Once in Sundarbans

He looked at the fire that lit up his face,

He was seasoned and brawny.

Deep in thought he sat and stared

At the orange, crimson licking flames.

The forest around him was dark and silent

Only the red parakeet and the proud peacock

Flutter and scream occasionally

Trees carry the echo through the dark jungle.

The restless monkey is shaking the mangrove

He is sending out warnings of some kind

There is a speedy rustle in the nearby shrub

And a yellow black pattern just scurries.

Patches of silver moonshine filter

Through the dark green leaves

The scurrying shadow is creeping low

And halts behind the old tree trunk

The glassy yellow eyes are fixed and firm

the flaming fire is brighter than ever

the man is aware of the beastly presence

he silently leers and clutches his bludgeon

the beast is strong yet feeble

the wound in his paw is fresh and sour

he takes a last look at the fire and the man

and decides to return to the thicket.

Sw

                    Once in Sundarbans

Swati Goswami

He looked at the fire that lit up his face,

He was seasoned and brawny.

Deep in thought he sat and stared

At the orange, crimson licking flames.

The forest around him was dark and silent

Only the red parakeet and the proud peacock

Flutter and scream occasionally

Trees carry the echo through the dark jungle.

The restless monkey is shaking the mangrove

He is sending out warnings of some kind

There is a speedy rustle in the nearby shrub

And a yellow black pattern just scurries.

Patches of silver moonshine filter

Through the dark green leaves

The scurrying shadow is creeping low

And halts behind the old tree trunk

The glassy yellow eyes are fixed and firm

the flaming fire is brighter than ever

the man is aware of the beastly presence

he silently leers and clutches his bludgeon

the beast is strong yet feeble

the wound in his paw is fresh and sour

he takes a last look at the fire and the man

and decides to return to the thicket.

Sw

Crimson Warmth

Vague log cabins speckle the yawning valley
against the rapture of majestic mountains.
Narrow pathway snakes up the range,
gooseberry shrubs colour the sides
of the stony trail that leaves me cold.

Squinting against the dead sun
chilly winds dampen my spirits
and leave my hair cold and white.
My Spine aches, am indecisive to tread;
maybe it’s not wise to dare this trek.

A faction of monks trace the swirling path
gracing like a ball of red zarberas.
Serene faces marked by a thousand lines
carry a spark to their praying eyes.

Crimson flutter reveals gleaming heads
on bare swaying shoulders;
oblivious to the dipping chill,
naked feet define a destination
warmed by their holy touch.

As the file draws nearer,
eyes are blinded by crazy winds,
Stillness wraps numb feet
and mind freezes.

they walk past me
sacred energy overwhelms
as peace descends
my heart feels an amazing warmth
And my teeth stop chattering.

Taste of summer

Crushed leaves and grass, 

tasty tangy smells of summer. 

Trees are full and plush.

Fruit are succulent and ripe.

The Gulmohar bright and proud

sways in the brisk warm breeze. 

Lazy silent afternoons are intoxicating, 

balmy winds refresh the evening walkers.

Thirsty birds skip from branch to branch

looking for water troughs.

Fearless rowdy boys are at play, 

the sun doesn’t dampen their playful spirits.

As the dusk falls in

the timid ones venture out.

I know the rains are round the corner; 

The torrid winds will soon be moist.

I take a deep breath and try to drink the summer. 

Swati Goswami