Red and white

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The rain would make it gleam, right? caught chickens

on crimson paint zigzag white, mesmerised –

they didn’t see their reflections often;

the rain glazes more than barrows, clarifies

and blurs, polished broken grass – was there grass?

green on red, green and white – meaningful too,

rain-glazed this entire yard of colour contrasts.

Can’t spot the chicken feet in all this though,

but never mind, they’d probably fit right in –

ochre or pink feet in deep; rain or sun,

sunrise and sets, unspoken sky, everything

brushes the work, and the grass, and everyone.

Hear it or not, plain feet and ripped, broken

reflections are as loud as the garden.

As you can probably make out from above, I have been reading William Carlos Williams lately, and this one is another response poem to his Red Wheelbarrow. read his famous Imagist poem here.

I am posting from India, back at ye olde homeland, barely a month after the home leave.  Have had to return because my mother's unwell, hoping she will be better soon and I can go back to being my less energetic mouse-potato-self on my own familiar (red) couch in Bahrain.  Everything depends on wheelbarrows and chickens and where the feet are!  The good thing in all this is, of course, that I am here in Kolkata for the start of my festival season, the Durgapujas, after a gap of some twenty years  :) :) unplanned, unasked, undreamt of....the skies here are to die for now!

Life can be a strange combo of tough and terrifying and terrific but always, always a blessing, still a blessing and an adventure!  

Have a glorious week!