-daya bhat-
born to rule the sky
not all clouds go down raining
some wear silver crowns
There’s still hope! It’s been rather cruel rainy season this year around. It’s a relief to think of it as a silver lining if some clouds wouldn’t rain.
Clouds could be storytellers too. Reading the snowy puffs as they enact a fairytale in the sky.
riding a white horse
he plunged into the ocean
the stories clouds write
a monk of the mist
I turn into lamp fairy
as the sun goes down
I shall whisper to the clouds
if you tell me a story
I have attempted my first tanka ever. Long verse has always been my comfort zone. But haiku/tanka and other short forms have been my guilty pleasure. I have adhered to the 5-7-5-7-7 format and tried to pen something that reads both back and forth. I hope I have maintained the sanctity of the form.
The city that appears as pious as a monk in the morning mist transforms into a fairy of the lamps. The wicks are raised and lit, and it’s storytelling time. Our stories do have the potential to touch the sky.
Happy tanka tuesday!
may the stars litter
our paths with glittering dust
life on the threshold
When we lose someone very dear, to death, our minds linger around the futility of it all. The struggle to make it big, the continuous battles with self and with the world, everything comes to a grinding halt. Loved ones who were part of the struggle are left with a vacuum to deal with. It’s a different truth that life throws challenges at us as if we were dart boards, and sooner than later the vacuum fills up. While our loved ones travel up there and become stars, we spread our arms for the stardust. That’s how the dear souls bless us.
Time heals everything. But it’s also true that some wounds leave scars. That nobody has life custom made helps the healing process. Life moves on and it ought to.
My first book of poems, A maiden of 29, was published by Writers Workshop India. Based out of Kolkata it’s an honour my poetry found home with them. This news dates back to 2013 Dec. Six years later I feel very happy to share about my second book of poems ‘River twin’ which is forthcoming shortly. BecomeShakespeare.com ( https://www.becomeshakespeare.com/ ) is bringing out my book via their Wordit Art Fund. I am honoured to be associated with them.
Since three years I was looking out for a publisher. Having sent out my manuscript to several places and got mixed responses regarding the amount of money I had to invest, I had been skeptical if I would find a home for my second book. But the long wait has ended in a happy twist.
I have shared a link of the said publisher in case someone, like me, has also been sailing in the same boat.
About our River twin- she will be a happy blend of long and short poetry. The book will also include my poems published in literary journals along with unpublished and new poetry.
My first book of poems could be ordered here. https://www.writersworkshopindia.com/tag/daya-bhat/
You can also find a review of my book here.
Thanks for sharing my joy everyone and keep writing.
Daya Bhat
Looks like haikus have me hooked for a while, so much so that I had to create a pond for them. Until the splashes last let me soak my fingers.
reading the daylight
a bookworm in sepia
sparrow bird ethics
Known to be a joyous bird often seen working hard in teams. The simple sparrow has its own moments of reflection and recreation. Seems like it’s having a ‘me’ time trying to read the fortune the day’s weather may bring.
she drifts with such ease
moored to the mercurial
the greenwood lover
How nature pairs up the wavering and the unwavering! Each not intimidated by the other’s conflicting personality. Instead there’s a graceful acceptance and peaceful co existence.
Midas leaves no tree
turned to gold they wait the spring
sages of the woods
It’s autumn again. Midas lingers in the woods touching the green sages in penance.
Looking to the sky, rooted deeply in the earth for ages, I wonder what truth they seek!
If a boon they must ask, it must be to be born a tree again.
To look upon them as pious is how we can revere the noble souls for all that they give us. While fall is all a burst of colors to the worldly eye, there must be more to it. Losing is winning is what trees try to teach us. Every year autumn anoints them in gold perhaps to test their resolve. Politely returned all the wealth surrenders by their feet. The onus now is upon the spring to breathe green into the leaves. And when it does trees are all smiles again!
you stay forever
a warrior in my eye
for, you fell, but last
