean blue
And fly high into regions, uncharted and new.

Arise! Oh Heart, from the citadels of hate
Listen not to the shrieking and howling behind
Drink from the goblet of conciliating love
And rejoice at the birth of a dawn with promises galore!
T E Pyrus May 2015
Gold may flow in rivers for all I care.
In the dusty song of the koel,
In the humid and bustling, cheerful bazaars,
In the warm sunshine in the eyes of my people when the rain wipes the ashes off the lenses after another season of fire,
Where everyday is a new storm, perhaps a new rainbow,
In the welcoming, sweat-stained soils,
My footsteps shall always wander...

The rabbit on the moon smiles.

~Wordsmith
K Balachandran Mar 2015
She is a succulent bunch,let me be helpful,
if you don't get the complex chemical scent,
I call her ,"a girl of unpredictable
meeting places"inotropic, is her effect,
She sends heartbeats way up.
Delectable too, she was, every time
I tasted certain parts of her.
Her avatars are numerous, like Hindu Gods
With specific  intention for each incarnation
Onee will be pushed in to neurosis,
if doesn't completely relish her infinite variety.
She is a cryptic mystic,
for a while  from signals
I discerned and firmly believed
Or is she just a  creature mysterious
Doubt raises it's head, like a lotus
From slushy pond
My eyes met her at the level of  her eyes first,
the rest in a haze to me was invisible,
Then my heart sends a message
"Right now, I missed a beat here"
Heart then recites a poem,
tells me, it is all her making
"Don't fall in love" heart's advice,
"Go, dissolve in her completely"
Even my own heart has crossed sides,
or is it truly an advice for my sake?
Love is a hallucinogen, get it?
she whistles like wind at bamboo groves
from within sings like a thrush,
she is a magpie, or is she a koel?
Nocturnal animal, in need of mating,
making calls, frantic SMS, incessant.
She is wind and water, elements
that make one burn and drown
She spreads her yoga mat on the floor,
asks me to sit cross legged Indian style,
I am already for that in my mind,
So I spread eagle in corpse pose, indicating, "All through my life", mother earth gives me warmth.
          Shanti,   Shanti,   shanti
Prabhu Iyer Jun 2016
Stay well, table, inviting me
to sit by your side, sipping tea,

stay warm, books, wrapped warm
in your covers, steeped in Spirit,

stay well, koel, sing the same way
every stuttering morning that
comes lisping in the winds
and the tongues of the swallows

stay well, gulmohar, ever
alive in a glow of blooms
warming bare the summer heart

stay well, pens, ever meditating
this way, conjuring up
all the stories I tell in verse

stay well, my droid phone,
go on, recharge yourself in your
morning asana tied to the mains

stay well, web, where I plug in
and broadcast my thoughts
and receive blessings and grace
The coel (cuckoo) and the gulmohar (flame tree) are staples of the late Indian summer, heralding the monsoon. Days now are hanging overcast with clouds, waiting to break over the land in breathtaking shower and thunder. But we wait for this rain, all year. This is our national season.
Nishu Mathur Oct 2016
If trees be poems by the earth
In avid joy I read each one
Florets writ in fragrant verse
Inked with beams of the morning sun
In shade, a fruit, a whiff of air
I rest beneath wide branches spread
A cavort of emerald canopy
Bestows comfort upon my breath
I lean against the bark, recline
And think of how it stands in time

Through tunneled years it's stoic trunk
Stands proud against frost and rain
Drops it's leaves to nakedness
Till spring dresses in green again  
On but an arm, the  koel sings
'Tis home to birds that weave a nest
Haven to sojourners ache
Clasp around, hold close to breast
I trace the names of love engraved
Now forgot; asleep in graves

On felled bark my soul I pen
On papyrus the past I feel
The murmured songs of sentiments
In susurrus as branches kneel.
Nymphs would hide or fairies entreat
With fireflies in silver light
Creatures tip toe on their feet
Lithe, in the darkness of the night
In engraved lines meaning I see
What better song, what poetree?



Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky -  Gibran
Prabhu Iyer Apr 2014
It used to live on the hilltop
where a lone bell tolled
by the temple:
but the Deity is long gone
and the bell mourns
in the valley wind on empty
afternoons, now.

I went searching for it:
in late summer, the koel
would sunder open the vaults
of heaven and bring
some down for us mortals
haunted by death.
The koels are long gone now.

Peace,
peace.

Lady siting silent in the evening
staring vacant into the sky,
after a day of labour:
can you give some to me?

