The Dawn’s Awake

Every dawn sings a brand new song –
A song full of hope and awakening.
The night is a memory long gone!

The birds flit, and they chirp along
As they welcome the rosy morning.
Every dawn sings a brand new song.

The Sun spreads a light so strong;
Darkness retreats with a hastening.
The night is a memory long gone!

The day is a chance to right the wrong.
As opportunities abound for the taking,
Every dawn sings a brand new song.

To this first light, let your soul belong.
Let it rejoice in the promise, unwavering.
The night is a memory long gone!

The shadows of Sorrow seem so long!
Let in the light, and see them weakening!
Every dawn sings a brand new song.
The night is a memory long gone!

PS: This poem is a Villanelle.

Symphony of the Stars

Darkness falls.
And everywhere, creatures of the day
Settle down to sleep in their beds.

And yet, Night calls.
The cloudy grey curtains, She parts,
To present the symphony of the stars.

The heart falls
As love rises to a melodious crescendo
Orchestrated by each twinkle and glow.

And, the sky calls.
It beckons and tugs every moving thing
To dance with the starlight and sing.

The song falls
On the ears of those who seek to listen,
Its tunes woven into dreams that glisten.

My soul calls.
It replies in affirmation to the invite,
Revelling in the symphony of stars at night.

Autumn’s First Breath

Autumn’s first breath is Summer’s last.
It’s warmth giving way to nippy drafts.
With Winter waiting on the far horizon,
Autumn is Nature’s final celebration.

The trees in the glades glow vibrantly
As their leaves let go the usual green,
To wear yellow, orange, red and brown,
And gracefully twirl towards the ground.

The pregnant fields yield their harvests –
Plumpy pumpkins and crunchy carrots,
Sweet apples and tangy cranberries,
Beets and more, all ripe for the picking.

As the people of the world celebrate
With Halloween and Thanksgiving Day,
Nature prepares Herself for Her sleep,
To dive into the depths of dormancy.

The chilly air is the harbinger of change.
The trees stand bare, looking so strange.
The applause for their show slowly fades.
With Autumn’s last breath, Winter awakes.

The Story of a Dewdrop

‘Twas in a special moment,
In the stillness of the cool dawn,
The white veil of mist condensed
And a tiny dewdrop took form.

Perched on the edge of a green leaf,
It caught the wee light from the East,
And then, immediately releasing it,
Dazzled like a little liquid diamond bit.

A thirsty ant stopped to drink from it
Some teeny, cool, refreshing sips
And soon went on its way happily
With a song of thanks on its lips.

The leaf reveled in its newfound beauty
Prancing in the summer breeze.
And then, the dewdrop rolled free
Landing on a spider’s empty net of silk.

There, it hung with other droplets
Glinting on the gossamer string
Like a delicate gemstone bracelet,
Reflecting the colors of the morning.

It caught the eye of a passing poet,
And some children as they walked by.
Then, a photographer and an artist
Also saw it and were left inspired.

But oh! A soft zephyr did sway
That daintily woven silky web.
The eensy dewdrop then fell away
To the Earth who hid it in Her embrace.

What’s in a Rose?

You’d think I lived the most coveted life in the world,
But spend a day in it, and your blood would turn cold.
Yes, I’ve seen everything, and it’s definitely not easy
To just survive with my exquisite form and beauty.

Nothing could possibly be worse than the experience
Of folks sticking their noses in me for my fragrance.
And God help me if I fall in the hands of pining lovers,
Who, in pulling out my petals, get immense pleasure.

So many times, I’m crushed, squeezed, soaked, and bottled
For the perfume that helps mask the stink of people,
And woe is me if there’s a wedding that’s to take place,
For then, I’d be plucked and used to decorate their braids.

The fact that I flourish amongst an army of prickly thorns
Is not at all helpful in protecting me from these vile humans.
From professing their first love to wreaths at funerals,
I am chosen to translate their emotions and convey it all.

You’d say that I should rejoice, be proud, and feel blessed
To be so important and, on all occasions, be needed
But only I and the gardener who tends to me knows
That I am a rose, and I just want to bloom and grow.

Without Failures

It was Her biggest project –
To design Life on this planet.

And, the first thing that She did
Was strike off “failure” from the possibilities.

As She started, there was no looking back.
Her plan was that there was no Master Plan.

Everything that She made had a purpose.
From the Sequoia to the sands in coves.

Nothing would ever go to waste.
Everything had value in its own way.

And the biggest beauty of all Her creations
Was that there were no Start and End buttons.

Even if a Time came when it all seemed to end,
It would lay a path for new beginnings to commence.

