Prof Malashri’s poems capture seasonal shifts: vibrant spring marigolds, scorching summer whirlwinds, and a polluted, rainless monsoon, each reflecting the human experience, exclusively for Different Truths.
#1
Marigolds in Basant
Yellow ordhnis billowed
over the marigold fields
uniting the women and the
blooms of shesh basant.
Shoots of fresh leaves
were a symphony in green
the occasional phlox, pansies
petunias breaking into caesuras
as nature’s annual anthem
strained towards a high note of closure.
She watched the panorama
of seasonal abundance
storing her memory with
marigold petals
to survive the remaining year
of destitution.
Note: Ordhni: a diaphanous veil worn over a long skirt in Rajasthan
#2
Ghoorni: Whirlwinds in the Summer
Grishma’s torrid sun pounding the loose sands
till the rocks crumple to dust
suddenly a spirit force starts a dervish dance
whirl, twist, turn the sand upwards in a spiral
of frenzied motion and symmetry
choreographed by the invisible master of summer winds.
What if I entered that swirl?
Would the vortex take me flying to grishma’s sun-baked skies?
If my body disintegrated and became sand
would my soul be reborn as the Dhruvatara
glowing despite the vaporous, maddening gyre
of the ghoorni?
Is this dying, or living anew?
#3
Varsha: Cloud Messenger Today
Cloud messengers have been stricken with amnesia
they forget to carry the basket of rain
or listen to the prayers of the parched earth below
static, heavy, and grey with pollution.
The cloud – megha – resembles the umbrella
over Hiroshima, when
bodies vaporised in the intense heat
leaving a throttled imprint on wounded steps.
Today it’ll be a tortuous, prolonged
annihilation.
Varsha ritu, but no rain
Varsha, no frolicking among freshly sprung ponds
Varsha, wake up to Kalidas’s chhanda
to chant Meghdoot’s lines.
“Now roam wherever you please in your glory…”
Our Kaliyug has caused you amnesia
Forgive, oh forgive.
Picture design by Anumita Roy
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All three poems are a delight to read! I specially loved the beautiful apt imagery, coupled with the power and force of measured, controlled expression!
These poems seem like floating in a space between presence and absence, between what is and what could have been. They breathe with an ephemeral quality, each line slipping away like a sigh, leaving a trace of something lost yet cherished. They remind me that time, like the seasons, moves inexorably forward—inevitable and quiet. All we can do is hold on to what we can, however fleeting, and gather its beauty before it disappears.