today my cloud is grey

Today my cloud is grey
Not white, pink or silver lined
Just grey.

It makes me sad and not glad
To see the flowers showing me
Their pretty faces and brilliant dresses/

Grey daubs the borders with strokes that
Hurt. Colors that bleed and drain through
The earth that waits.

Pink cloud is energy painting the scene
With fun and frivolity.
Enraptured I too am part of happiness.
Sunshine butterflies and rainbows.
The warm wind chases and embraces
My reverie is cheerful. Life is good.

But gloom lurks in the corner
Waiting for the parade to pass
Waiting to take her place.




September 6th 2011

I came from

I came from Rangoon ruby red in the sunset

From London I came with icicles and rain
Bombs and sirens wailing in the wind. No-one
Listened yet all afraid. Cowering in shelters.

I came from Singapore. Lush jungles and hot
Steamy summers. Monkeys chatter in the
Rumbutan trees. Orchids of fuschia grow wild.

From Delhi I came with its flaming heat. Orange
Purple Aquamarine.Sari clad women silhouetted against
Violet puffs of cloud. Swaying to ragas
Pots perched on their heads.
Silver anklets jingle as  they walk to the well
Source of life.

Their chatter so musical
Enriched lilting and lyrical.
Clasped to one hip a naked baby
He gives her joy while the men
Look on puffing their hookahs
Appreciating a society which
Allows them their indolent pleasure.

From India I came
With great love and compassion
For nmy sisters.
Acceptance was the order of their day.
Now it is mine.

I come from Hong Kong
A tiny island culture perched atop a rock
Industry banking money exchanges
That is the orde of the day

No time to smile no time to chat
Time is for work alone. Not for play
Sadness paints the buildings
As they reach to the sky.
Their quest to meet the happy god of wealth.

From Japan I came with its demure dainty women
Hidden in kimonos with outsize obi sashes.
The ginza traded its secrets with geishas
And bankers alike.Nightime dispensed its
Secrets to all who could hear above chaos.







September 6th 2011

A Sense of Place

Sadness did not give up today.
It hovered around like dew on a
spider’s web glistening, sparkling.
I had been fooled before with those
bewitching enticements. No matter how hard I tried
back here in the murky gloom
of cobwebs and tangled dreams,
I returned. Each time with more
shame and guilt.

I had reached the dizzy pinnacle of
ecstasy more than once. More than once
had I climbed that rocky path.
Yet, more than once, did I return to familiar
sorrow waiting.
Is there more than once?

Happiness is a room full of orange, green
and yellow ribbons. Streamers and flowers,
petals of vibrant joy and energy.
No dark colors are allowed.
Black and grey are banished
All is lightness

. Frivolity abounds.
She walks naked, unabashed and
guilt free. Ease and calm glide
hand in hand, providing solutions
as they pass.

How long does the sun shine here
in Utopia? How will the moon dress us
for the next day? The dance must end,
and the garlands must fall. Sorrow
is waiting to take her place once more.

Yagya Bedi
August 2011