I thought it was in education.
But that is stored now, in
almirahs where moths
eat way what humidity cannot.

I thought it was in a position.
But they don't matter, now
a ladder ascending
to nowhere,
vanishing mid-air.

Old man, smiling past hope
that has broken like
your lost teeth:
can you give some to me?

I asked the urchin
playing in the ditch after the rains,

he said: 'follow me, I know where
it lives', and he led me to
a ***** pond lined with plastic
and all our civilization's refuse,
and jumped in.

I returned, disgusted.
peace please!
There are three important stages
in the life of a man or woman.
Birth, marriage and death.
We do not know about our birth and death
But we enjoy and celebrate our marriage
It may be celebrated in different ways
in different cultures across the globe.
It brings happiness and joy not only
to the bride and the bridegroom
but everybody sitting in the betrothal room

A man and a woman become perfect
only after marriage in any age
The bride sits like a queen
in the Indian palanquin
And the bride groom waits for her
like the spring for the koel.
Marriage is not only to unite two bodies
but to ignite two souls.
The happiest occasion for a woman
or a man is when he/she becomes
a mother and a father.
when the child plays with a toy
the father gets inexpressible joy
and the mother feels like the HELEN OF TROY
Jayanta Apr 2015
Now orchids are blooming here,
Sun rises by the call of ‘Koel’!
Sun beam around by the call of ‘Keteki’!
Everywhere fragrance of ‘Keteki flower’ spread out!  

It is the time of blossoming!
It is the time of celebration!

A gala for......
“Merriment of brotherhood,
Gaiety of collectively
High spirited choir with nature!”

People are celebrating spring..  
Dancing under the Banyan tree
On the mid of the farmyard;
Biting the drum with a wish
The Sounds go to sky and break the clouds
Thunder and rain follows.....
With promises
To watering the crops in summer;
People call it
“Madam ‘Bordoi-chila’ coming to her mother’s place!

Everyone venerate
For nature and season!
They pray to nature
Though their amiable laughs and ovation  
Showcasing gaiety of connectivity and togetherness
With a wish for nature’s blessing for production!
From today ‘Rongali Bihu’ is celebrated in Assam,India; ‘Rong’ means cheerful festivity and ‘Bihu’ the festival of Spring, which is link to agricultural activities. After this festival people will start their wet paddy/summer paddy cultivation with preparation of land. It is celebration for seven days. First day is marked for care of domesticated animal, particularly cattle.  ‘Bihu’ dance and song are the major part of celebration. Here, a variety of Orchid, call of koel (locally called as Kuli; Koel - Eudynmys scolopaceus- is a member of the Cuckoo order of birds), Keteki (Brain fever bird, scientific name Hierococcyx varius);  Keteki flower (Pandanus odoratissimus)are symbolize as the sign of spring. ‘Bordoi-chila’ myth link to thunder storm, this particular as per its roots means butterfly dancer.
Prabhu Iyer May 2013
A drum beat. A distance.

Breaking out of her veils,
a tender morning.
Hum of the winds.

Hanging roots of the banyan.
Emerging out of mists.

After many lives perhaps
a meeting.

I closed all doors and windows
and lie listening to the tired fan.

You have found your way in,
smiling in the leaves
past the grill,
shadowed on the ceiling.

Oh this feeling. That can light
two hearts. To know this,
to know this.

The roots are hanging strong.
Upside down.

Tugging at the heart, the
solitary song
of the early koel.

Mists un-heeding,
sometimes succeeding.
Prabhu Iyer May 2013
Dust gathers everywhere.
Only a swab on the windscreen is clear
on my dust-laden car.

Too tight to wear,
the ring
vibrates vigorously on the washing machine.
The cycle is ending. Intensity waxing.

A song of the solitary koel
serenades a reverie.

I open the screen from inside.
You, the windows from the outside.
Glances exchanged from either side.

It is the time of the late flower.
A drop, even a drop of hot water,
the skin craves for a touch.
In partings, a beginning.

In still winds, all the leaves silent.
Peace comes visiting, a migratory bird
and sits sagely by the bare stalks,
in a hurry to reach
far off lands beyond the seas.

