*single Woman Sans Technology! ! ! - Poem by Seema joglekar
Hint of hacienda & a brazen romp down the hill
House built in sedate colors for the most part,
Stone colored tans, green fields stomped in red earth,
A marriage to time & mortality just falling short.
What those horn-rimmed unmended sagging fences hide?
A different story here they all together confide,
Open smack of blissful neglect, time-warped, forlorn place
Away from where those technological clans run ablaze.
What modesty those moss-kissed mammoth trees bare in refrain, ?
Like a stoic digesting a million insinuations a day,
And a dash of existence the overweight cattle gain,
Here I feel one full heart-clot of outraged jealousy,
Here where technology fills no pause & no cable wires block the terrain.
In my chest, empty spaces stood connected,
Where criss-cross Medusa phone wires tangled,
Where even in specks of silence static would enter,
With questions that intend to draw blood & answers that blur.
With wicked curiosity & one hand on the rump of history,
In relation to time why the bat hangs upside down?
Me the city-born nihilist, should I expose this pastoral treachery?
Then why do I stand on the wrong end of this idyllic tapestry.//
No binary digits conspire here, nor do plastic wastes clothe the feet-hind
Countryside has moved from the era of riches to wastes of a different kind,
From one breaking all land barriers, to one that inhibit,
To the era of new energies, with nothing for our future to bequeath.//
Oceanic blue skies, liquidate peach –worn clouds stormy,
Athletic sun takes the escalator & confirms gossip with the daisy,
Just like the cosmic umbilical friend, the Honeyed Moon,
Defies to no more be the transmitting station of all lunacy.
Like little lost children, wild figs &wild flowers run amok
With none to pluck, in a terrain of marshland &scrub,
No shrill locomotives, belching factories, collapsing
Automobiles or big-bellied planes blot the horizon.
Squirrels run marathons to hoard their nuts,
Like half the world convinced of the future death of the species,
& the other half laboring hard towards it,
A century moving towards directions it cannot comprehend,
Like a baby’s happy gurglings on a well-fed stomach.
Sun-ripened huddled lichens &grass trespass,
Who said only bulls think in categories? ,
Droning wind teases the bee-hives,
Whine a new strain of losing virility.
Like padres promising conditional ablution,
Cuckoos sing and scatter a remembrance,
Technology &tropics weren’t built
To hide everything from each other.
What petty life earns one here?
Build dreams on eggshells or one kissing spiders frail?
No wait! Like men’s souls faking existences
Hued flowers criss-cross on the milkman’s beaten trail,
Trouble shooter wasps patrol, ugly mushrooms stand guard,
And crew-cut bushes like milestones dwell,
Dependable stone-walls hold together this architectural fungoid spell.
Here I smell the mouthwash of butterflies
& uniformed bees armed for combat in air,
As they collect rumor, pirate songs
& alight on neutral zones they share.
Buzzing on borrowed perfumes; mustered
With beetle Morse codes on pure bloodlines sling mud,
Red-neck hen’s strut &cock’s dive, grasshoppers
Wait in ambush, crickets bad-mouth.
Sun harangues the lamb” Keep within reach of her corpulent udder’’,
While the toothpaste white mother contemplates mortality on a weak bladder.
Bushes enlist to show collective will,
Berries strategically pinned to hide the navel,
Vagrant Lady-birds on these bushes expatriate,
Beneath the ground no bodies lie dead or overweight.
Chimney is on fire, someone does live here!
What a vat& void to mix chlorophylls &pollens!
All passions directed, all disciplines flexed,
I ask a passer-by-“Does the door-bell ring? ’’
Sizing me into a pinhole he cautions-
‘’It’s a Single woman raising 5 children.’’
When our quest for picturesque Nature is met with choking technology
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