Two Poems by Smitha Vishwanath

 

Tarot card reader- a satirical poem

When-

neither Astrology

nor Numerology

seemed to work,

and dark clouds above us continued to lurk,

we turned to palmistry,

to solve the mystery

why our lives had turned.

And our dreams had burned.

 

When-

a study of the palm

had not provided a balm,

and change in our names (was pretty cool)

did not the stars fool,

we turned to the turbaned man on the street.

The one with grimy hands, dirty feet.

On his shoulder sat a talking parrot

that could tell the future with the tarot.

 

When-

on the mat, the seventy-eight cards were laid-

"Rs. 100 per question must be paid,"

His teeth stained red, his voice coarse and gruff.

A folded note on his palms we placed, his nails black with snuff

And asked, "What will our future be?"

He replied, "Raju here will pick the card and we will see."

His moustache he twirled and exclaimed, " Oh! Five of Wands! Not good, not good,"

One more hundred in his hand we placed and stood

He repeated, "Ah! Page of Cups, better, better but still not good."

 

When-

the tenth hundred, from us had gone,

"Two of Cups" was finally drawn.

Ha Ha, he roared, " Go home, go home. Hurry! Hurry!"

"Your future I see money, too much money. Nothing at all to worry!"

With a click of the tongue, Raju lurched.

And back on his cage, went back and perched.

Our crinkled brows... smoothed and straightened,

Parrot and Tarot, our future had brightened!

 

 

New World Order

 

Listen Ye...Listen All,

There's a new world order...here

Narcissism it's called

And its open to one and all...

It's tentacles spread all over

Its followers are legion

Young, old and those in power

Narcissism deemed the new religion

The body, a temple

Self- adulation, a prayer

Love thyself, boast and brag

Selfies, a sweet prasad

That must with all the world be shared.

Not enough to be beautiful; not enough to self-admire

Likes and follows, a matter of life,

Or face death like Narcissus in a quagmire

Beauty is eternal, all Narcissists believe

Ageing, a thing of the past

Botox, Implants, plastic surgeries

Beauty must be made to last

Allegiance to self, a basic requisite

Not enough knowing that you are exquisite.

Proclaim to the world and shout

Learn to smile, learn to pout

Narcissism, now every man's faith

Narcissus is now anointed a Saint,

His curses absolved, a flower in his name,

And you're a misfit, if a Narcissist, you 'aint!

Smitha Vishwanath is a banker turned writer. She began her writing journey in 2016 through her blog. Thieving Magpies, Spillwords Press, Silverbirch Press, Borderless Journal, and Rebelle Society have published her poetry. In 2019, her poem, 'Omid' was nominated for Best of the Net and her poems, 'Do you have dreams?' and 'Forgotten' were given special mention in NaPoWriMo, 2021 and 2022, hosted by Maureen Thomson. In addition, she was awarded the Reuel International Prize for poetry during the NaPoWriMo month by TSL. In 2019, she co-authored a book of poetry, 'Roads- A journey with Verses', which received positive reviews. Smitha's writing is peppered with the lessons learned from the plethora of invaluable experiences that come from having lived in India, UAE and Iran, worked in a multi-cultural environment and travelled widely. She resides in Dhaka, Bangladesh, with her husband and two daughters. When she is not writing, you can find her painting, travelling, or sharing reviews of books she has read on Goodreads, Amazon, and her blog. Her debut novel 'Coming Home' was released on 24th March 2023 and is currently available through Amazon on Kindle and as paperback, in most countries.