Three Poems by Daya Bhat

 

Fleuron

 

The mallard watches the woods.

Dusk falls every day, what escapes gravity!

But in the falling, a juvenile, despite the autumn.

The mallard, here, uncoils a ripple.

Brushes shoulders with birdsong of pine warblers.

Faraway, the calling of the alkonosts and the sirens.

The mallard only watches the woods.

 

 

Temple stairs

 

All the way up, pleasing, my favourite gods.

A dove hops along, light, sideways glance at my arching back.

What she sees- I don’t see- I carry more than I can lose.

My envy of the dove adds to the armageddon.

The turmeric moon does little.

 

 

Snow

 

Dreams! One with deep snow

another- a deer skims the milky way..

To mine, a translucent glow.

Now, I must tap on oneirology

the vast sheer white . . .

what must have triggered it?

Plying back and forth

anything between

ambivalence to fresh beginnings

frustration to peace

the snow theories beyond neurons.

Deep snow turns dirty

a cliff’s head atop an iceberg.

Freefall, the closure.

Bio: Daya Bhat is from Bangalore, India. Apart from two books of poetry, her published works include free verse, Japanese short form poetry and short fiction.