J T Jayasingh Poems

They called their land ‘Mother’
And even ‘Mother’ they called their seas
‘The Ganga’, ‘The Saraswati’
They made the rivers female
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A Poet can Only Capture

I know not what to write!
Grim faces show and fade,
...

In the dewy spring mornings
He walked with her
Through the wild gardens,
Chasing butterflies.
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White pearls dangle
In your tender ears.
In between the silky hair
The rosy twig ears
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It was a time we played together
You and me and our peer pals.
I waited, desperate in the sterile afternoons
To hear the trilling bell of your old bicycle
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When he was a child,
He put a tiny stone
Into a silent pond,
That made ripples,
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Oh dancing Harappan girl
Your sudden waking up
From the millenniums of oblivion
Couldn’t break our pride and empty wit,
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With the smell of clay
And taste of sweat, he toils.
When his spade scoops a piece of earth’
It sends shudders through my nerves,
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The Final Call

The final call has come
Out from the woods,
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There was a time, my son,
Wild parrots shrieked
And koels sang from the groves
To wake the humans from sleep,
...