Tag Archives: nature

In the heart of flowers


In the heart of flowers

There is a hidden fire

Fire that soothe breeze

breeze that breath love

Love that embrace valley

Valley that plays pee-ka-boo with clouds

clouds that rushes to caress proud peaks

Peaks clutching perfume of spring

Spring nurturing sweetness of honey

honey the heavenly wine of elixir

elixir that alter any soul a seeker.

Seeker who swirls as a fiery orb

in its own euphoric euphoria

surrender to the pragmatic nature

to decipher the intricacies of life

while tossing questions of pebbles

from its infinite sea shore

filtering recurring waves of complexities

and snatch pearls of wisdom.

Afar, valley with spring of flowers

playing sea saw with stars.

Coy moon with pallid reflection

blanketing valley and reciting poems

where night flowers bloom

once in a while as liberation.

© Maaya Dev


Frederick and Geraldine (Part 7)

Chiara, Arturo’s wife, approached them together with
Lucca and Francesca, the other Italian pair
Saying, ”Is Quare’s invention real? I think it is a myth.”
” His barometer measures the pressure of the air.”

Chiara wore a red big gown, with lace trimming the low,
A green velvet mantel, which was lined with some ermine,
Square neckline and sleeves, which were gathered at the elbow.
She spoke well Italian, Spanish, and German.

Italians wanted to disembark at Syracuse.
Bella and Miguel traveled to Barcelona home.
To find a new home, Naimah and his son had an excuse.
Out of their Turkey’s limit, through the storms, they would roam.

Tia, Athan, Megan, and Karsten would disembark
At Selanik, an Ottoman province, where Ahmed
The Third was reigning while his war was a fire in the dark.
They were Greeks being born during the reign of Mehmed.

Marco and Rosa, Cruz and Pedra, Pedro and Carla
Were Portuguese pairs coming home from America.
They had bought from the Pueblo Indians some ollas.
They gave one to the Russian pair, Ivan and Erica.

Ivan said, ”Tell me something about these Indians.”
Carla said, ”Their belief means dualism; they eat corn.
Some of them became Catholic due to the Spanish civilians.
They think they emerged from the underwater space to be born.”

Carla wore a black cap, having a veil, and a green gown
Patterned with acorns and flowers, and her sleeves were caught
With jeweled clasps on the lace at the elbow; her eyes were brown.
”The water is fresh in the ollas; I like their color a lot.”

She asked Ivan’’ Now, where do you go? ’’ ‘’We left the war.’’
”Ahmed and Peter the First! ” replied Cruz, ” tell me something,
How could you reach Constantinople after coming from a far ”
Zone? ””I do trade with them, but this war destroyed everything.”

”Did you lose everything you had? ” Marco asked Ivan.
”To make business in Turkey, I sold all my Russian goods.”
Erica tried this conversation to enliven,
”In Portugal, we’ll search for a job in cities and hoods.”

Marco wore a banyan with a patterned lining; his cuffs
Were embroidered in gold; his justacorps and stockings
Over his breeches were red like Rosa’s shoes and muffs.
All of them wore periwigs and talked a lot while walking.

(to be continued)

Poem by Marieta Maglas

The Canary

Many a soul flown

Disappearing into lands unknown

The canary all lone

Sings of his beloved gone


Day after day

Night after night

Waiting to play

With the gleaming light

The Canary-

Basking in the warmth of May

Reminisces the Spring night!



Where have you hidden?

In darkish coves

Or places forbidden..!


Warm embraces cold

Not heard is the flap

Memories turn old

Forgotten is the cheerful clap

The Canary ponders

If only death could fill the gap…..


The Sun sets..

It takes a nap

The Sun rises..


What’s next…………………………………?

The Gypsy

O’ mystical mystery!

In your asymmetrical symmetry, many a clue derives shape

The strings of Apollo play in gasps

The gypsy watches, rims agape.


Those founts teased by pecks silvery

Desires he too a drop to pen

Desires he too a drop to quench

You, an innocent verse turned ballad juvenile

The gypsy waits to drench.


Shivers in noon, shivers in moon

O’ mystical mystery!

To your shanty mellow, do invite soon

Beneath the ray laden gem in the night half crescent,

The gypsy begins to croon.


Amidst the penman’s bliss; a few letters amiss

Where lost are you?

What marks the pain?

Is it the cycle with patterns mobile?

Or is it the equilibrium-

The stagnant call ‘Rain’.


O’ mystical mystery!

In your asymmetrical symmetry, many a clue derives shape

The gypsy figures the canvas

Emotion, none but a conjuror’s trick

The show, its staged

The gypsy watches, rims agape.

