Poetry: Brindha Vinodh

A day with Nature

Dew drops gaze through blooming buds
greeting gently the early birds with a glee,
charismatic sunshine munificently invites warmth
blazing on a charming spree.

The rivers dance on a riveting swerve
to the mellifluous melodies of breeze,
and green leaves what say of them
blush to the kisses of icicles that freeze.

The flowers unveil a canopy of colors
to enchant with an elegant smile
the beautifully embroidered butterflies
that peek timidly for nectar with style.

The clouds mingle shyly
amidst golden rays of sizzle
conspiring perhaps subtly
to pour a few drops of drizzle.

The unique scent of earth
embraces the fragrance of the rose
while the sea rapt in its own whispers of silence
cajoles the hidden sky for a pose.

Playing the symphony of the sun and the rain,
the rainbow appears with a surprising beam,
to the rhapsody of the ecstatic birds,
it beats the rhythm with gleam.

Horizon puts to sleep the wrinkled flowers
as with a glow of glimmer peeps the twilight
until the sparkles of stars silhouette the moon
to steal the show of a scintillating night.
***


The other side of life

Bruises and blood sporadic, the little girl hardly fifteen
lies half-dead, hopeless beyond horizon.
The sky murky with anguish pours tears of rain
like an elixir to the dying heart;
a fruitless gape how she succumbed to gang rape
before her grapples could withstand the bitter truth.

Her plummeted spirits await miracles of rescue,
cops and sniffer dogs to usher in zephyrs of hope
for in silence to fight with resilience and fortitude,
she beholds death but holds her breath, her only breath
to continue to live and live to continue.

Envisages she the taboos of time in tears of trepidation
like an incarnation of her own self
through the radiance of sunshine
her life to begin again like a newborn,
a girl of dreams born again
her rage metamorphosed into courage
to put to death her predators,
winds of time changed.
***


The underrated Indian homemaker

Busier than the busiest airport,
the kitchen smells of distinctive flavors like continental food counters,
each family member traveling the drudgery of morn in a hurriedly slow pace,
tantrums seething like boiling milk
for no taste buds converge, no two time zones collide,
the lady behind the scene doing multitasking
mixing random curry powders to a perfect delicacy of individual preference
until left out with the remains of everything but nothing of her own!


Time elapses fast as if prejudiced
for the melancholy chores seem eternal;
the broom has just begun to groom
evening ascends so soon belittling the noon,
innovative cuisine the answer to anticipating pangs of hungry home comers.
Twilights of her latent languid pulse yet pulsate
to wrap of chaotic clutters of clothes,
night no less menial, no denial to the dirty mess of unwashed plates,
the home is but so congenial
for the supposedly called homemaker
works coping with chides 24*7 all seasons
for reasons nothing but love and love only.
***


Bio: Brindha Vinodh is an Indian currently residing in the United states of America.
She holds a masters in Econometrics but she is a writer within.
Her poems and short stories have been published regularly in magazines and ezines.

No comments :

Post a Comment

We welcome your comments related to the article and the topic being discussed. We expect the comments to be courteous, and respectful of the author and other commenters. Setu reserves the right to moderate, remove or reject comments that contain foul language, insult, hatred, personal information or indicate bad intention. The views expressed in comments reflect those of the commenter, not the official views of the Setu editorial board. प्रकाशित रचना से सम्बंधित शालीन सम्वाद का स्वागत है।