Dead Leaves
dead leaves are scattered everywhere
under the trees
surrounding this old house where we live
unswept and piling up like some layers
of our memories
some rotten some cracking some turning to dust
the snakes learn to hide there
making their home
and some worms and some rats and some seeds
begin to sprout
when it begins to rain again
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Silence Shall Be
i find this in the forest of trees
long trees, shady, such that what you can see
are only shadows of leaves
and what you hear is only the sound of the wind
choked between tight walls,
this is my silence,
moist, and soft, between a growth of wild
ferns
rotten leaves heaps and heaps of
rotten leaves
layer after layer of rotten leaves
thick and pushed still to the roots
smashed to the ground
some seeds from the oaks
or maybe from the flowers of the orchids
or some sweet fruits and red berries fall
in there
and they begin to grow
rich as humus is this soil down
the darkness of this forest,
this is my silence
deep inside me
moist, rotten, but soon
lots shall grow
seeds turning into sprouts
to trees again
perhaps taller than ever
some fruits so sweet and colored and shiny
some flowers scented and so lovely,
this my silence
shall be, i am keeping it for years
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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84
my silence shall be
i find this in the forest of trees
long trees, shady, such that what you can see
are only shadows of leaves
and what you hear is only the sound of the wind
choked between tight walls,
this is my silence,
moist, and soft, between a growth of wild
ferns
rotten leaves heaps and heaps of
rotten leaves
layer after layer of rotten leaves
thick and pushed still to the roots
smashed to the ground
some seeds from the oaks
or maybe from the flowers of the orchids
or some sweet fruits and red berries fall
in there
and they begin to grow
rich as humus is this soil down
the darkness of this forest,
this is my silence
deep inside me
moist, rotten, but soon
lots shall grow
seeds turning into sprouts
to trees again
perhaps taller than ever
some fruits so sweet and colored and shiny
some flowers scented and so lovely,
this my silence
shall be, i am keeping it for years
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Memories
the memories have become brown leaves
with the slight touch of the wind
this summer
all of them fall to the ground
some will be blown far away
some will stay and crack
and become dust
in a little while,
i will hear the sound of everything
the wind blowing,
the falling of the leaves
the cracking and
then how the dust
whispers
that it still want to stay and wait
even longer
for the next season of rain
like some seeds.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Alankar (Decor) -28
Villains(Rondel)
Lot lots are villains surrounding
Like dust that helps mites to build mounds
Get housed snakes but there in mites'mounds
Dust and snakes no doubt surrounding
But they are rare seen surrounding
Not in huge swarms like mosquitoes
Lot lots are villains surrounding
'Bite and suck' their manifestoes
These are just few picks surrounding
Lot more in the guise of servants
Be it loam or home, those servants
Cheat, beat, loot to grab anything
Lot lots are villains surrounding
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Survival Kit
the grass accepts death
of all it has, leaves and roots
its color blends with
the dust and parched mud
cracking surfaces
it also knows to preserve
its species
burying resilient seeds on
the cracks
and when it rains it begins
to grow buds
roots and all and the whole
ground is green again
meanwhile on cracked grounds
where once the pond was
the whiskers of the catfish begin
to wriggle
shedding off mud around its skin
the fish begins to swim
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Brothers And Sisters
now that the roots are dead
and the buds cannot anymore
turn into flowers of their own
we turn back to the seeds
hidden under the ground
we look for the moist patches
and begin to sprout
we give the leaves and then
we become trees ourselves
apart from each other
now, not even knowing what
are our names
we rationalize these separations
the cycle of life
the pathways of survival
the genetic tendrils looking for the light of the sun
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rats
As a toddler I grew up in my
Grandparents ancestral house
Large house with several rooms
Sloping red tiled roof
Semi dark, even during mid day
Located in the centre of vast estate