You only get a moment: a moment
when the world freezes.
A mid-summer reverie...!
The sun, handsome in a blazing golden striped suit
The birds and busy bees sip on the nectar from the colourful flowers
The trees sway to the sweet song of the breeze
The Koel happy and gay, sings its sweet song in May
But,
My eyes wait for a glimpse of the elusive bird
Know not its form or feathers, hidden in the trees
Sings a rhythmic sweet song from dawn to dusk
Have recorded the voice of this bird, starts as early as 5 in the morning, also,  can be heard singing past sunset :)
Siska Gregory Dec 2016
So word ons wakker in ons tent en dit reen...aggenee!! Maar dis koel en ons voel gelukkig.
Ek is vuil, so amper dat ek wil huil, maar huil van lekker soos n krekker want dis vakansie tyd!!
My hare is so waar deur mekaar, maar wat maak dit saak want niks gaan my keer om vir n gogga te wys *** deur mekaar ek rerig kan weesie...
Tanne geborsel en room half gesmeer, laat die dag begin want dis ons en ons ford bakkie die keer...alweer...
Kies n rigting en so voeter ons daarin...
Saans kom ons by die kamp moeg geploeg die bosse in om nou rustig te raak met n koeldrank in ons hand.
Dan word n vuurtjie gemaak deur die braafste ou ini land om n vleisie te braai vir die fraaiste meisie, hand aan hand.
Mens voel gou dankbaar vir klein dingetjies soos n stort... n warme een, die oop velde of selfs die digte bosse, die veld blommetjies so geel of die gras so lank en groen, die voels so mooi volle kleurrig en die jakkals so skaam maar nuuskirig.
En wanneer dit donker word le daar baie voor soos die uile se geluide, die sonbesies wat hulle vlerkies saam klap of dalk n hihena wat na oorskied kom krap.
So geniet ons die bos vol avontuur gepos net vir ons en ons se dankie aan ons Skepper vir n skepping net vir ons. 2016/03/14
To best times...together
A P Taylor Jan 2019
In faint edge find a light breeze
cutting through the koel’s song,
bustle of cars in amongst trees
as thunder rebounds in among.

To mesh of blue and grey skies
confining as a hand knitted top,
lightning fizz in zipped disguise
street crowds shelters if shops.

Between vast European brands
add upon best Asia can supply,
there are centres more strands
for miles as if the crows did fly..

Porsches racing Lambos speed
noisily down a one way avenue,
passing small trucks soon freed
are carrying tens to open view.

While clouds clear in moments
now the people walking return,
a sun bold is drying pavements
once more tourists parts burn.

Resting in hidden on a branch
koel’s continue a pitch refining,
another nest to join to tranche
their calls, Singapore defining.
Nishu Mathur Aug 2017
In the musings of the dark Koel
That perches upon the winding bough
The sun that flushes from the east
Upon the earth's curving brow
In leaves that bend across to brush
The fruit of life that time bears,
The carnation's awakened blush
In the unseen breath of morning air
In swirls of clouds that float across
A placid sky of limpid blue
The ripples on the lake embossed
With dancing drops of sunlit dew
I know His chants, sense His thoughts
I hear hymns of divinity
I see His hand, I feel His touch
Midst echoes of eternity
Prabhu Iyer Apr 2015
Four flowers bloomed this morning at the horizon
and the world is drenched wet in tears the skies
wept for joy, maiden of the dawns, I saw you pluck
stars for your basket of prayers before the hours
and now you are gone, past the windswept edges.

I see your presence that has filled the peals of light
peering into my chamber this hour before deed.
Sombre noons when the koel cries for her beloved
I hear your footsteps jingle in the distant wood.
When the lamps of longing are lit at dusk, send

rains that soothe the valleys and the winds that
caress the river weeping  for the sorrow of loss.

Deep in the nights, your silences more sonant
than the footfalls that waken the grazing deer.
I saw your smile behind the untended fires
in the heart of the cavern, but I did not hurry.
And now I hear myself echoing in the quarters.
K Balachandran Oct 2018
Koel’s song merges with
Musky scent of mango bloom;
My heart lunges up!
A cold winter noon
Perched atop a new ruin,
Toothpick stirring a remix bhajan,
Rocking in a lame chair, there I am.
Taking in the sun,
Thinking of the world, the poor
And sipping on my ***.

‘’Ayele kanda, batata’’
Ah, there goes my line.
Why doesn’t the idiot shut up?
We can’t anymore buy onion and potato.

A lonely koel perches on the antenna
Clears its throat and tries to sing,
Hoot! Out of my sight you noisy thing.
Give me peace and let me think.

One more sip, the line comes again,
The down trodden!
A girl of sixteen was ***** and killed.
Who will punish the bustards? Such a shame.

