Poetry & Art

Meena Chopra

- Meena Chopra

Bio: Meena Chopra is a Canadian Indian poet, a visual artist, art curator and a producer of art and literary events. She lives in Mississauga. She writes both in English and her native Hindi language. Her poetry has been published in several literary magazines and anthologies and also has been translated in Urdu, German and Punjabi. She has authored several poetry and art collections and co-edited an anthology. Driven by power of the abstract imagery, many times her art and poetry blend into each other. Meena advocates discovering collaborative experience between the literary arts and other art forms in order to give the audience a comprehensive and vibrant artistic experience and has a successful trail of producing such art and literary events behind her.

Website: www.meenachopra.art

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Silicon Soul

My eyes tinted with moon-shadow

summer sun rises in the east
glittering through my window
golden tendrils softly graze mylashes.

Face radiant with a luster
dawn pours a liquid gold
hearts melt.

A warmth swirls my blood
my breath expands
a silicon soul circulates in my veins
shaping a new rhythm to my days.

My vision shrivels
the sun dips into the cyberspace
dusk unfolds on the window screen.
 
Night falls, churning algorithms
sky loops in the moonlight
fading shadows float
within the computing clouds.
Digits beat in my heart
my body dehydrates.
I become a nocturnal sprite
a native of a dream space
soaring in a lunar land
leaving no data to process
 
No black dust, no traces behind.
No shadows of networks to find.
 
Link to Video art: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T06D3roj2Oo

***

Under the Pilkhan Tree

We met and sat
musing with books in our hands
turning each page
unveiling verses, fables and tales
with each falling leaf
Under the Pilkhan tree.*  

As the time passed

words revolved, condensed and spiraled

climbing high, reaching the dense crown

to be cured and dried in sun

imbibed and nurtured in the sap

preserved in the wood of the knobby trunk 

protected by the bark

silver-washed for ages to come.

Branches grew, sprouting into tiny buds

resonating in generations

time swirled, legacies unfurled

stories sighed

A light breeze

beneath the bearded tree.

*Dedicated to all the fellow writers who gathered under the generosity and warmth of Pilkhan Tree for readings, at Malashri and Robey Lal’s residence in New Delhi - https://www.setumag.com/2024/05/under-pilkhan-tree-sunil-sharma.html

***

Lost Password 

Crystal-clear water

smooth on pebbly stones

sends shivers up my spine

with its refreshing touch.

A soft melody of flowing water

brushes my skin.

Its gentle currents

lead to a lagoon below in a deep valley.

I try to read my book

but my reader refuses to open.

The elusive password slips through my hands

lost in the descending mountain shadows

fingers desperately fumbling to find it.

My lost password eludes me

like a wisp of smoke

my eyes searched everywhere

couldn't help but wonder

if it held the key to a story yet to unfold.

My reader stays closed.

Tired eyes see a shadow-play

as the darkness falls

I can faintly hear the echo of the fading brook.

The summer breeze rustles through the hidden pages

stirring the words to leap out

cascading ink seeking the light

Shadows recede in the valley below.

scattered in the meadow

words transmute into fireflies

acquiring dainty wings that coil

soaring across the river

diving into the dark lagoon

penetrating the core

where my password is ensnared

in a mesmerizing whirlpool.

Words pull the drenched password

out of the strong whirling water currents

they spiral into many ancient tales

sodden in time, obscured from eyes.

The sun goes down

beyond the mountain stream

shedding a warm glow

my Kindle opens

pages of my book shine

enriched with the essence of extinct lores.

Words gleam, stories unfold

Summer sunshine shimmers in my eyes.

***

---

Setu, June 2024