Author Archives: Suma K Gopal

About Suma K Gopal

Suma hails from a village in Kerala, India, and writes in English and Malayalam. Her poems, written through those inevitable moments of change, are quiet expressions that help her unmask. Her poems have been published in various international anthologies including Inner Child Press International, Amaravati Prism, and xpresspublications/poiesisonline.com, and has written lyrics for music albums. Suma holds Master’s degree in English Language and Literature and has given poetry readings at a number of events. Suma began her career as a web journalist about two decades ago, but later she chose a profession in Human Resources, while poetry remains her passion.Suma is a South Indian classical musician, a certified executive coach and a senior Human Resources professional in a multinational organization based in Bangalore.

Game of Life

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On many of those winter nights
I wish to see your breath on the stained glass
imagining the warmth of ease, instead
I get the familiar instant message
explaining the shades of your chase.

Sometimes you surprise me, when
you occasionally hold my palm
that reassures the existence of a bond
and a scent of cigar enters my dream
altering the plot, for good.

Between the reality of the bright day
and the romantic dream after dark
our life sails defying the rubrics
There is no pause to this play, even
to frame a well-captured moment.

Punctuation

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I penned all that flowed in a hurry
A painful production, artlessly logged
Purposeless and plain…
What are words without psyche and soul?
Asked my curious mind…
Wandering aimlessly for a few seconds…
I erased the ellipses
Warding off the fragmentary thoughts

A chain of familiar symbols stretched wide
Gaiting on the ramp with poise
Commas remained grounded,
Pausing for a little breath
But when inverted, hung like a ‘dangling’
Exclaiming elite attention!
Colon clearing its throat announced:
“I’d introduce my buddies and their roles”
Braces embraced each one (detailing their
names, definitions, pronunciation and etymology)
“Left-brained analysts with a long list!”
“I got to pause; this is never-ending”
Remarked semi colon, impatiently

Elated, I looked at my words, lines –
adorned with pretty brooches
With distinctive rhythm and life
Newfangled characters told my story
the way it should be
Full point rushed to mark a dot.
It knew; this was the end.
--------------------------------

Hangman

2 Replies

As the invisible COVID swallows up the world

We see death in disguise, looming

Is our ephemeral character called back?

When the End casts its darkest shadow

we dramatically see Life’s light

We struggle to break despair’s shackles

that deadbolt our lives down

We are playing hangman and guessing a word

From an unwritten chapter of life

Remember, every crucial move delays the noose.

Heimat

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Something about this air makes me poignant
Or perhaps too familiar to be endured…
Those decades-old hollow eyes still stare at me
Elapsed past that smell of stingy rags,
Blood stains and cold logs of human bodies
Reflecting chilling horrors of the holocaust.

Something about this air smells like my home
I may be a gypsy, Jew, gay or communist
I hear marching steps pounding, looming
Mounting tension, loud weak heart throbs
Ghastly commands in the greyish-blue vicinity
And black clouds ready to bomb.

Something about this air creates the autumn of 1943
Leaves fall yellow, brown, dreary and dry
The cries of the camp prisoners go silent
My parched pink lips unable to pray
Wonder where the God fled, allowing
To wipe a nation’s history, hearts and hope.

Something about this air near the ashen memorial
Cries out loud the unheard stories of the souls of sorrow
Of my wounded homeland and shattered dreams.
As I let myself blend with the background
The church bells ring in melancholic unison
Orchestrating the slides of a miserable memoir.
Setting: An autumn of 1943, during holocaust in Germany.

Ebb and Flow

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Night crawls in like the strings
of violin playing raag Bhairav
slowly, with thoughts of you filling
like rain in my parched mind.
I let you fill my emptiness
with worthless conversations.
I start flowing around you
we become seamless, nameless
The rhythm of darkness spreads
swelling the tempo of our hearts
You are my moon, enticing, and
I dance like high tides on the shore
till the drowsy eyes of dawn incite
the drowned hours, my forlorn face,
and this piece of poetry.

Cleopatra

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Wait, before you turn my blood blue,
I hear him…
Or was that you gently rubbing your slithery skin on my silk?
Black beauty! Bite into my bleak body
Through my skin, my shadow, my spirit, my soul!
 
The wild dance has begun!
Your chilliness against my warmth
The entangled helix, tightening
Mysterious madness sweeping my skin
Flashing deep pain
Sigh!
Brightness… Blindness…
I lose myself…
                                            
I set my thoughts free
from those existential clutches
I shade my dreams with lively hues
I hear your heart;
I hear secrets;
I hear questions;
My life is the answer!
*****************************

© Suma K Gopal

Amber Eyes

8 Replies

Amber Eyes

You told me once that my eyes pierced your heart
I didn’t wait to ask you how deep
I didn’t know that it cut and bled
But on a dark cloudy evening
When I lay naked with an unfulfilled dull ache
I noticed the bruise on my bust
Distinctly spread like your face.
 
Are you still there where I left…?
When the way of the world was weird!
You didn’t ask me why
Nor did I see the lovelight in your eyes
When your kisses caressed my hair
The breeze under the banyan tree misled me
Tapping gently on my nape
 
Thoughts about you make me less composed
And this obscure bruise and unhealed wounds
Make me pale under the blood red moon
Will you kiss my famishing torso?
And turn me sanguine in a trice
I would then lie in lulling languor
Weaving whimsical stained glass dreams
 
I keep my fane emptied and open
Fragrant fumes of incense inviting
When all are gone that now linger
And the only slaver is the delicate dust
Will you come as a respiting embrace?
To kindle my timorous lips with a song
Sung by the secret prophet of time
For, age hasn’t doused my amber eyes
Nor the flames of my soul!

© Suma K Gopal