Two eyes look through the window
amazed at the benedictions of the nature.
I smell the fragrance of poetry blooming in April
as always and everyday a new poem
is being written on the petals of the flowers
and on the fresh green leaves.
The two naked eyes of a woman can still see
through the parted curtains
through the iron bars of the traditions.
In this poetry season so many things
hang around on the tip of my pen
pulsating to form a poem: A woman is still being stoned somewhere a woman is still being raped somewhere
a woman is being beaten to death somewhere
People are seeking freedom of thought
freedom of speech freedom to live seeking safety, respect and dignity running for their lives disowning their countries seeking asylum from other lands drowning in the ocean on the way to freedom and dying instead.
Poetry month will go on and many hearts wailing would go on under the dark skies a poem walks through the deserted places on the blood drenched streets of the city where every night shooting happens like fire crackers
and every night a number of young boys are injured and one or two lost their lives….
I want to pen all the sadness and pain. I want to tell the lamenting and crying mother whose heart bleeds with her young son caught in between the cross-firing of madness if my words can stop her heart bleeding….
A new poem is being written about all the centuries old issues while thinking poetry in the moment frozen in the dead of the night
walking on the concrete sidewalk
I just stumbled on a big pothole and fell backward landed on my right wrist.
And after… … I could not even hold a pen in my hand not even the mouse neither could I click with my fingers those letters on the keyboard to form a poem!
And the poetry month would be gone by leaving me with this incomplete poem and pain.
And the poem continues.