A mother of two violated,  
Shorn and paraded naked.
Served her right, the five magi hissed
Her threadbare boy shouldn’t a Brahmin have kissed!

The stocks went down; the Taj has gone brown,
Down with the rightists, down with the leftists,
Down with the middle-east, down with the Pakis,
And the Chinese, a foreign hand, don’t you see?

Rocking in the lame chair,
Taking in the sun,
Thinking of the world
And sipping on my ***.
"Ayele Kanda batata"- cry of the hawkers selling onion,potato and other vegetables door to door in Mumbai. They are famous for their piercing high pitched cries.
Siska Gregory Dec 2016
Daar is n lieflike gevoel in die wind.
n Gevoel wat bind, n gevoel wat sink, sink diep in n mens se hart in.
Hy praat met n mens soos n boek, n bladsy wat vertel van die Goddelike wind...
So gaan die pad voor mens oop en raak gou vol hoop van goeie dinge wat voorle.
En so verlang mens dan na iemand, iemand ver, ver weg en seg in jou hart:
“Die lewe is soos die wind, die Goddelike wind wat verbind van een hart na n ander”.
Want die waai deur mens se hare, die gevoel van koel, maar warm teen mens se wange en die verwaai van gras op plaas paaie is wat ek noem die Goddelike wind, wat bind… van een hart na n ander. 2016/01/21
Inspired by my dear mother...you are the best
Ayesha Apr 2021
There is no blade brighter than the wind
No euphony as lucid
as entranced she sways—
No mercy weaved in her delirious wings
nor any dead lands
caked beneath the lambent scales
In serenity she loves, in serenity prays
In turbulence— plays

There is no blood prettier
—still, I sense his finger stir
Yearning for cords
as he climbs up
the old, darkened minaret

I hear them warriors are on their way
Lured to stillness by
an injured dragon they cannot slay
and the rain
beneath her guard
trembles, trembles—

I relish the cold devour of her excited breaths
swirling about like a Koel’s last song
up, up the boy does stumble
up, up the tallest minaret
Which has long ceased to kneel
for the Imam’s groggy knees

The masjid slumbers in arms of the tired town
and warriors appear—
Swords like withering moons,
shields, extinguished suns

And prayer mats are folded
by her vivid claws
As blossoms smile out the yellowed tiles
A lion yells, his deer screams
and one upon another,
the swordsmen fall

But I sense a stirring in him
He plucks the stubborn of his tendons
his fingers— a strange dance
And notes around him
tremble, tremble—
Too young to have learned the words
His lips tear open to birth a laugh
an Adhan of his own

There is no sacrifice like one of the wind
She paints a trench across her
wavering being
and trembles, trembles—

Through the shuddering lips pulled tight
she, into him, flows
like water, like a storm frenzied, she
into him, flows—
There is a stirring in him
As tunes give themselves to the vessels
and vessels, unwilling,
are pulled

I hear it all them
The dragon lured to stillness
by an injured boy she cannot slay
—hear this, too
His being, like baked bread, relaxed
And arrows, his vessels
release—
and tunes— tunes soar about
As the old, proud minaret
is bled to a viscous death

I watch the tunes, they
tremble, tremble—
I wonder where they will go
Perhaps down a Koel’s scratchy throat
or sway by the town’s unmarked grave

Then the folks rise up
and cleanse themselves,
Water up their faces, down the elbows
Coating their necks, and glistening in the hair
A prayer upon prayer
hatching on their tongues
—dried blooms
crusty beneath their feet
and rain, a coward— away

A boy is lost, they say
‘As if vanished,’ they say
but is soon let lost
among the rows of funerals
passing through the town’s dusty days
Mourners, and mourners
— dead upon the shoulders of dying
Death, restless, still
Warriors, warriors no more
and the boy

still sings over that forgotten tower
A dragon whirling within
mimicking our moon-struck Dervishes
—I swear the boy still sings
as he gushes, gushes melodies
with every tremble

an Adhan of his own—
Adhan: Muslims' call to prayer.

