Gayatri Lakhiani Chawla writes

Pilgrim’s Journey

Are you the lad who took the journey East

to the land of the rising Sun?

He walked from the North waters heading East

clutching a mariner’s compass in the right hand

an earthenware jar of gold shimmer in the left

a cherry blossom on his maroon coat planted by his mother.

Childhood is a box of matches

on a yellow dusted leaf

of jaundiced ginkgo bonsai

waiting to be torched by time.

We sieve the days of grey clouds hovering a fruit farm

letting the rains soak our souls with evanescent abandonment.

Pilgrimage To The Sacred Mountain With 3 Figures -- Alan Kenny

Gayatri Lakhiani Chawla writes

Dead Poets Society

A horde of poets

walk together holding hands

chanting the verses of the Lord

they pledge to be united

‘Till death do us part’,

but there is always a divide

countries are broken, bodies partitioned

with fire in their bellies

tears replace words on paper,

the political is personal

or is the personal political

the same pair of eyes

staring at the moon from the bedroom window

‘It’s round’ they sing in unison.

 

Poets at the Cafe -- Daryl Lex Price