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.

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.

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