Kiran Joshi: Figures of Thought: Collegiate Voices across Spaces

The Lost Village

Intone the song sang years ago -

Bless back the beauty lost years ago -

Years ago, I fell into slumber, 

Years ago, with each dying number. 

Ow! I, a lone, remote, abandoned village 

Wrapped up in severe sickening damage

Strange now appear these twisted winding lane

Alone here I am pulling through -

This needle -sharp pain. 

No warm gatherings, no more play, 

With large trunks people walked away, 

Some alone, other with families

Aiming towards their destined cities. 

Soon, the green turned barren, 

Musical chirping saddened, 

The weed land broadened, 

The cattles were orphaned. 

Barren begged for golden – harvest

Traditional muse came to rest. 

Bring back my monsoon rain, 

Bring back my season chain. 

The world is dying, you in the queue, 

Cities fascinate no more, that’s now true, 

Running for life, there I see you -

Safest in the nest, from where you flew-

You need me again, you need my embrace, 

I am your village and here’s your place. 

I see the trunks coming back , 

I hear the musical chirping back, 

Feel safe, my lap welcomes you -

Feel safe, for I embrace you -

Your roots are here, wherever you go, 

Your soul is here, wherever you go. 

Intone the song you sang years ago -

Bless back the beauty lost years ago –

***

Off  Happiness (2020)

Frozen eyes, dejected hearts 

Ceased walks, startled arches

Once liberated, restrained again

No bully master ,still refrained. 

Neither H-bomb nor a weapon, 

Alas! Still hard to confess... 

What obstinate acts, stripped

2020 off happiness? 

One step out, it grapples your breath

Two steps out,

 your darlings are trapped

Few more steps and 

your area is nabbed. 

Corona rules out, 

you behind the  doors

Dull roofs, stodgy floors. 

Alas! Yet hard to guess. .. 

What hidden obscure mess... 

Stripped 2020 ,off happiness? 

Casting penumbra like witch's tress

Assembly made curse, isolation a bless. 

The aches here, 

Refuse to pause

Misery, torment smeared claws. 

Amphan painted Elegiac Black Sky

Locusts gave the funeral cry. 

Half-year elapsed, 

Half yet to pass

Absurd appear days, life mere farce. 

Alas! Still hard to confess... 

What obstinate acts, stripped

2020 off happiness? 

***

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Author's Bio:  Kiran Joshi is a post graduate student of Post Graduate Government College for Girls, sector -11 , Chandigarh. Verses have never failed to touch the inner chords of her heart. The rhythm of words when mingled with the rhythm of nature emancipates her soul. 

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Setu, June 2021