Thursday, February 26, 2015

A Rendezvous

I asked my friends on Facebook to come up with some words I could use in my poems. The words I got were: vision, hammer, eyes, weird, nincompoop, rancid, acid, insomnia, betrayal, wisdom, wealth, spirit, orchids, interstellar, rendezvous, pristine, metamorphosis, cocoon, computer, song, grace, colours, free will, ghostly, DNA, code, gene, selfish and galaxy.

Here's the poem I came up with using some of these:

A Rendezvous

In a cosy cocoon,
my sleeping bag,
I lie watching,
a cloudless sky.

A galaxy of stars,
Some shooting stars,
So many motions,
interstellar relations.

In my mind,
appears a vision,
a man in white,
a kind spirit.

A garden of orchids,
of many colours,
pristine and serene.
A computer's wallpaper?

I watch him move,
light on his feet,
his smile widens,
his eyes twinkle.

Under a tree,
is a ragged boy,
of weird manners,
a nincompoop!

A small hammer,
in his one hand,
rancid meat,
holds the other.

"Who are you?"
The kind man asks.
The boy looks up,
his mouth quivers.

He talks of pain,
the selfish others,
their acid comments,
his ghostly memories.

"I wasn't born like 
this. It isn't my DNA.
Why then must they
behave this way?"

"Let it go, son!
Forget and
forgive is all,
I have to say."

A warm hand
on the boy's head,
a teardrop runs
down his cheek.

The rendezvous ends,
the vision disappears,
My insomnia wavers,
My mind finally rests.

Tuesday, February 24, 2015


Tonsured, troubled,
tormented, tethered,
barred, battered,
a spirit's encaged. 

A shadow dances,
a dance of devotion,
a dance of seduction,
a dance of salvation. 

The spirit half-rises,
with unblinking eyes,
as hope ignites
a curious mind.

The shadow shuffles,
jumps and slithers;
the spirit crouches,
shudders and shivers.

The tempo quickens,
the spirit sways,
steps in to dance,
steps in to play.

Circles, reverses
shuffles, swings,
actions, reflexes,
many beginnings.

The spirit's dance,
a dance of duty,
a dance of subjugation,
a dance of damnation.

The shadow smiles,
holds out his hand.
The spirit takes it,
moves in closer.

Twirls, turns,
twists, trots.
The spirit's woes
are all forgotten.

Catch the beat,
steps 1,2 and 3!
A dance of joy,
a dance of freedom.

The spirit soars
Like never before.
The shadow watches, 
then slides away.

The music stops,
the spirit looks around,
where there was shadow,
now there is doubt.

Treason triumphs,
trust teeters,
the spirit's broken,
its hope shattered.

- Eisha

Wednesday, February 18, 2015


“Throw me a word,”
I tell a friend,
a friend's friend,
an invisible friend.

He deliberates,
I wait, impatient.
A new message,
“The word's word.”

No character, no person,
No emotion, no action,
How do I make a
poem of the word?

A words-wary
wordsmith, I am;
No word-playing

Ah! the wordbooks:
the dictionary,
the glossaries,
the thesaurus.

Terms, meanings,
definitions, uses,
verbs, nouns,
idioms and phrases.

Copious vocabulary,
I read, I imbibe,
but the words I want
don't come my way.

Friday, February 13, 2015

A Reviewer Says

Not all that you write,
I want to read.
Not all that I read, 
I want to review.
Not all that I review, 
shall I recommend.
Not all that I recommend, 
shall you like.
But in this space, 
this time, this tense,
We shall be,
In phrase and form
In grammar and sentence.
We'll discuss, describe,
decipher and destroy.
Till my words become yours,
your words become mine.

Thursday, February 12, 2015

Australiana #22: The 10,000-year-old legend of the Yarra River

The Yarra flows through Melbourne in Victoria and its valley is one of the most popular tourist destinations in Australia. According to the aboriginal tribe, Wurundjeri, the story of the formation of this river goes like this:

The 'great water', Moorool, was locked in by the mountains. Barwool, the Wurundjeri Elder, decided to release the great water so he cut a channel up the valley using his stone axe. But he was stopped by Baw Baw. He headed north and was again stopped by Donna Buang and his brothers.

Barwool turned westwards and cut through the hills to Warr-an-dyte where he met Yan-yan, another Wurundjeri man. Yan-yan was cutting a channel with his stone axe to free Morang, the 'great water' from his country.

The Yarra in Melbourne

The two men joined forces and the waters of Moorool and Morang became Moo-rool-bark - the place where the wide waters meet. They continued cutting a path for the waters of Moorool and Morang and so the Yarra River was formed.

Using many axes now they cut a narrow twisting track looking for softer ground until they reached a place where the waters rushed out, creating Port Phillip Bay.

Archaelogists suggest this story is as old as the end of the last ice age,  ten thousand years ago, when the seas rose and flooded this bay - an event so catastrophic that its memory has been passed unbroken through countless generations.

Reference: The Comfort of Water - A River Pilgrimage by Maya Ward

Sunday, February 1, 2015

Mariam's World: Complain


On your bosom of matted hair
Dark and rough, like of a bear,
I lay awake, my mind astray
Shall sleep come my way?

With every beat of your heart,
I think of those dear, near and far,
Like a wicked witch's curse,
they don't vanish, don't disperse.

I watch you sleep so soundly,
Dreaming about me, maybe.
If only this sleep could be mine,
Shall peace come to a restless mind.

I toss, I turn, I move over,
This ain't a nightmare
There's no fear,
Why then in my head
are there voices I hear?

- Eisha