Tag Archives: allegory

Tell Achilles

Tell Achilles when you see him

that we should all meet up

again at our favourite place

where we can have a few

and reminisce about to-day;

Tell Achilles that, will you?

when you see him later;

also tell him that I’ve

been wounded and that

those damn Trojans fought

like cornered rats and that

I got bitten by their spears;

Tell Achilles that, will you?

when you see him later,

much later perhaps;

And should you not see him

until to-morrow after the battle,

tell Achilles that

you spoke with me and

my message to him was

we should all meet up again;

Tell Achilles that will you?

Should you see him again

in this world.

Once Upon A Time in The West

When that wind roars out of the South,
the one called the “Zephyr”,
it tears right through El Paso
with raw heat and anger;

Blasting like buckshot
in saloon bar brawls,
it stampedes droves of tumbleweed
herding it like cattle;

Zephyrs sweep away everything,
except memories and their re-telling
that clatter,that chatter across
strung out continental wires;

Informing city readers a day later
of some gunfight someplace so far away,
that the retelling of it
enobles the mythical participants;

three cadavers, jackets buttoned
silver coins placed over their eyes,
lined-up one,two,three
for the Wm.H.Walker Camera;

The faces of Pat Garrett and William H. Bonney
absent from that white and black portrait,
they got paid their double gold eagles
and rode off.

( A previous version was posted 21/6/2011 )

Melville

Some distant shore

whereon no Argonaut trod,

s i l h o u e t t e d

the rotting hulk,

broken-boned on the beach

bleached by Ages benign indifference,

discarded amongst vicissitudes of time

a memento of heroes

long since forgotten,

their wraith’s lament

b e w a i l i n g

the whaling ship,

w r e c k e d

ancient timbers

cursed by the inscription

” A h a b “

Femme Fatale

She spoke with an accent I couldn’t identify,

her voice was a voice that came from another time,

or maybe that was the dress she wore,

and that dark perfume and the choker of pearls

as if she’d stepped out of a forties Noir movie;

Whatever her age she didn’t belong

to this year or even this century,

seeing her was like finding something

that had been lost for centuries then

restored to its rightful place,

she reminded me of a painting I’d seen

in the hush of a museum near closing time

with the spent awe hanging in the

gallery’s air like old dust;

I leaned toward her,

her perfume wrapped me

like a velvet cloak,

I watched immobilised almost as if

she’d struck me with a curare-tipped dart,

She smiled that half smile,

she turned and left,

her hair swinging against her naked back

as she walked away.

 

 

My Masterpiece for Today

Firstly a dash of hyperbole,

then a smidgen of self-deprecating wit

followed by a dollop of philosophical insight

a portion of of regret,

a suggestion of humour

a few slivers of empathy,

a nod to current events

covered in layers of allegory

leavened with plentiful allusions

drizzled with heartfelt emotion,

then serve

either cold or hot

this masterpiece de jour,

bon appetit!

Te Deum laudamus :-mmxvi

That the Lord hath spared

His disputatious people

the rod of Babylon

and the ire of Egypt;

He hath shown His people

a mercy none deserved to be shown;

For He alone hath revived

that exiled branch of Is-ra-el

long since missing and hidden away;

For even at this late hour

at this dire moment trapped

between an army and the sea,

He alone stretched forth his

mighty arm and caused to be

delivered out from under the

yoke of bondage His people,

a Free nation,

restored.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Footnote:-

The Te Deum (also known as Ambrosian Hymn or A Song of the Church) is an early Christian hymn of praise. The title is taken from its openingLatin words, Te Deum laudamus, rendered as “Thee, O God, we praise”.

The hymn remains in use in thanksgiving to God for a special blessing such as the publication of a treaty of peace, a royal coronation, etc.

When God Would Become Poetry?

Poets are the wordsmith born with golden quill.

Around universe, below sky, above earth they coil.

They embrace everything with innate imaginations

And ensue with some endearing amalgamations.

They inhale passion and exhale words and keep alive

This meditation they exercise all the while.

Words are their soul mates and feelings their ink.

They tirelessly compose lyrics for a unique sync.

 

Poets live in rhythm and imbibe rhymes.

They recluse all imbalances as soothing chimes.

Poets scribble their thoughts on the mirror of heart

Where life get reflected as beautiful portrait.

Poet writes and recites in a loop as daily indulgence

And poetry escape for a sweet blend in silence.

When a poet compose poetry in brimming worship

There poetry become God through divine courtship.

 

Wondering! When God would become poetry..

How would the entire vista get envisaged?

Would spring bloom as Eden on every flower

So butterflies and honey bees have eternal buffet?

Would Moon rays come down on the strings of night

to have eternal romantic ballet with ocean waves?

Would earth emit petrichor from its supple bosom

to sprinkle perfume on vast meadows with dewy love?

 

Would breeze sing Ballads of Shakespeare

for mountain peaks to enjoy serenity of nature?

Would rainbow woos sky to transpire into a canvas

to have the immortal sketches of Leonardo da Vinci?

Would all stones on earth crave and get carved

to be the pristine statuettes of Michelangelo?

Would passing clouds compose sonatas

that matches with Beethoven’s brilliance?

 

Pondering when God would become poetry!

What poet on this earth be called?

Would they be renamed as God Smith

who have written ancient scriptures with signet?

Or would they be the creations on the hands of Creator

who seamlessly erase all illusions of bifurcations

So life around appears and perceives like an amazing

Motion poetry on allusion laden God!

 

© Maaya Dev

Flight of the Songbird: (Over Pakistan)

Silent songbird high in the sky ,
what do you see with your roving eye ?
gracefully swooping above and gliding ,
can you see those below who are in hiding ?
searching high and low over mountain and field ,
what does your intelligence finally yield ?
many packed rooms at a local school ,
who did they think that would fool ?
not you silent songbird high in the sky ,
now you get to choose how many die ;
as your 500 pound bomb silently descends
and the story of those children suddenly ,
ends.

The Bear and Her Cubs

Winter has returned

and with it the migrating

Bear and her eager Cubs ,

their old habitat deserted

the Forest and Wild ,

not so plentiful of

natural prey as once was ;

They are hungrier this year

the Bear and her Cubs ,

the Freeze now starts earlier ,

there is less time for

the Bear to feed ;

Others too feel the

harsh old Sun ,

spending longer hours

tracking the same

meagre morsels ;

Urged on by whetted appetite ,

they go searching ,

searching ,

searching nearer ,

nearer to the town ,

the migrating Bear

and her eager Cubs ;

Winter has returned .