With reddish gravely soil
Horizontal terrain with several elevational layers
House encircled by tall trees of
Coconuts, Jackfruits, mangoes, bananas
Tamarind, papaya, pepper creepers
Such large house occupied by only
Four human beings
Myself, grandparents and a servant maid
House was infested with
Reptiles, lizards, small crawling snakes
Cockroaches, spiders, squirrels, frogs
Millipedes, centipedes, cats, kitten and rats
Black bats flying and clinging to ceiling, heads down
Best place for zoological research
House was surrounded by foxes, dogs, butterflies
Fluttering between flowers
Big poisonous snakes
Cows, goats and mongoose
Crows, chicken, woodcutters, owls
Cooing doves on red tile roofs
Ground filled up with
Dry leaves fell from trees
Every day when the dawn strikes
I could see solar rays
Fresh after a night sleep
Penetrating through tall trunks of trees
My grandfather used to offer prayers
To Sun God, standing erect
By folding palms facing rising sun
Same time, sitting in our north side verandah
I used to help my grandmother
Killing rats
Trapped in wooden boxes
My grandmother was
House hold totalitarian
She had unfathomable affection towards me
Rats were menace to our food grains
Stored in large wooden granaries
Clock of my grandmother’s life
Stopped when she was only Sixty
And when I was only Ten
Memories about her and rats killed
Still after six decades lingers in my mind
**************
Last three decades I live in a pent house
Located on Fourteenth floor of a residential apartment
My tower is very close to an International Airport.
After retirement, I sit in my balcony
And watch busy aircrafts landing and taking off
Recently I noticed my neighbour Dr.Krish
Standing in his balcony holding a glass casket
A struggling, black creature was inside the box
Dr.Krish was head of zoology department
In University located in our city
Out of curiosity I asked him
“What is that doctor? ”
“A rat”
“Where did you get it? ”
“From a village in North Malabar
My research assistant who hails
From that village brought it
We are preparing thesis on
Rats, mouses and bandicoots “
Rat held inside could not be from my
Ancestral home in North Malabar
My old house of grandparents and tall trees were
Bulldozed long back for
Construction of luxurious resorts
Meant for foreigners and their currency.
P.M.CHANDRASEKHARAN
poem by Chandra sekharan
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SONNET: Wild Trees
Look how the trees grow in the wilderness!
The Rain and Sun tend to their growing needs;
No man can put the tree’s growth in harness;
‘Tis clothed by verdure leaves, flow’rs, fruits with seeds.
Look how the Wind spreads wide the seeds in soil!
How fast they sprout into seedlings with Rain;
Some go awaste but most grow without toil;
Alas! Man thinks wild trees are just a bane.
Yet, every tree that God had made has use;
And every living creature God made fine;
‘Tis left to man, his faculties to use;
‘Tis left to him to keep his shoes in shine.
Some things we see, we may not understand;
God’s creation is something very grand.
poem by John Celes
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At My Own Pace
slowly i walk on a path
leading to the woods
taking a closer look at
the ferns and enjoying
the freshness of the
the air inside the cover
of the trees, my steps
are careful not to disturb
the peace of the birds
still hatching their eggs
on the nests, lizards watch
and worms keep their feast
on the rotten wood beside
the sturdy roots, the rain
starts to fall, i am wet and
now going back home.
something the silence of
nature, the glossiness of
leaves, the musical pit
pat of the rain strengthens
me: i am part of this
beautiful scheme,
preserving and not
destroying, seeing and
not taking, watching all
creatures live, listening
what this earth is saying.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cry for PEACE
What a world we live in. Crazy as it sounds to begin. So much to learn, so much to see, what life is to be. Hungry souls, crawl the streets, some are rich as its meant to be.
God made us all equal yet we have discrimination. Sex, Love, Hate and Voilence are the reasons. Money is walk and talk of life, too much of it and you will despice, where to keep where to hide, money is the reason people fight.
Gone are the times when love was the reason to live and die for.
Love and sacrifice for the mother land was a honour above all.
Today we live but just to die, nothing we do but just cry. Ashes to Ashes Dust to Dust, all there remains is fond memories as such.