Rendezvous with Nature

Sky is shivering in the hazy attire
thousand sun’s rays unable to undress the mist.
Desire for a cajoling warm embrace
melt through passing clouds as dilemma.

Moon rays descending in the night
Under the lee it giggles as dream.
The legend plays peek-a-boo in the distance
walking zigzag through clouds in hazy glimpse.

In the Orion, horizon is busy changing gown
where night is sleepy and the lashes blinking as dusk.
With all sensuality dusk drinking red wine of sinking sun
as if quenching the thirst of the sweaty afternoon.

In the celestial background fusion is playing
Ocean breeze singing ballads of love in the mirth
Thunders and lightening having orgy in the hush
Moments exploding in the shadow of ecstasy.

© Maaya Dev

Darkness, the Old Friend


Darkness, the old friend, I hear him whispering.
In my hand the torchlight leaps, and shadows
Lap up at the shore. Shadows fade as I thrust the light.
And then, the truant lover, creeps back.

I talk to darkness, the old friend, as mud
And soil cling to my feet. Together we bleed
In buried wounds, scrubbing grudges and anguish.
I talk to darkness, each shade from the lightest gray
To the deepest black, forming a steely loom.

Darkness and I walk together on the earth’s ribs,
Run along its edges, break loose and roll down
To the bottom, posing as dark marbles.
Darkness and I strip off each other’s skin,
Sit down on the nakedness of rocks,
With crumbling faces, like cursed angels.

(Note: An Ekphrastic poem I had written based on a published photograph of my photographer friend Souvik Chakraborty.)

Photo Courtesy: Souvik Chakraborty. This photo of Souvik, titled ‘Dark Horizon’ has been published in the Gallery 36 of Blur Magazine, dated October 2013.

The Robin Bird Of The Early Spring

With wimpling wings,
while winking its eyes to weep,
in the downing dawn’s blue ink
of the springing spring,
and while swirling from the nature’s swing
to sway, or to rock
the night’s ring,
and to reach out without fallin’,
it leaves the garden forthwith,
right in the light to fight
the last winter’s wind.

Poem by Marieta Marieta

The Polish Kiss

In a dreamy field with dark blue irises,
Her lips are like falling, red butterfly wings.
In his blue eyes, she sees that hope rises.
O’er the life bridge, sometimes, the bell of death swings.

In the flower-filled wind, so high is his thought
As near is his feeling to the heart of love.
Flapping skywards, the dark spirits come to naught.
So sunny the sky, here flies the white dove.

With his long black hair and his beautiful chest,
He is a Polish king in their wedding bed.
His ringed hand swings the paradise of her breast.
From there, so far is the rising moon and so red.

Their thoughts into the vast infinity slip,
Into the flowers’ seeds; untouched sutured wounds
In forgotten memories flutter and clip.
Prayers from afar do flow to the lips’ sounds.

She wakes up in the field; the irises have grown.
Her vibrating horizon is forsaken-
A love so near that her heart has never known.
Knows now who she has, from her dream, awakened.

Poem by Marieta Maglas

Humdrum of that Green Valley…!

green valley

Humdrum of that green valley
Retrieve sweet reminiscence
that withered in inherited silence.
The green of woods and blue of sky
Creeps on the bank of virgin lake
Where moon used to dance on its waves.
Rustling and whispering of breeze sprinkles
Fragrance of sandal wood on ether’s flakes
An embodiment of heaven reincarnated on earth
Where every season embroidered with peace
and scattered as fairy tales on flora and fauna

Alas, erstwhile freshness and lustre is abandoned
as elegance is lost in the swirls of dungeon of time.
The valley is preening to escape grave silence
While it’s effervescent soul is prancing for a miracle
to explore the bountiful and the beauty once lost.
Peaks of Himalaya tapping for a Midas-touch
for pristine promises seems to be hibernated
in the demised valley invading infinite questions.

Bridal stars shedding tears and falling as dew drops
On the lotus of Jhelum that flows mournfully
as if, stressed and swollen by the blood thirsty.
Ripples of loneliness reflects its own mirage
as curse in the antiqued nostalgia.
Still the dreams of green valley is evergreen
and is unknown of the language of demarcation
where trespassing LOC is celebrated with gunshots

Flags that flutter with blood stain shivers in pain
Tulips and daffodils never forgets to bloom
The valley still writing fantasy of peace in fragment ink
And the untired wait for apocalypse continues…

© Maaya Dev

N.B: This poem was first published at online journal Episteme, volume 3 issue 4 of Bharat College of Commerce, Badlapur, MMR, India.

** jehlam or Jhelum is a river that flows in india and Pakistan. It is the largest and most western of the five rivers of Punjab, and passes through Jhelum district .***