Poet : Shaji K Nair

A little patch of green
all rows well tended
My father of ninety five years
and even more
slowly shuffles to attend
ro the drooping need
of a plant here and a flower there
His calloused hands
veins prominent
wrist not as strong as used to be
hoes the soil letting it breathe

There is a bond
plain to see
between the plants and he
He has nurtured them
from seed to sapling to near a tree

I hear him talk to them
come rain or sunshine
and in winter shift the pots
to catch a breath of warmth
There is grace in what he does
and my mother lets him be

As much succour he gives the plants
they return In measures full, bestow
a lease to life that only gardeners know
as they whistle their worries away.

Bent down carefully tending his wards
delicately running his fingers
ro feel the moistness of the soil
carefully guiding a centipede on its way
Life it smiles at him and keeps the doctor away

In a way this is a measure of the man
for that’s how he raised his family too
with care and strength
and with love and wisdom abound
As I visit and press the doorbell
I hear the garden wicket gate
creak and agree
as my father shuffles across to greet me.

-devendra bhatnagar
Circa 2018

And The Band Played On

Rain or tears, I know not,
Separated only by thought.
As thin as gossamer,
A cup of warm comfort,
Gazing at life’s downpour.

And the band played on.

I missed the transformation amid the downpour—
The caterpillar that slipped out of its silken prison,
Only to sprout magical wings of fire,
As floods fill my home
With waters in a deluge undesired.

And the band played on.

My friend, the lotus, in a crazy swirl,
Makes an unlikely partner with a bootham in fury,
A scene reminiscent of Prahlad’s encounter,
When the Lord, for once, in His rage got lost.

And the band played on.

Now the rains bid adieu.
The sun peeks out, a radiant cue.
The pleasant breeze is all that remains,
A feeling so good that the muses awaken.
It’s time for a love song.

And the band played on.

A poem by Shaji Nair Hello

“Hello,” said the bird to the tree,
“In your branches, I have perched for years.
You have served nectar fit for the gods,
But never have I ever thanked you.”

The tree, smiling and dancing
To the tune of the wind, said,
“If not for your songs,
This traffic and honking of cars
Would have by now driven me mad.
Feast, my friend, till your heart’s content—
My nectar was made just for your melodies.”