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A Half Dozen plus One


Featuring poetry by a most prolific bard, Sir SAI PRAKASH, from India, a collection of poetry (half dozen plus one), his poems chosen throughout the months either as Poet of the Week, Poet of the Month or a random Editor's Pick. His poem, "Every Poet's Dream" was chosen as Poem of the Month in August by Contributing Editor, Mr. Steve Lyman. "EVERY POET'S DREAM" When thoughts from his heart pouring out A poet wastes no time to ink the papers white A perfect contrast of black and white Like the dark and silvery clouds His voice and verse a bit shaky Like a toddler from crawl to walk May be an infant cry in some cases An assuring hand and a little pat on the back A clap or two A nice review Like a well watered and manured plant A poet develops a strong root and shoot His wings aided by more air His vision more precise His imagination expands From a tip of an iceberg To the peak of a mountain From unfathomable abyss to shore crashing waves Across the oceans over the mountains His voice and verse reaching new destinations Irish highlands Scottish Piper tunes In tribal song and and folklore He wishes his verse to be on million lips From dreary desert sands to Siberian winters From autumn leaves to spring flowers His never ending dreams of versatile creation Reaching every reader's heart Bringing tears or a child-like smile What else can he wish Other than a page in history A flower in front his epitaph Shady tree and a bench near his grave A visitor reciting his favorite poem aloud Like Abou Ben Adhem May his tribe increase © SAI PRAKASH


"RAIN SONG!" She stopped watering the plants in her garden Began to sing rain song (raag Megh Malhar) The enthralled clouds bean to shower their sweetest nectar The fragrance of Petrichor Began to fill the air The plants in tandem with her dance Began to sway their heads © SAI PRAKASH


"COMPULSIVE NEUROSIS!" You faltered at each step Time and again Pleading guilty The poetic community at large is in threat You pick one or many at times you make a chutney How can you be excused! You have no art of your own Stealing and owning is a big no A white collar crime Poets spend sleepless nights to write a verse You never felt the pain Cut, copy and paste adding your name and fictions copyright You may escape a few eyes Not all the time you will succeed Don't ever try to hide behind the curtains Saying you suffer with a condition, 'Compulsive Neurosis' You are neither welcome nor praised Plagiarism is a crime You, a compulsive plagiarist, must face the ire. © SAI PRAKASH


"DEATH OF A POET" Once I saw a man in his fifties Carrying a jute bag across his shoulders A bit soiled and torn His unruly hairs to support his torn attire His lips were murmuring something not aloud but a steady flow of words I went close to comprehend Oh! What a beautiful verse Pristine like the brook that flows from East to West Those silvery gushing waters he does remind I stayed there until he finished his ritualistic recite I felt like listening to hymns I wanted to greet him In fact, to offer my ovation and ovations He heard my clapping Opened his eyes with an unfocused gaze, he murmured further Hungry, hungry he added thirst, too. I ran across the road to fetch some things he could relish On my return I saw him lying on the grass His face kissing the mother earth His palms pointing to the heavens Half a dozen books with variety of titles Peeping from the torn bag Embossed, his name in golden print A letter written in his bold and beautiful handwriting I started to read each line Tears welling, running down my cheeks The letter title much bolder it proclaimed. © SAI PRAKASH


CLOUDS ! Sunrise, shooting stars, moonlit nights They all enthrall my psyche The blue sky with silvery clouds are My favorite Walking back from school or Sitting near the windowsill I observe these celestial paintings On the vast canvas My moods and feelings well depicted in pictures Is it my portrait that is drawn across the sky By the excellent painter All of us call him, The Almighty? Often remembering my school uniform Sky blue and white Set in motion by the slightest of breeze A portrait in motion, reels of a cinema Frame after frame Those white cotton candies floating across the skies Carrying letters of separation and love to far-off places Inaminate and animate subjects coming to life I saw an elephant, others saw a hare Enticing imaginations though varied, Each comforts and endures



OLD HABITS! I tried many times, on advice and for myself Those habits die no easy death They come back to haunt me, each and every night Those verses, grand or meek I rejoice, I try to change their tone and tenor, but I fail Deeply embedded thoughts, I read, haunt me down my psyche Until I turn to paper and pen, to write my own version At times applause, at time, ridiculed The owner, never realizes It is my old habits, that never die I tried but failed, to write on my own, a phrase or a verse, But I admit without shame, all my trails futile I hide in the shade of others, as I cannot find mine Thus goes the saying, it is far more easier to duplicate. © SAI PRAKASH


CARPET OF CLOUDS ! As I open the window on my East I saw silvery clouds Paving a grand carpet Where else can I see such a splendor Except from the hilltop I live Walking on the green grasses below Listening to their whispers I stand at the edge of the cliff Resisting my temptation to take a step further Oh! Creator, what a wide canvas of creation Even in black and white You are the master of art I offer my sincere oblations for granting me An entry into paradise while I am still alive © SAI PRAKASH

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