Looking over my shoulder and... there's no-one there!

Ramya, one of my blogger friends who blogs over at Chittrana, has tagged me for the Kreativ award.  And it totally floors me when anyone does that.  Thank you, Ramya!  I am so flattered and awed.  I keep looking over my shoulder to check if there’s anyone behind me, but nope, it’s me and my blog she’s waving at and that just feels so great.  She has such a passionate yet humorous voice, she deals with serious issues like gender discrimination and the environment with such a light, fresh but sincere and thought-provoking touch that it‘s just amazing. 

The only problem is that most bloggers I know are so far ahead of me on the blogging experience curve that they already have all the awards, and even if they don’t have this particular one, I can’t get up nerve enough to tag them.  Their blogs are so technically perfect, let alone their writing skills, that I feel too awkward and clueless to leave a comment sometimes. So I am just going to complete the task she has set me for the time being. 

 

 

 

 I.

solitaire games

alone in the top branch
of the afternoon
poets, people, give them names
of flowers: here a daisy, there an amaranth
and right over there? may be a cardoon

 

and you my love, a complex hybrid

sometimes poppy, sometimes orchid
the seeds of addiction held close
within your petals
you unaffected, me the addict
but when the shadows
of your shoots are still
after the breeze is through
ruffling tendrils
they are enigmatic, and I can’t tell
their exact shapes, I don’t know
what I should call you.

 

II.

 

 

don’t look now

don’t look for sense
in everything
trickling top down
wild-eyed, wide-open, intense
meanings

 

 

This is all that we leave behind –

you and I - lost nuances of voices, the hard rinds
of existence, an old daisy chain
dried up discards
shut faces in doorways that resigned
fingers open and inside
there are just boxes, marbles, a few
pressed flowers, a bit of outdated fabric
too pretty to throw away
too frayed to use, pickled tamarind of acid
sweetness, smooth glass jars, the cook long gone.
And all preserves are exhausted soon
just the scraped out jars remain.

 

Now it only remains to devise a technique to pass on the award.  Which is for me to ask you, if you are reading this and know someone who should be tagged, then please leave me a  comment with the relevant links here, and it will be my pleasure to do the needful.