So, in the velds, the lion would eat the bison.
And when Death overcame the lion,

He’d become the grass, on which the bison thrived,
Thus would move the circle of Life.

We have much to learn from Her.
To replace “failure” with “lessons learned.”

To keep trying, improving, and, again, trying,
For that’s the only way out in the grand scheme of things.

Where the Earth Meets the Sky

The meeting of the Earth and sky
Is but a mirage to the eye.
It is Nature’s whitest lie-
A beautiful limitation of human sight.

The meeting of the Earth and sky
Is the furthest point seen in light.
Were I to try and chase this line,
Then, around the Earth, I’d take a ride.

The meeting of the Earth and sky
Is the brink of my knowledge, or might.
With experiences of a newer kind,
I can push the boundaries of my mind.

The meeting of the Earth and sky
Is also the edge of where I am in life.
It may be difficult to get to the far side,
But the possibility beckons all the time.

Fundamentally Not Right

In the great books of any country
Are the fundamental rights of its people.
For, the preservation of human dignity
And everyone’s development is essential.

But there is One amongst all of us
Who is not given equal consideration.
And day by day, it becomes obvious
That no one cares about Her exploitation.

Her forests are cleared to build cities.
Chemicals are dumped into Her oceans.
Harmful gases in Her air are released.
Every day, a species faces extinction.

As the Mother, She tries to give Her all
To fulfill the wishes of all Her children.
The constant taking will be our downfall.
When will we humans learn our lesson?

We wax eloquently about basic freedoms
Like speech, expression, and equality.
Yet, no one acknowledges the realization-
Mother Earth is fighting … to just breathe.

Love, Naturally

Would I be wrong if I say
Nature’s nature is to nurture?

The mountains that, in the sky, tower,
In their strength, resemble my father.

And the oceans with their waves
Soothe just like my mother’s lullabies.

But what about that emotion called love?
Was that overlooked by Nature?

The answer to that is “no,” my friends.
For love, she has a special expression.

On all her creations, her love she showers
With the beauteous, colorful flowers.

With shades of red, the winter’s roses
Boldly announce their passionate love

In the meadows, the spotless white lilies
Promise commitment and purity.

And the sky blue forget-me-nots
Speak of everlasting fidilelity and respect.

While the multi-hued carnations
Show their affection and admiration.

Of other blossoms, there are a multitude
That express their love so true.

Each with their own vocabulary,
Convey their feelings eloquently.

So, whenever you see these bloom
It’s Nature proclaiming, “I love you.”

Mother: Earth?

It’s 3500AD; humans have evolved
Not through natural selection,
For Darwin is no longer recalled,
But with scientific intervention.

Space travel has been unraveled,
And in a not-so-distant galaxy,
A new planet has been discovered
For the neohumans to inhabit.

The Earth’s resources are exhausted.
Water in oceans and rivers consumed.
The rainforests have ceased to exist.
The air, with acidic gases, is polluted.

Shuttle after shuttle shoot into space
Carrying out the largest mass exodus.
Of Life on Earth, there will be no trace,
And everything else will turn to dust.

As the last neohuman boards to leave,
And the shuttle takes off at light speed,
“Just about time,” “it” thinks with relief.
And “Mother Earth” loses it’s meaning.

The Night

The dark is not always scary.
Black is not always taboo.
At times, the night is a blessing,
And the absence of light is needed, too.

When the last traces of sunlight fade,
The night with her magical ways
Helps our minds and bodies rejuvenate
Giving strength to seize the next day.

The day is like a cluttered room
With chores, tasks, and nonstop chatter.
The night helps escape this chaos, too.
With sleep, life seems so much better.

Sleep! This word is paradoxical!
As we see dreams with our eyes closed,
And what happens is so illogical –
It’s like we’re awake in a parallel world.

The night is full of mystery,
Something that can never be explained.
So, let her weave her own tapestry,
While the world slumbers, unrestrained.

A Season Called Autumn

Somewhere on the horizon
Between Summer and Winter
Lies a bridge named Autumn
That links them both together.

As warm turns to chilly cold,
And the leaves prepare to fall,
They turn red, orange, and gold
For a final round of applause.

Only Nature can pull this off.
A show of Death, so beautiful.
A bright and fiery curtain call.
Before She becomes icy cool.

As the air turns cold and crisp,
It’s time to wear the woolens,
And apples await to be picked
Along with plumpy pumpkins.

The fields yield their harvest.
Folks gather for Thanksgiving.
They remember the departed
On the day of spooky Halloween.

Autumn is a season of change.
It’s the season of letting go.
It screams of happiness in endings,
And celebrates Life’s perpetual flow.