Each Flower
Each flower opens like memory.
Each mind is holiness.
Life is no unkind imposter.
Mother, am I the tree
rattled by the wind,
the gnashing storm?
Can I be a rustic,
trampled by man, his hieroglyphics?
Let all infirmities remain transparent;
like memory, that flower.
Ananya Guha has 4 collections of poetry in English. His poems have appeared in various anthologies, the latest being in the collection of poetry from North East India titled Dancing Earth (Penguin India). You can also find his works in Glasgow Review, Osprey Journal, Other Voices Poetry, Kritya, Muse India, among others.
Ireland
I sat dreaming in the land of Belfast,
where Bobby and others became ten,
Who is to blame for the blasts when children were
passing on the way to school?
In my quest for peace, I just remember them in prayers,
as I unknot the scroll of famine of the 19th century
where an ounce of gold could buy a few potatoes,
where strong lines were written across the sandy shores.
One hundred thirty thousand lives were lost.
I sat there in the twilight zone honouring
the dead, the martyred souls. Now I am
at an advance party congratulating humanity,
accepting the Tipperary Peace Prize,
honouring the daughter of the East with bare hands.
Benazir Bhutto fought for democracy wiping
tears before the last moments of her life.
Three shots rang in the late afternoon and a blast.
Thank you for hearing it as far as Ireland.
Mohammed Bugi was born in Pakistan, lived in exiles most of the time, and settled in Holland finally.
Each flower opens like memory.
Each mind is holiness.
Life is no unkind imposter.
Mother, am I the tree
rattled by the wind,
the gnashing storm?
Can I be a rustic,
trampled by man, his hieroglyphics?
Let all infirmities remain transparent;
like memory, that flower.
Ananya Guha has 4 collections of poetry in English. His poems have appeared in various anthologies, the latest being in the collection of poetry from North East India titled Dancing Earth (Penguin India). You can also find his works in Glasgow Review, Osprey Journal, Other Voices Poetry, Kritya, Muse India, among others.
Ireland
I sat dreaming in the land of Belfast,
where Bobby and others became ten,
Who is to blame for the blasts when children were
passing on the way to school?
In my quest for peace, I just remember them in prayers,
as I unknot the scroll of famine of the 19th century
where an ounce of gold could buy a few potatoes,
where strong lines were written across the sandy shores.
One hundred thirty thousand lives were lost.
I sat there in the twilight zone honouring
the dead, the martyred souls. Now I am
at an advance party congratulating humanity,
accepting the Tipperary Peace Prize,
honouring the daughter of the East with bare hands.
Benazir Bhutto fought for democracy wiping
tears before the last moments of her life.
Three shots rang in the late afternoon and a blast.
Thank you for hearing it as far as Ireland.
Mohammed Bugi was born in Pakistan, lived in exiles most of the time, and settled in Holland finally.
