Rain

Rain

The clouds are so very dark and deep

Or is that only what I could draw

Perhaps, she must be praying and yearning

To get out of this seasonal prison of Sky

Strange was her journey, fearful was her transformation

Time has heard her thunderous cry

She has smiled again with the flash

Dancing in the ecstasy raining down free

No more she, a dark pregnant rain cloud

But a bright tiny drop of life.

Gopakumar Radhakrishnan

A drop of life sinks into waiting arms

wetting parched lips

soothing scaling wrinkles

of a forlorn, barren land,

streaming through shrivelled veins

filling earthen heart with hope

sowing new seeds of energy

fading into eternal skies

into a new womb, a new cloud

and a new life cycle in eternity.

Sujatha Warrier

Silken Skeins

While any creative endeavour for anyone is a solo journey of discovery, collaborative creativity is a delightful adventure. In the latter, there is shared happiness and satisfaction as well as the joy of discovery that's exclusive to each collaborator. Silken Skeins was such an inspired pursuit along with Nirmala Sasi Varier for the anthology, Poetic Symphonies, compiled, edited and published by Gopakumar Radhakrishnan.

Silken are the threads

binding you and me

some in woven dreams,
some tangled underneath,

a few in mellow hues

artfully interlace,
a vivid couple of strands

stray off on their own
entwining in a design

unaligned, unforeseen.

- © Sujatha Warrier

Carefully, gently, I tried
to unravel the enmeshed yarns,
seeking to braid the mellow with the dark,

watching the pattern emerge,
but then I let go off

the gossamer skeins

for I saw the lattice of our ties

best left random as they were

shimmering blithely

unexplained, unpredictable ...

- © Nirmala Sasi Varier

Freedom

Freedom to express
and as well suppress, is still
a queller, if you will.

©

Krishna

Came his avatar
in the midnight hour, his hue
a midnightish blue.

©

One more line

It’s that time of the night

when crickets fall into
a deafening cacophony,
racing wheels slow down
and cease to burn the roads,
my home goes quiet
but for the whirring ceiling fans
when I know I should be counting sheep
and putting myself to sleep
and my muse keeps me awake and eager
to put together one more...
just one more line of poetry.

© Sujatha Warrier 2019