(Kind of has the same vibe as Silent rebellion, now that I come to think of it. Well... *shrugs*)
Prabhu Iyer Aug 2015
An evening comes wading through the clouds
crimson the feet wet in mists unfurling

silences whisper hushed in shadows and leafless
stalks, tangled hair, moist in the mellow winds
foreboding the hour when minnows sleep

it will rain tonight
                   soft on the lotus ponds
landing by the dancing canvas leaves
                   painted in hues of cream-white
                            birthing buds of pink
                                     smiling shy

robed in the regal hues of the moon
blushing behind the mourning palms
painted against the skies
solemn

whirling, whirling like a dervish

it is the hymn of the skies
it is the early moon
it is the late koel
the pond overflowing
in longing


I will swoon rhapsodizing

Saying your name in syllables
whirling, I rise levitating
You are there in the distance
You are here by my side
Jayantee Khare Jan 2018
Beauty around
Peace I've found
Spring at its best
An all new zest

Oh life...
I am falling in love with you

Colors sprinkled
Artistically mingled
Heart merrily sings
Mood's upward swings

Oh life...
I am falling in love with you

The glacier of frozen desire
Melting in solar fire
The warmth is soothing
The tenderness oozing

Oh life...
I am falling in love with you

Bumblebees are humming
Right on the buds, chumming
The rivers are calm
Nature plays a balm


Oh life...
I am falling in love with you

Koel birds are singing
On the branch of Palash, swinging
The heart plays encore
For love opens it's door

Oh life...
I am falling in love with you
Vasant panchami....the beginning of spring in india...a festival celebrated yesterday....
The nature is colorful warm and soothing..full of love!
MdAsadullah Nov 2014
Season of colour, buds and blooms.
Lovely roses, grass with large plumes.
Hiding high on some tree koel* sings.
How badly I wished for thousand springs.

Large blooming tree, shrubs and climber.
Busy bees fly briskly from flower to flower.
Numerous butterflies with colorful wings.
How badly I wished for thousand springs.

Yellow mustard flowers below skies blue.
Entire flora covered with tiny drops of dew.
Sweet fragrance gentle breeze brings.
How badly I wished for thousand springs.

Far from reality, wishes are just wishes.
It can vanish with gust of wind like ashes.
My fragile soul is covered from top to bottom.
Now sadly I am abode for thousand autumns.
*koel is bird of cuckoo family found in subcontinent
P Venugopal Mar 2017
on that lonely tree
a koel sings koi...koi...koi...koi
starlit winter sky
Daan Sep 2019
Ik wilde jou zo graag bewaren,
wilde jou het liefst verstoppen,
achterin en zonder maren
morgen onder soppen,
brood en ei, verlossen
van die koel verlichte plaats delict.
Helaas, je bent ontdekt, met tros en
al verorberd door mijn broer, gelikt,
geknabbeld en gegeten in de rappe,
bij thuiskomst, na een avondje stappen.
You ate my sandwich? My sandwich?!?!

I call it: 'the moistmaker'
seethroughme Dec 2021
hier sit ons
drietjies
op die stoep
die dag sal kom
wat ons moet groet
maar vir nou
bak ons saam
in die warm gloed
van ‘n somermiddag

die koel wind is soet
ons lywe klop vol bloed
my harte, skep moed
waar ons saam sit
bly die lewe goed
Blom In Blou Jul 2020
Onverwags verskyn prag voorwaardelik
Verdoesel my ongemaklike donker twyfel
Natuur bekoor beskeie knus veranderlik
Herinner koel met bot kleurvolle bloeisel
Koester sigbaar aarde hart soet met vrolik
Landskap verwelkom lag lente groen raaisel
Verlig gemoed swaar wat was ondergeskik
Verkwik vaal winter koue geil met verskansel
Blommeryk kyk spruit uit kyk! Is dit nie Wonderlik?
Ayesha Apr 2022
tell me, tell me tell tell tell
when ducks beat pebbles
a tribal thunder
and beetles scramble stumbling beneath leafs
tell tell, the warm-bellied lady
said birds become children

and flutes the grasshoppers they hear
in warm green sleeps
as out curl curling
the stout sun-seasoned caterpillars
shrill now! now not! now piercing needles
sewing brazen black black to brittle dreamings
tell me tell me tell
what the old man said, said
lyres rebel rebel and
strum, say, strum taut a riot unsettled
even as geese vanish grey
in grey
and ducks pat their way away
to springs of seas where no child sails

even then
the sky plucks her lightening sly
and claps claps claps the day,
the night, the day, down
to a kites sway
as a perfect moon-arc it cuts
and
we heard birth
brings along a dress
that tribe men
and tribe women flower
when they
spin and spin and circle clapping
cursing merriment up the sick old sky

who need fly

tell me tell me, valley-joy on a face of age,
oh human song and human sigh! tell tell
also of koel’s mimic cry

tell tell, tell then
and they pound their feet
together apart together apart and the ground remembers, the ground
remembers!
and then tell this too! we heard,
ducks lurk by listening
practicing
their
drums! and and
and some

some children almost hear

-
shook me awake

12/04/2022
anilkumar parat Feb 2022
Moonless inky sky
Somewhere a lonely dog howls
Batwings flutter by


Moonless inky sky
Treetop silhouettes swaying
Lonely koel calls


Moonless inky sky
Dark clouds wrestle and rumble
Lightning blinds the eye
anilkumar parat Mar 2022
My skin has been
too tight, too old, suffocating
too rough scaly calloused
you dont know my struggle
trying to rupture it
gasping from every pore
writhing sweating shaking
silently screaming.

