Wednesday, May 1, 2019




Love is the beginning, love the end.
Let us build more from less.
Is it too difficult to live amiably in an island of togetherness?
See that khaki colored pond heron.
How it stands grouchily near the water’s edge,
its gimlet eyes fixed unwaveringly at the water.
Hunched, eyes scrunched, waiting for that elusive fish.

Summer will come, humming a new song.
A flamboyant bird sits valiantly on that barbed wire.
Why look so dour?
This bizarre madness too shall pass.
Plough forth, untired; plunge forth untethered.
And wait for that elusive fish
of love and peace, undeterred.


A homeless man in rags,
lagging behind in life’s frenzied race,
wearily plonks on a ramshackle park bench,
heart-wrenching pain etched on his bony face.
A train trundles in the distance. Time yawns.

To its utter horror,
a sweet hummingbird sitting in a verdant tree
singing of life’s romance,
finds that the notes of its songs
have got entangled in the rampant clutter.
It flutters in confusion as the homeless man mutters
of loss and reclamation.

Now the generous flowers pick up the baton
to serenade the homeless man,
swaying to their inner rhythm.
The man smiles wistfully.

He is home,
tending to the wilted flowers of memory.
Miraculously, the hummingbird also finds its voice.


Sitting near the window of his bombed out house
in a nameless, inconspicuous alley,
he does not feel summer creeping ,on cat feet.
Still mulling over the cold indifference of winter.
Blank faces, muted cries. And a lost love.
He has a sudden spasm as icy claws grip him.
He never leaves the window.

Like someone drowning at sea,
he wistfully stretches a quivering hand
through the window, as though
to grab the last vestige of hope.
That clinging warmth of her fingers,
curling around his own,
the feel of which still lingers.

Was he insane? Was he dreaming?
It was cold, cold, so very cold.
Souls conjoined, hands clutched,
hearts entwined, the lovers once
meandered on the paths serpentine.
Demons stalked them at every turn,
but in the glow of the fire burning in their hearts,
they had always found their way forward.
But this fire! Alas this fire!
It had incinerated the very essence of his being.

A sparrow chirps with a piercing conviction.
A broken melody tries to mend itself,
unfazed by belligerence
raising its already bloodied whip,
waiting to rip the world apart.
Once again.
He has a sudden spasm as icy claws grip him.
Once again.


Dr SANTOSH BAKAYA , academician- essayist - novelist - poet - Ted Speaker is the internationally acclaimed writer of BALLAD OF BAPU , a poetic biography of Mahatma Gandhi , the first of its kind in the world . Winner of the International Reuel Award for writing and literature [2014]  for her long poem Oh Hark !, Universal Inspirational Poet Award  , [Pentasi B friendship poetry and Ghana Government  2016 ]; Poet Laureate Award  [ Poetry Society of India , 2017]. Bharat Nirman Award for literary excellence [ 2017 ], Her  other books  are WHERE ARE THE LILACS  ? UNDER THE APPLE BOUGHS AND FLIGHTS FROM MY TERRACE . She recently  delivered a TED TALK  on the MYTH OF WRITERS' BLOCK .

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