Poetry: Sravan Xavier

Sravan Xavier
Chirpy Berceuse

Stand-still,
that’s what becomes of time
listening on and on to the tone
of a teeny-tiny passerine
from Passeriformes of Aves of Chordata of Animalia
perching on the rooftop
beautifying the spooky night
gently beating my eardrums.
It’s a pleasant lullaby, alright.
What notes are in play? That I don’t know.
Maybe I should dig in acoustics.

Oh well! Why even bother analyzing the melodious ditty?
Why think of the patterns of vibration?
Longitudinal wave bundle? Yes, that’s what the chirp sound is.
Mechanical wave bundle? Duh! 
Not the point here.
And might as well forget the uneven frequency
and also, the pitch while we’re at it.
My love for that chirping
up-chirp or down-chirp
is all that counts in here,
as does my desire
to whistle away the horrid aftermath shock
of traveling through the ginormous highway
full of deafening pack of howler automobiles (Oh, the decibels!)!
All for a carefree, noise-free slumber.
Nevertheless, I’d want to admit
this is no recording studio,
no rubber blockers, nothing
just all dissonated air
and yet the chirping flows uninterrupted
resonating through the dissonance
vibrating my very heart
drawing me closer and closer
to a good-night sleep.
***


Creasy Beauty

Blank, colored or printed, nothing to do with me
So long as it can be
Folded, creased, wrinkled
And if untorn, reshaped
Or cut and made into entirely new
The paper birthing origami.

The sound of rustle I dig
As my fingers come into contact
With the little paper thingy
And the neurons in my brain
Flickering, streaming in ideas manifold.

Bird, dog, table, box
Or one of those crafty decorations for parties
Or a fan to sweep the sweat off in the heatwave
Or a boat to put in a rain puddle
Or a beautiful Pegasus to add a touch to display rack
Possibilities hitherto out-worldly otherwise
Just fold, run your imagination haywire
And discover the sculptor within.

And who says their shreds should 
Have one-way-ticket to the trash chute?
Make them into three-dimensional pieces
Connect them and create 
Whatever strikes fancy.
That beats connect-the-dots game for sure!
***


Like Camping in a City

Can hear the chirping of birds? Yes.
Can see the greenery? Yes, I guess.
Can grab a bite? Quite easily, but it costs.
How about the breeze?
Well, depending on the conditions
It can be a soothing breeze
Or a soot-ing suffocation domain
That’s the big city.

The sun’s got absolute supremacy in here
Even with roofs deflecting its glare
For the emerald shaded air purifiers continue
To get cleared
To disappear
Leaving all the burden of providing us fresh breath
To the tiny budding saplings.

Sounds? Definitely.
Don’t expect them to be of light decibels
As in wealds
Especially at busy crossroads
Those hordes of busy bees with deafening “Beep!”
Why even bother going that far?
We’ve always got our screaming neighbours.

Threat of animals. Oh yes!
Savages lurking in the dark alleys
Waiting to mug and even to kill
To make their lives sunny
By dusking those of their preys.

And let’s not even talk about campfires
Because fire-fighters don’t really enjoy
The work of arsonists, the Hellfire
And then they’re too busy rescuing
So how can they keep staring at the fire like fellow campers?
Well, that’s camping in city for you.
***


She isn’t Famous just in Words

She’s at it again this year
Well, it’s not like she’s ever stopped herself
From approaching people one after another
Whether from her department or not
And introducing herself, her friends, her hostel room number 
To spread her fame throughout.

Such a lively little pumpkin
But with bundle of energy
That comes with a diversified appetite
And a brave and loud front
As she puts on dazzling presentations in spontaneity
Or rocks in debates and discussions
Or puts her subordinates in “controllo perfetto”
Or cheers her pals during exams
With her “burn the paper” cliche
Centering herself all the attention.

Of course, it’s not like she hasn’t ever been in the dark lump
Even she’s had her setbacks and embarrassments
It’s normal, isn’t it?
Not that they’ve ever barriered or chained her psyche 
Try shutting her up, and she’ll let you have it
Either a loud admonishing or a heavy slam
No wonder no man can have a way around her.

Roulette, pubs, liquor, underworld, mafia
The words that never ever leave her side
Saying these’ll serve as her steps to fame
If the regular honest work doesn’t pay.

Now that’s one heck of a friend
Might as well cast her in “Mission Impossible” sequels
For thrill is what her cells fancy and crave
As her fun and popularity transcend the very line
Between life and the afterlife
Yet very much alive she is!
***

Bio: Ch. Sravan (Xavier), currently residing in Hyderabad, India, holds a 5-Year Integrated Masters in Economics from the University of Hyderabad (UoH), and is currently working as a Research Assistant at the School of Economics, UoH. His research interests lie in Microeconomics, Economics of Energy, Environment and International Trade. His hobbies include origami, poetry, numismatics and sketching. He is always interested in trying something new and out-of-worldly.

 

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