Single Woman sans Technology! ! !
Hint of hacienda & a brazen romp down the hill
House built in sedate colors for the most part,
Stone colored tans, green fields stomped in red earth,
A marriage to time & mortality just falling short.
What those horn-rimmed unmended sagging fences hide?
A different story here they all together confide,
Open smack of blissful neglect, time-warped, forlorn place
Away from where those technological clans run ablaze.
What modesty those moss-kissed mammoth trees bare in refrain, ?
Like a stoic digesting a million insinuations a day,
And a dash of existence the overweight cattle gain,
Here I feel one full heart-clot of outraged jealousy,
Here where technology fills no pause & no cable wires block the terrain.
In my chest, empty spaces stood connected,
Where criss-cross Medusa phone wires tangled,
Where even in specks of silence static would enter,
With questions that intend to draw blood & answers that blur.
With wicked curiosity & one hand on the rump of history,
In relation to time why the bat hangs upside down?
Me the city-born nihilist, should I expose this pastoral treachery?
Then why do I stand on the wrong end of this idyllic tapestry.//
No binary digits conspire here, nor do plastic wastes clothe the feet-hind
Countryside has moved from the era of riches to wastes of a different kind,
From one breaking all land barriers, to one that inhibit,
To the era of new energies, with nothing for our future to bequeath.//
Oceanic blue skies, liquidate peach –worn clouds stormy,
Athletic sun takes the escalator & confirms gossip with the daisy,
Just like the cosmic umbilical friend, the Honeyed Moon,
Defies to no more be the transmitting station of all lunacy.
Like little lost children, wild figs &wild flowers run amok
With none to pluck, in a terrain of marshland &scrub,
No shrill locomotives, belching factories, collapsing
Automobiles or big-bellied planes blot the horizon.
Squirrels run marathons to hoard their nuts,
Like half the world convinced of the future death of the species,
& the other half laboring hard towards it,
A century moving towards directions it cannot comprehend,
Like a baby’s happy gurglings on a well-fed stomach.
Sun-ripened huddled lichens &grass trespass,
Who said only bulls think in categories? ,
Droning wind teases the bee-hives,
[...] Read more
poem by Seema joglekar
Added by Poetry Lover
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