So Live and let Live, stop this killing, spread love and cry for Peace to begin.
poem by Manpreet Tuli
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The Cat and The Apple Tree
A house in the garden
Un-robed compound
Dried leaves stretched out
Under an apple tree
Ripen apples fell down
And on the tree like bulbs
Being rotten lied on the floor
Making a quite picture
Leaves fall one by one
Letting to be naked
Surrounding nature gets ready
To warm up the winter
Through a side opened window
An old cat was sitting on the sill
Saying something to ins and outs
On one cannot understand
Postman comes and puts into the box
On one comes to open it
A rain with a rough wind last night
Ruined the apple tree
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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Notes From Mambukal
i am learning
from the towering trees
i have seen the right of birds
to have a home
the co-existence of bats and
snakes
the essence of ripe fruits
that must remain on the ground
until they are rotten
when birds leave the seeds
after consuming all pulp
and flesh
the songs of birds
love calls
the hisses of snakes
the chants of earthworms
it was a night
when i dip my body to that hot spring
with healthy sulfur breaths
from volcanic
woman
when i make my self still
listening
always listening
and simply feeling what is warm
and tender
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Situation Like Here....
he enters a door
the frames are eaten by termites
he goes inside
where the chairs have only three feet
the sofa is like a stomach with intestines getting out
the roof leaks
there are stains of dried liquid on its corners
blood of a woman
the ceiling is like some rotten leaves
without stalkers
the floor is rough like a rocky shore
mud plated on some surfaces
he looks at the pile of papers
people are always quarreling
and there are endless litigations here
no one wants to shrink a little
and give way to something
perhaps bigger
the setting itself is unjust
the aircon is cracking like some hot oil
where water sprinkles itself unnecessarily
or inadvertently
i do not like to be here
but here i am
learning to live with injustice
dirt and rotten system
turning into humus
on the other hand, there must be a time for change
a fertile ground
after so much leaking and wetting and
rotting
worms eating themselves
bats evacuating
leaving feces on the floors
airy space, silent halls, and children giggling
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Love You Always Expect Love That Is Sweet And Enduring
we were once in love
i will not deny that
we make love almost every moment we look at each other
in the beach
in the camarin
in the house of your mother in the house of your friend
we like making love and we were content with what love is
for the time being
in the flesh,
we mature like some ripe fruits and we have no other option
like the fruit we fall
to the grounds of questioning ourselves
will this love be real even without the flesh
of the fruit?
will this love be true even without the leaves
of the trees?
will this love endure even when the tree is cut
because it will bear no fruit any longer?
i promise you love and i put the word there
forever,
but i never told you that there will be no pain
we compensate
we shall also be both broken......the sweetness shall not last longer,
but it is not the end yet, the sweetness shall linger in the memories
of our youth
when we wilt we shall be ready with our new seeds,
the rain shall make
the seeds grow again
time showers it with longings
and we shall now watch the flowers and the fruits
from a certain distance...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You Must Dropp The Seed
i am the field, plowed fertile field
near the river
some dogs are buried within me
some snakes live here
i know their wishes and desire
somehow i wait for you as the rain
and you as the sower
of the seeds
pour some sweat of your brow
and let your arms swing
let the seeds
fall
that is all i want
that is all that i am waiting for
just dropp the seed
and i will let them grow
then you can leave
i will take care of the snakes
and i will always remember all the dogs sleeping here
now you must leave
the seeds shall grow spontaneously as i watch the seasons change
t
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When Man Writes His Life Away
when sadness comes like
an uninvited guests
and when it stays longer
than you can
have it
just be silent
for silence are like seeds
that sprout on the little rains of
your patience
to grow the flowers of hope
when man writes his life away
overwhelmed by so much sorrow
God steps by the door
waits for you
to open it and then when this is done
God embraces you
the sun shines by the window of your house
the birds chirp again on the surrounding trees
the clouds of baby blue
cover the grasses as green as the pines
scented as perfumes
of your love
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poem (‘In The Stump of The Old Tree...’)
