SANTOSH BAKAYA

SANTOSH BAKAYA

THE WONDROUS WEAVER

Yes, it was a new dawn

But my spirits drooped

Heavily I stooped

Lost and forlorn

In the lawn.

Then things changed in a jiffy

As my eyes fell on a weaver spiffy.

In the first rays of the sun, it spun

A beauty sublime

Elegant its gossamer rhyme

In every strand was hidden a tinkle

And a buoyant chime.

I loved the way the weaver rolled

On the morning cold.

The silver gossamer strands

Stretching from one tree to another

Were tinted in gold.

The tiny architect and designer

Heaved and weaved

An intricate web

And received

My appreciative glance

As the sunbeams broke into dance

Fox trotting on the gossamer strands.

Suddenly it took a false step and slipped

Damaging the majestic tapestry, but gripped

A tiny strand alternating between

Desperate ascent,

And frenzied descent.

Frantically it groped

Clinging to the tenuous edifice of hope

Scuttling across one broken strand

Feverishly resuming   this renovation grand.

The never say die spirit scintillated and shone

As the web was reborn as a rhyme sublime.

An exemplary tapestry was yet again spun

Under the sun.

Step by step, strand by strand, there was majesty grand.

I saw the weaver heaving, cleaving, and retrieving

Firmly believing, not grieving or leaving

The weaving of this magical tapestry of rebirth,

Regeneration and resurrection

From the debris of hope.

Now no longer did I mope

But was riveted to the gossamer rhyme

The tinkle of the buoyant chime

And the peals of labour

Unheard.

CELEBRATIONS

Overhead there was a rumble of thunder

Tearing the peace asunder

The sun was pinioned down and helpless

Unable to extricate itself from the cloudy mess.

The clouds partied raucously

Cacophonously.

The celebratory fervor of the clouds

Heightened in intensity.

The hills were alive to the sounds of their music

Clap, clap, slap, slap, tap, tap, rap, rap.

There was the sound of a guitar

Clouds had congregated from wide and far

The dress code black

Confidence none did lack

Exuberant and spry

Conscientious like boy scouts

Screams and shouts

And yes there were Scottish bagpipers too

Violin and lute

Tooters who loved to toot

And some flautists too

Creating a happy din.

"Leave me alone, leave me alone"

Unheard went the sun's   mute plea

For it things were grim

Alas, its fire was dim.

The clouds danced and piroutted

Threw back their shaggy manes and twisted

Celebrating their victory.

The sun had fallen from grace

A coup had taken place.

They   danced the rare dance of bonhomie

Almost extinct on earth

Irrepressible their mirth

The birds caught the infection

And chirped and chirped

In absolute joy fluffing their feathers

And expanding their girth.

A father and son played on a string cot

Under a tree

Their chortles and chuckles

With the thunder merged

The all-round rancor magically purged

Creating some new sounds.

A symphony.

The father picked up the child in his arms

Affected by the cloudy charms

And danced and pranced

Trying to replicate the cloudy mirth

On a parched earth.

Furtively, the sun pushed away a chunk of cloud

And glanced and glanced.

Peace in the skies

Peace on the earth

Rampant the mirth!

THE TWIN SUN RAYS

The twin raylets, sneaked down the invisible ladder

Hanging from the fog - festooned sky.

Silently, stealthily casting one look at the sleepy sun.

Holding hands, daintily, they lifted their golden skirts

Ah, their ankles dazzled.

At the comatose sun cocking a snook

With infantile joy, the golden beauties shook.

Out to have some fun

While the sun dozed under a foggy blanket.

With impish mischief their eyes shone

A bit diffident and ambivalent

The danseuses two

In the branches cavorted and gamboled

Performing a medley of dances

The tango, the flamenco.

The fox trot and twist.

The languorous branches stirred when kissed.

They pranced in the fronds, slurped the dewdrops

Enveloped a cold, crippled lapwing in their warm arms

The lapwing no longer shivered,

But skittered  around on the dew- drenched ground

With a  confidence  new-found

Waking the green grass with its happy hops.

Having done the good deed of the day

The good Samaritans two, now emboldened

Lifted their skirts golden

And hid in the foliage of a luxuriant tree

Radiant with juvenile glee

Waiting for the sun to shake off the shackles foggy

And rise in the east , no longer groggy .

SANTOSH BAKAYA