Growing a Forest

Trucks of logs, boxes of honey, baskets of herbs,
Luscious pelts, ashtrays of hoof and horn.
Supply’s grown a bit slow these days,
The tiger-skin carpet’s looking moth-eaten and worn.
“Let’s grow the forest back, it’s easy enough,
Planting a few seeds, watering them, how hard can it be?
Give it a few years to bounce back, that’s all,
Then we’ll get fur and timber again, you’ll see!”

So said the traders and rolled off down the concrete road
To the straggling groves that had once been
A mighty forest stretching hundreds of acres.
Not even a single rabbit could be seen...
The forest screamed of desolation and destruction.
The traders rubbed their hands in glee,
“Lovely place to start a new factory,” they said.
After about an hour someone remembered they had to plant a tree.
Someone planted an acorn, (it used to be a rainforest!)
Poured a few drops of water, and waited.
A decade and a forest-department later,
Reports came that something had finally happened.

A few thin branches had sprouted from a thinner sapling,
The previous trees had grown a bit greener.
After due consultation, the government decided to concede
That in this bout of man and Nature, she was the winner.
They rolled off, full of plans to ‘utilise’ this land.
A dry, mocking laugh was heard from the bushes.
“I told them when they were felling the first tree,
Told them not to turn my soil into desert sand.
I told them not to destroy this lovely abode of mine...
But they would not listen, would not heed
My words, and now, now they’ll die like the plants,
A slow rotting death crying for things they need.”

Luna

I
A ghostly apparition
Wrapped in grey rags,
Flitting soundlessly
In the flickering shadows.
Wan and forlorn,
Sickly and pock-marked,
Beggar-lady of the night,
On a broken throne, the Moon.


II
Cheshire cat smile of the moon,
A ruddy sickle against a charcoal sky
Shabby in the city lights,
Robbed of regal black,
Some malevolent deity’s gleeful grin,
Cruelly amused by the shambles
Of her newly broken playground.

Night

Darkness like a woven tapestry black,
Wrapping the world on a new-moon night
Pierced by a single brave stab,
Above the horizon, of a single star's light.
Atop a mountain, a gigantic bulk
Of deeper black, against a sable sky,
Among trees with shadowed trunks,
Dream-like bats on shadowy wings go by.
Shadows lurk in the darkest corners
Of a dark, bewitched forest glade -
Shadows with claws and fangs and fur,
Whose movements disturb not a single blade.
Moss-hung branches, in oaken groves,
Meet velvet branches on antlered heads.
For fear of stag's thundering hooves,
Many a forest patriarch it's verdant robe sheds.
Large eyes peer out of leafy retreats -
Awake, alert, in ghostly vision.
Twoo-whit, twoo-whoo - the ghastly shriek
Puts all creatures to confusion.
Creatures all of hideous darkness,
Inhabiting a new-moon night –
Predators and prey of a forest primeval,
Disappearing at dawns first light.

Somnolence

The patch of sunlight
Moving across the room
Alights on books heaped
On a table barely seen
’neath their weight,
Clothes strewn
O’er mismatched chairs,
Like kitten-battered
Balls of yarn,
A tousled head
Poking out the quilts,
Blinking, bleary-eyed.
“Please, five minutes more.
It’s too cold to move.”

Teardrops

The rain pooling in puddles
On the flooded street,
Mud-brown and cold,
Reflects in the bright eyes
Of the child clinging,
Tiny face thrust out the gaps,
Chubby fingers curled,
To the rusted grille,
Pieces flaking off,
Of her room,
Watching the rain
That she cannot play in.

The Gulmohur

The crescent branches
Bare all winter,
Wave green fans
In welcome
To the crows and sparrows,
All old, familiar friends,
Alighting on them,
Squabbling for space.
A single veiled bud unfurls,
Van-guard of the red army
Poised to invade.
The balmy breeze blows away
Winter cheer with winter blues,
And leaves me a tabula rasa,
New, untouched, hollow.