In the stump of the old tree, where the heart has rotted out, there is a hole the length of a man’s arm, and a dank pool at the bottom of it where the rain gathers, and the old leaves turn into lacy skeletons. But do not put your hand down to see, because
in the stumps of old trees, where the hearts have rotted out, there are holes the length of a man’s arm, and dank pools at the bottom where the rain gathers and old leaves turn to lace, and the beak of a dead bird gapes like a trap. But do not put your hand down to see, because
in the stumps of old trees with rotten hearts, where the rain gathers and the laced leaves and the dead bird like a trap, there are holes the length of a man’s arm, and in every crevice of the rotten wood grow weasel’s eyes like molluscs, their lids open and shut with the tide. But do not put your hand down to see, because
in the stumps of old trees where the rain gathers and the trapped leaves and the beak and the laced weasel’s eyes, there are holes the length of a man’s arm, and at the bottom a sodden bible written in the language of rooks. But do not put your hand down to see, because
in the stumps of old trees where the hearts have rotted out there are holes the length of a man’s arm where the weasels are trapped and the letters of the rook language are laced on the sodden leaves, and at the bottom there is a man’s arm. But do not put your hand down to see, because
in the stumps of old trees where the hearts have rotted out there are deep holes and dank pools where the rain gathers, and if you ever put your hand down to see, you can wipe it in the sharp grass till it bleeds, but you’ll never want to eat with it again.
Contemporary Poetry and Prose, 7 (Nov. 1936), 129.
poem by Hugh Sykes Davies
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Of Loss and Gain
Like pouring whiskey down a sink
Spilling coffee beans or ink
So do I drink my deeper life away
With papers laden on my knees
And fields to cross before I freeze
I sharpen up the millstones every day
Scattered seeds on smoking ground
Clattered keys of pianos sound
White on dark, turning black on grey
Cracking eggs upon one table
Casting notes as I am able
Let me out, I'm soaking from the rain
Kept by restlessness from rest
Tempted by childhood regress
Into the cage where songbirds go insane
Here the shadows toss the leaves
Winter hearts stand still to breathe
The shallow air, the things of loss and gain.
poem by Frank Bana
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Sonnet: Live Usefully
Oh, how they sprout fast, flourish- trees in wild!
To generate tons of fruits, flow’rs and seeds;
And how their leaves and twigs fail to get piled!
Who knows what fauna uses them as feeds?
But ’tis not so with trees useful to men;
They grow less easily and by men’s sweats;
A lot gets wasted despite any fen;
The weary farmers live al life in debts.
Such is the case with bad and good men too;
The bad outnumber good ones manifold;
Yet, that’s the way the world goes, what to do?
But all must pass away, both young and old.
How usefully we live is what matters!
Sin should not turn soul’s fabric to tatters.
9-5-2002
poem by John Celes
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Never Blame The Rainbows For The Rain
Sailing along
The river of time
Adrift on dreams
Through midnight chimes
Positively frozen
Crystal waterfalls
The mountain of hope
Is there to be climbed
The sea of serenity
Is rightfully mine
Step on to the water
Knowing what is true
Never blame the rainbows for the rain
And learn to forget the memories
That cause you pain
The last whispered wish of age
Is to live it all again
So never blame the rainbows for the rain
The beat of my heart
The rythm of love
The earth thats beneath us
The heavens above
I can hear forever
Calling out to me
The changes we go though
Are making me strong
The shelter of friendship
Is where we belong
Look into the future
Knowing what we see
Never blame the rainbows for the rain
And learn to forget the memories
That cause you pain
The last whispered wish of age
Is to live it all again
So never blame the rainbows for the rain
The whirpool of doubt
Can spin you around
The wave of emotion
Takes you up
Pulls you down
Leaving far behind us
Sweet young passions spray
Never blame the rainbows for the rain
And learn to forget the memories
That cause you pain
The last whispered wish of age
Is to live it all again
So never blame the rainbows
Never blame the rainbows
Never blame the rainbows for the rain
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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