An anthropologist among the journalists

Moon madness by Andrew Wyeth.

A lazy moon reclines on clouds

With eyes of empty dreams afloat.

It is three ‘o’ clock,

The sky is red,

From moony eyes that have cried,

And bled…

A breeze blows by

And with its touch

It reminds her self of nights gone by,

Spent in wintry solitude,

Among lovers,

A bed of clouds….

She is tired of making love to pillows

That lie beside, like dead wet clouds.

The sky is a mirage, she tells herself,

And the moon will hide when there is light…

© Vidya Venkat (2006)

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Full Moon Night by Jean-marc Janiaczyk.

The moon is a desolate dream

Carved on the sky’s black surface:

Marble white moon, your hardness

Stifles the night wind’s breath.

Look up, O! forlorn beauty,

Your sulking makes the night still worse.

How you gleam in your borrowed Lights

With nothing to claim your own!

Your dreams are somebody else’s

Their realm elsewhere does lie.

Night after night, you watch them go

Hiding their darkness in a sheath of glow…

© Vidya Venkat (2006)

[Republished from my old blog]

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My passion is as fleeting 

As the moment that passes by.

It comes like a breath of fresh air

And ends in a sigh.

Fancies breed passion

And passion in vain,

Grows so gross

That it gives but only pain.

I know not where it all began.

I know not if it will even end.

For all those dreams after which I ran,

Those errors I never did mend,

Keep coming back to me.

Now I realise why they say 

The world is round,

‘Cos I end up where I’d started,

Lose myself where I’d found…

© Vidya Venkat (2006)

Published by Writer’s Workshop, Kolkata

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Diamond droplets descend from the delirious dome

That revels in pompous pageantry,

Celestial drums beat in joy

The music of ecstasy,

And a lightning bolt flashes out in a streak,

Quickly, like a mischevious wink.

Below, her eager soul receives

The long-awaited gift

In silence, like a shy nymph. 

A fragrance emanates from her wet skin

That wafts with the wind,

Expressing to her mate 

A humble feeling of gratitude.

© Vidya Venkat (2006)

Published by Writer’s Workshop, Kolkata

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I have become a rock among rocks,

Taking the heat of the sun 

And expanding in silent contemplation.

But buried within are cold crevices

Where wet moss grows,

A burrow of worms and ants

Where the suffering soul lies shrunk.

[Originally written in 2011]

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