A Bird Is Hardly Heard Poem by A. Jayaprakash Jayaprakash Panicker

A bird is hardly heard

This December is cold, too
Like the last one that
Went like a holiday
Day before yesterday.

This December is cold
Like a coverless coach
Out in the towering hills
December is, yes, such.

If a mother could be cold
Yes, December could be warm
If couldn’t be mild
December couldn’t be cold too.

December never minds time
She goes like a timeless angel
Who enters her teens like
A new year, her first day is Jan.

November is a little wet
And her attires partly misty
She has something singular
That she keeps December waiting.

I see there December stumble
Like a calf just our of its mom
It looks here, there and up there
And down and run to the udder.

By air, by river, by mist by fog
December visits, she precariously
Dangles at morning drops, and at dusks
She is killingly mild and gentle.




Strange tongues atop branches
Shower praise all over, a lone voice
At midnight tells tellingly, December
Is so special worth staying up all night.

A aged tree there used to shed
As if she is taking a shower with her leaves
And she would stay bare to enjoy
December will all her senses.

Stars descent to the roof-ends
Clouds up costume as angels
Mountains become small and turn
Like huge bells lowered from Above.

The hills side church hangs from the clouds
Now see it descends and lands in place.
Like distant stars, crackers blink
Spraying hopes all over, simply they burst.

Late at lights Santa smiles and he brings
His praises, lambs ashoulder tumbrels, drums
Coloured ribbons, colourful signs His grace
Extolled, singers part like save souls.

Late hours brighter, and the shortest of hours
Is December mornings. They finely fall
Like a filament visible, still invisible.
Felt it is, and never lost it is, December, that is.

Feeling the nights, the days will fly
Still feeling the day nights may fall
Homes lit, houses lit, towers and huts lit
While cold, in drops, keeps raising the hairs.

***** ******* *****




That which comes to the fore
Is there all over
That which goes behind
is not there anywhere.


Alluring moments
Wakeful sleeps, wet dreams
And opened senses
December imparts.

Vicarious voyages
Transport me behind.
Forgetful moments
Featherlike dawn.

I forget time
Cares no more.
Words are light
Lighter than their life.

I am a being in December
No physique, never constant.
Like a little feather afloat
In December’s little arms.

Falling still rising
Floating still falling
Thus and thus and thus
I drink December to the dregs.

****** ******* *******

A web becomes a silver loom,
The spider, its proud owner.
Grassroots grumble,
“hard to bear, head is heavy”
this day is but a December day, it says.


Stars of many missions
lit the floor and the skies.
HIS last drops transform into
Countless stars, and with HIS tears
We all redeem. This day is not a day.


This Christmas is a phenomenon,
Christ is seen, Kings are seen.
Babies and butterflies become.
This time is never time.
Nothing turns cloudy,
Nothing leaves mist.

Even the sun seems to be cold.
Morning is nervous,
and the day all long is lavishly light.

Telescopes over the mountains
Over the hills and abed the fields
Sun is breaking through, and
December is cold yet.

A bird is hardly heard! ! ! !