For Hers was a Garden of Pearls
In Memoriam, Yonnie Virginia Ruth Chopra
And there the pipal tree was big
And drew the peacocks round;
And round about were violets
That dotted shaded ground.
And in the light were marigolds
Appearing brightly crowned.
Along an ornamental lane
Where petals trailed the way,
She found a scented fountain that
Was fabled, so they say,
To flow as far as Carthage and
The Indies and Cathay.
The perfumed ponds therein told in
Reflections scene-by-scene
Of journeys there and back, as if
Projections on a screen
Of actors and their dramas when
She played the silver queen.
The layout of the garden in
The paisley of her shawl,
In indigo and madder red
Showed stories great and small,
Arranging in a tapestry
An epic they’d recall.
In golden thread and floral beds
Her chronicles were writ,
Like volumes once morocco bound
And marbled quite a bit
With pages marking passing time
And lines in tears and wit.
So, passing through a pearl upon
This carpet of the kings,
Oh, she becomes the wonder there
Of what the unknown brings,
To always be the loveliest
Of all the myriad things.
Turning Sixty
In crowds of clouds of revelries
And dreams in shades of day,
I glimpsed a faintest, dimmest form,
Some figment far away.
Across a tempest’s trial it seemed
Some distant shore there lay.
That phantom of a coast was quick,
In charcoal shrouds and veils,
To vanish in the dampest mists
Beyond the howling gales.
Then I was on the deck and heard
That flutter of the sails.
The stillness of the calm had gone,
The waters swelled with time.
The darkness hung both dank and grim
And covered me with slime;
And something from the deep spewed up
A putrid blackened grime.
A speck upon the churning spheres:
To think that I could steer!
The tumult of the firmament:
Behold with dread and fear!
Oh, swept down that abyss I called:
“No doubt the end is near!”
By morningtide the skies were fine;
The brine on me had dried.
I squinted at the crossing place
And felt a bit of pride.
The wonders of the sacred fire
Had been a trusted guide.
A long-forgotten vision then
Appeared in stark relief:
A vista of a verdant land
Was there beyond the reef,
And where a path was leading to
Was well beyond belief.
To Kill a Tree
And they came to the place indifferently
In dungarees and boots.
With the axe and two saws and vacant looks
They stood upon the roots.
And the one with the rope lent on the trunk
To smoke with his recruits.
By the side of the road was one lone tree —
That titan left till last.
It had stood and was there since mists hung low
Long distant in the past;
In its rings and its bark were grizzled marks
From years of standing fast.
Now a shadow was looming on the leaves,
Their trembling shook the air;
Then the blow of the blade was first to sting
As sap flowed in despair,
And the sawing began to cut inside
And lay the timber bare.
With a drag and two puffs the foreman called
The break from arborcide.
As the branches half clung with failing grip
On to the ebbing tide,
There was idling and dawdling by that road
They planned to make quite wide.
The time was up, the crew went on to finish up
Before the light was gone.
And the chopping each hour by hour went on;
And the light, it was soon, soon to be gone.
There was a crack, there was no howl, there was less light,
And there, there it was gone.
And Now I am Ten
(For Malan)
It is a crawl, it is a climb
To reach the age of ten,
And from this hill I look around
And down the craggy glen
And down the rugged path I’ve come
To see the way since then.
Since when I was a little one
When I was only one.
But then I was a bigger two
And racing in the sun,
Then running into number three
And having lots of fun.
And all the more was my friend four
When we played hide and seek,
Till five came by to dance with me
A tango cheek to cheek,
And six cut in as time went on
And I grew week by week.
When seven years had come and gone
Some things were looking clear,
And turning eight and nine it seemed
Was nothing I need fear.
Today I’m turning all of ten—
A decade now is here!
And now I look the other way
Unto the mountain pass
And know to take it step by step
Across each blade of grass,
While grain by grain is counted in
That timeless hourglass.
The Titan of the Reef
In Memoriam, Kuldip Sondhi (1924-2021)
On sanded shore the palm trees wilt,
Each grove by grove in grief;
In turns and churns the sea surf beats
The beach drum for their chief,
And breezes breathe the legend of
That Titan of the Reef.
Upon the reef that up and down
The storied coast engraves
A tempest’s line where wrecks still lie
And rest in sunken graves,
By dint of wit and will he built
His temple to the waves.
From barren dunes to great festoons
A festive haven grew;
The faithful came from far and wide
To sunbathe through and through,
Till countrywide the elders cried
“There is the finest view!”
The race not done, the race not won,
The swimmer swam some more:
On public stage, in gifted plays,
They heard the lion roar,
In words that melted stoic pride
And cooked the molten core.
Of deeds long past and deeds to come
This life to live was one.
With bugles blown and banners flown
The laurels he had won…
Then came the whisper of the moon:
“Your mission here is done.”
So gathered round the foredeck all
By sail to wail and weep,
They bear the harvest bounty that
The starry sea will reap,
And thus commit the Titan and
His glory to the Deep.
The Silver Penguin
A penguin forged from sterling stuff
And wrought with verve and drive
Was floating on a piece of ice
And readied for the dive:
He bent and leant out from the edge
Then counted one to five.
His flippers firm and steady now
For all those fans to see;
This Captain of the Penguin League
And Hero of the Sea
Began to flap…but took to flight
In flights of fantasy.
“In history will be written this,
In penguin tales and lore,
I dove the deepest dive of all
That none had done before,
And saw more of the murky depths
Than any piscivore.”
A salt upon the frozen floe
His yarns he’s wont to spin,
Of battles with grim monsters that
The penguin seemed to win,
And riches found and lost he tells
With quite a telling grin.
Now in his winter days he stands
A monument to view,
His mettle of the finest grade,
Pure silver through and through,
A testament to wonder for
This statue nearly flew.
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