In the dead of the night
struggling shedding moulting,
I shall emerge breathing free
young and shiny
a new me
in my new world, new skin.
in my newfound sheen,
I shall at last smile

Tomorrow's sun too will smile
on greener canopies
and verdant vistas
on gurgling streams
and sloping roofs
on shoeflowers and 'mukkootti' and 'thumba'
and on happily jobless cicadas
with their day-in day-out whirrings
and on idle summer koels
with their throats drunk from
too many sweet mangoes

Tomorrow's sun will smile
on men glistening with sweat
celebrating life
with the heady rhythms
of a thousand chendas
and caparisoned elephants
in ancient temples
under ancient banyan trees
and my ancient deities
will exult goose-pimpled
at the ancient crescendos
of the thousand drums
and I'll be goose-pimpled too
in my new young skin
with its newfound sheen.

You'll see me, maybe
in my folded-up mundu
walking freely among the paddies
or languidly swimming in the streams
I shall sing like the koel
whirr like the cicada
I shall kiss all the flowers
of my new home
and bring you its bouquet, maybe.
or maybe I shall sit still
under an ancient banyan
and pretend I'm an anthill.
A whiff of earthly mire,
Leaving no moments of desire.
Water gushing into large streams .
All one hears is loud screams!

Rain drenched koel fluckering her feather's clean.
A illusion that lasts only for a while ,turning it all futile !

Grating , highpitched trees swinging on drenched roads of foggy gloom ,
Downpours creating exhumes !

Thunderbolts scorching the bark of the trees .
Heavy spells hitting the red roofed chalets , chimneys turning into Adam ale goblets!

Inundate , outpouring of sparkling tears ,
Oblivious to the upcoming fears.
A little boy trails his paperboat on the gurgling brook , repeated efforts that never forsook .
When indulged in a game of own ,
Sudden , bleak streaks of golden ray's shone !

Nature indeed is full of mazes,
Every deluge has its phases.
Uprising against nature's spell ,
Each action has a story to tell!


© Mrunalini.D.Nimbalkar
28.06.2019
Every dark cloud had a silver lining
Credits for the title and the brief gist go to my son Upendra#Thanks for reading !!
=======================
Your reflection spreads in lake of heart
As soft cotton floats in fragrant breeze
Rejuvenates sky of mind and rock of Soul
Fills the void, vacuums and empty space

Strange white clouds come to become friends
After rain, hope to reach the shy rainbows, and
Fruits grow faster like poems in romantic poet
Sound of koel's kiss heals the past hurts

Somewhere in lonely house of sunny valley
A newly married couple is weaving fabrics of faith
They are of peace as the whole nature is calm
Shaping the skilled expedition of their future ski

To keep their deep lake of life without turbulence
To find the serenity in their celestial destiny and
To do anything to feel alive to oar the boat in storm
Being best rowers of time to push and move in water

Written by
~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~
Windswept trees
Rain washed roads
The Koel meekly sings, perched upon the neem tree
The curry leaves, cup together
to catch the raindrops, which roll down with ease
The slender stems, sway and swirl
Spreading an aromatic fragrance
As the raindrops do the tapioca dance
with the red rounded berries and leaves
The butterflies flit in search of nectar, supreme
The yellow oleander flowers to match their wings of lime green
The dragonflies have puddles to keep
Buzzing around in brown translucent wings
This day, today, to be reminisced someday
In a sepia toned, old photograph
6th September 2020
Inspired by the rain and the way it rained on the curry leaf plant, just  outside my window
In our front yard :)
Ayesha Feb 2022
it is like a Koel’s cry
in the midnight tremors of time
it is sweetly sour
like orange juice or an Autumn’s flutter
shrill like a woman’s touch
or day’s gold
on some purple curtains

I don’t know…

in this blue dark,
with silhouettes of a forlorn city on glass
it sounds so real
I linger here listening
blinking with the clock
20/02/2020

— The End —