Ananya S. Guha

Poetry

 

 

Can I ? 

 

And, can I add one more 

to this summer woe?

Now that wintry days have passed away

like the eucalyptus, or the drooping 

rose? Can I just  add one more sorrow

to this green blue blue skies

where the summer sweltering heat

is a benign beast.

How many times do I count sorrows

in heaps and mounds,

just one day is enough.

 

Then the cycle, the cycle 

of peace will enter unobtrusively.

 

 

 

Summer Rains

 

These summer rains 

are a whisper, not rains

the wet earth looks upward

and the soil breaks loose

turtle like. The snake climbs

up the sodden earth to discover

friends. Children ask questions

and play time will be over.

 

The sun dials tick ruthlessly 

even as the sun wanes

and summer rains devour the earth.

 

I measure time.

Others measure hours

but like all creatures

summer rains are intransigent

huge metaphor of a living myth.

 

 

 

Hills Of Slow Time...

 

There was a time
when the hills denuded
scattered out of myth
origin and ash
came tumbling down
with waterfalls, lakes and rivers
to give succour to incarnadine hues.
The hills I have known, paraded with
my destiny, the hills that moulded clay
into mythic dolls. Yes these were the hills I knew.
Molten clay, shrapnel hirsute legs the hills were
not man made. Man. Woman
and in the Sacred Groves the hush could be heard. 
Not felt, only scatter of rains.
with a wild myth of flowers
heaping mounds of love.
Prescient hills you shoot out the future
and supinely lie on the past
in eternal rest.

Marigolds will not turn your hair
into wounded gashed fingers.
Marigolds only wither and mingle
fortuitously
with these hills of slow time.

 

 

 

Summer Wings

 

And now the summer wings

translucent, hoary

makes the heart vapid

 

Summer has arrived 

with red red wine- cherries

the searing heat will closet

us indoors, but outside 

summer wings will play

naughty games.

 

I take a ride in summer

into dreams and robust thoroughfares

I walk in summer I talk in summer

for some respite. But summer wings 

are ancient, as heartbeats resound

in animation.

 

 

 

Dream Wings

 

Dream wings 

are far, the nearer

they come dreams 

are distinct, distilled

and your waking hours

are lost. 

 

Dream wings are water 

hyacinths floating beside

stubble and growth.

 

Dream wings are hard hit

by summer's malefic ways

and winter's dreaded hibernation.

 

Dream wings are soporific

all to sleep, all to a tragic demise.

 

Dream wings walk though marsh, morass

what else are dreams about?

 

 

 

Ananya S. Guha is from Shillong, India and works in the Indira Gandhi National Open University. Currently he is based in Jorhat, Assam. He has been writing and publishing his poems for the last 29 years. His poems have appeared in print and online in magazines / webzines such as: The Telegraph, The Statesman, Amrita Bazar Patrika, Femina, Sunday Mail, Indian P.E.N, Kavya Bharati, Poetry Chronicle, Poesis, New Quest, Journal Of Indian Writing In English, Chandrabhaga, Art Arena, Asia Writes, Gloom Cupboard, Malaysian Poetic Chronicles, Up The Staircase, Decades Review, Poetry Five, Harper Collins Book Of English Poetry, New Welsh Review, Winter Spin, Greens Magazine, Indo Australian Anthology Of Poetry, Indian Literature, Other Voices and, now, DM.