MAY POETRY PROMPT
Drop — A Wart on Time
Rain clouds, haze cafe, catching the ray
I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.
“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
Unquenched on a day in May
The day it shouldn’t but rained
a scorching day slashed by a
blurring screen of sparkling shower
I planted my dreams on palms of
the dripping breeze
transfixed my vision to the shadow of
a bathing sun
mind weaving innocent fantasies
trapped in the web of washed desire —
They are warts on the face of time
resplendent in its uniqueness
striking in wonted
It is simple living when you could be anything
Dragged by drudgery you want be someone.
Life defined.
My days were busy to find the mango tree
take a full circle
nonchalant, drooping leaves questioning
the sapien wonder
unlike boisterous humans, trees know
how to hang exhibits — we drool
That tree has grown inside me
spreading its branches,
moving over each membrane
like a river navigating a city
bending in each turn —
taught me the quite value of
stoicism, gift of giving
The days the tree is ready to hold fruits
I write poetry to no wonder
My poems are not mangoes.
I exhale my yearning to the rain
a bleb on a drop, carried to
cities afar, disjoint yet connected
by common desire to feel life
The struggle of non-alignment
un-visioning the envisioned
scattering trust like a soaked
sun dispersing light
things are beautiful when
they stay unchanged by time
a blemish as unfulfilled longings
a smudged blob muddled in
cloud tears —
A wart on the skin of yen
How do you own rain, Poet
How do you tame the power of a drop . . .
Lingering on static
Perishable. Ordinary. Unforgettable.
A rinsed afternoon in May etched
A wart on time
A drop
Drop Notes: Wart is a small, hard, benign growth on the skin, caused by a virus. It eventually goes away leaving a mark on skin, that stays.
A gush of rain on a hot May afternoon and your commitments don’t allow you to enjoy that to the fullest, feels like a wart on the face of time.
I used ‘wart ‘ to signify a kind of impermanence that stays with you, where the moment leaves leaving its imprints on our mind, sometimes enough to churn a poetry.
“There comes a time when the world gets quiet and the only thing left is your own heart. So you’d better learn the sound of it. Otherwise you’ll never understand what it’s saying” ― Sarah Dessen, Just Listen
Thank you Editors at Fourth Wave for publishing my work and Suma Narayan for her warm invite to the publication.
This poem is in continuance with the Fourth-wave prompt — May-the-month-of-desire
Monoreena Acharjee Majumdar/ Soul-bay
Do check out the 1st episode of our Poetry Podcast Elysian-The spoken words, Soul-bay in collaboration with Literary-impulse :
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