kingfisher

The kingfisher preens before me:  

look at my back, he says, 

blazing brilliant blue.

He pirouettes.

Now look at my white heart

nestled in velvet brown.

Hear me trill to the dawn:

Good morning good morning!

The world rises in greeting: 

a squirrel runs along the fence

then leaps for the tree

a terrapin waves a flipper 

before diving back in

the woodpecker drills a trunk 

whilegreen parrots zip by in formation 

a water hen bobs its lean white neck 

crickets ring and pause, 

steady as a heartbeat, 

Flowers scent the air

the green leaf holds promise in its vein

New buds wait, ready for their time,

the forest erupts in song: 

Good morning Good morning! 

blessed am I to have been there

for the half hour of morning song

on my way back

the grasscutters and fumigators are hard at work the sounds are grinding, mechanical. 

the forest falls silent 

waiting 

I spy

I spy out of the corner of my left eye

a lizard on the wall of my shower.

I slow down, ponder its existence 

but leave it alone.

I spy out of the corner of my left eye

a little boy on the driveway.

I slow down, heave a sigh of relief 

that I spotted him 

before he dashed across the road.

I think I have the lizard to thank

for training 

the corner of my left eye so well. 

 

I spy out of the corner of my left eye

In the shower this morning

I spied a little lizard on the wall

out of the corner of my left eye

I slowed down, pondered 

but did nothing to it.

In the driveway this morning 

I spied a little boy on the road

out of the corner of my left eye

I slowed down, heaved a sigh of relief 

that I spotted him, that he didn't dash across the road 

I think I have the lizard to thank

for training the corner of my left eye so well. 

 

my heart

the other day akshaya was telling aishu how much she enjoyed the days preparing for ustav performance and i realised how her illness has taken away yet another source of joy for her. 

she used to love dancing

but she fell ill and couldn't go to as many classes as the rest and she fell back and lost motivation and now doesn't even have the strength to dance. 

i hate it hate it hate it

am so mad and sad 

art of joy finding

it is an art to find joy 

when the world feels dark,

weighing down narrow shoulders 

an art that like any other 

improves with practice 

how do we train the eye to seek out beauty, pockets of happiness

in the ordinary? 

To look for the sparrow nibbling at biscuits 

the green parrot flocks that shoot across the sky 

the song on the radio

that should be taught in school 

more than math or science or even literature 

aspire

I aspire to be

like the wind, the river,

just flowing,

shaping spaces 

but not claiming them as mine,

or to be a stone on the river bed,

quite indifferent, 

to the eddies 

that swirl around me,

or if a wave did bowl me over, 

I'd just roll and sit when I land 

while currents flowed past me,

unmoved even when moved 

I'd just be.