POETRY READING AT LUNA BOOKS (THEME: FLOWERS)
The poets at the Reading:
Bougainvillea
By Sandeep K
Truth be told
I do not necessarily
love or trust flowers
They become a poignant humming song
for my poetry
which is delusionary
as it is emerging
out of my love
for you
Few steps aside,
there is a bloom
let me say it this way
on one side they bloom and
sell me the free fragrance
on the other side of this road
is this tiny foliage of the greens
and some signs of a lost lake
and I see you
with a perpetual freshness
A music plays
somewhere
It sounds almost like a cliché
I mean the music
as if I am a part of a movie
It is warm and seemingly romantic
but you look at the flowers
and feel safe
a look of naivety of love
and I know your heart
It is you that I cherish
not because the bougainvillea
has bloomed
your silent smile
fleeces my heart
and the flowers,
well let us smell the air,
for now
the shade of Bougainvillea
is proudly feasting
on your lips
While the Sun shines
sporadically
on this serendipitous
autumn day
The Flowers Bloom
By HimaBindu Chintalapati
The flowers bloom
with a burst of color
Each petal is a brush stroke
In a magnificent painting
In the light of sun rays
Adding to themselves
Dewdrops already clinging
They look like beautiful beings
Ready to attract the bees and butterflies
In such a short life,they have
The flowers smile & spread their
Fragrance like a perfume to others
Each small or big flower
Wild or domestic, swing and sway
To the wind or the breeze
That comes in their way
A tiny little flower is like
A tiny little angel with its petals
As its wings & its center as its gold crown
Some flowers bloom in daytime
Some flowers show their glamor at night
A flower has a short time
Yet it lives its life with sublime
As well as ends up being grateful to God
Flowers
By Parsa Elder
Flowers
Priceless Gift of God
To Humanity
Flowers spread
Happiness,Peace
Fragrance of unprecedented scents
And colours in any situation
Wherever they are placed.
Flowers give everything they have
Seek nothing in return.
Nectar to the Bees.
Decoration to Events
Instilling happiness
All around them.
Flowers are best suited
In conveying subtlest of sad
Emotions
As wreaths on a coffin.
Needed by humans
In all situations
They live only
For a day
To fall and decay
The very next day.
Ungrateful humanity
Sweeps the fallen flowers
Mercilessly away into
The dustbin once their need is over.
Beautiful Flowers
By Suneeta Lawrence
Oh these beautiful flowers
Remind me of our micropowers
In this world they come in various hues
They just keep giving me several cues
Oh, I wonder if they are smiling
And I wonder if they are shining
They seem to be reminding
They seem to be guiding
They seem to share
They seem to love and care
I paused and kept seeing
They say so much by their being
Is this just my experience
Or is their radiance
Now spreading to you too?
A Flower Called Home
By Samara
I look at the palms of my hands and see the lines etched on it.
I used to believe in fate,
Till one day, when I saw a bunch of Campanulas
Holding their heads high
Through a narrow crack on a concrete, mundane wall.
I was astounded by their audacity-
The audacity to thrive against Nature,
In spite of the world telling them that they should not.
The leaves I collect from my expeditions
Eventually dry up and serve as a recollection of memories
On the pages of my journal.
Nobody knows,
That their spines are capable of carrying the burden of the world,
As opposed to mine.
There are people who try to grind you down,
And then, there are people who are just incapable of loving others.
They might exist mutually, or exclusively, it does not matter.
What matters is,
The resilience of the wildflowers
Who refuse to perish;
And the integrity of forgotten, dried leaves
Which pushes me to walk-
Putting one feet in front of another
Along the lines etched on the palms of my hand.
They provoke me to be so audacious,
That one day,
I can rebuild my own destiny
Mend my spine,
And maybe plant a Campanula in a pot
In a home I can call mine.
What if dying flowers were a time-machine?
By Tazeen Fatma
I hear the smell of dying flowers
tied in a bouquet—
plucked against their wishes,
gleaming together in differences.
A beautiful mess of red and green
and yellow and purple,
they silently wither in the dim-lit room
with the ticking of time.
There’s austerity and faith
in the smells that I inhale,
taking me to the distant land
of lush fields where they
prepare themselves
to invigorate the tomb.
Nostalgia envelopes a wedding venue
after the bride’s send-off.
The prayer mattress that was once
an abode of the holy Goddess
disintegrates into the dry earth.
As for me, I glide in the fourth quadrant
of the time-space dimension.
Love through Flowers
By Apurva Yadavalli
As I bathed in the sprinkle,
My master trying to keep me fresh,
It was a just another mundane day,
Until that moment I saw her!
She picked me up gently,
Bought me from my master,
With all generosity and no bickering,
I realised I was important,
When she gleefully held me close to her heart,
She made me her passenger,
And drove me down to a nice place,
Alas! There were noises there,
Distracting her attention away from me,
I slowly started to frown a bit,
When she touched me with her tender fingers,
I couldn't hold my smile and my little petal dance,
She put me into his hands joyfully,
I almost cried at the parting,
He looked at me as if he had been waiting,
To see me and absorb my fragrance,
I could see that she was happier,
Looking at the sparkle in his eyes,
I wiped off my tears as I realised,
That my only master is love!
The Unwithering Blossom
By Hariharan
The unwithering blossom
Page worn, a seeping ink
held sturdy by roots-
a colorful bind
A watering of our thoughts
giving life to stories
and those that live
in myriad worlds
all held in our hand
a book? just a flower
a flower of words
words that never fade
The unwithering blossom
and I sigh
What privilege it is
to overcome the test of time
through mere human invention.
Joy of yellove (Yell Loveee)
By Abirami Suresh
Off the 99 florets of sangam,
The ever charming tales of yellow blooms,
Either as a rose or an aavaram,
Or the magnificent trumpets, the flames, and the showers!
The drummer of life fancies the yellovee treats,
For it stalls the lashes and speaks,
"Of Hygge and Hyggelig;
A language of cryptic wonders,
A fable for the drummer to ponder!
An ethereal beauty to behold,
A perennial bliss unfolds!
Of counts and unfathomable bounds;
Presence of ubiquitous or solemn,
To solace the drummer's aches;
For the inside 'n' out,
The Joy is yellove!"
Fractal Song of a Flower
By Meetu Chawla
Have you ever heard a flower’s fractal song?
Where nature and math intertwine.
A flower’s fractal song eternally holds a secret code,
Of petals in symmetry and spirals and whorls.
A masterpiece of mathematical motifs.
They follow the grand design
and how?
Tessellating petals in ordered patterns
Fit like a puzzle
A Rose’s geometric design
A Sunflowers Fibonacci sequence
Or a wildflowers meadow blooming with chaos theory
Even the exotic Orchid mirrors to a mathematical swirl
If you ever recover from the beauty and the symphony of colours
Of a flower,
Gaze deeper
For there is a mystery beyond
Of angles and shapes and numbers and patterns
Crafting a mathematical dream.
Flowers of Wayanad
By Dr. Vidya Premkumar
When the night sky
opens
and flashes lightning,
and mourns like a mother in Gaza
crying to the night in pain,
the momentary illumination
shine on the hues of colours
splashed on the fields
like magical stars smiling, unaware
unconcerned,
dithering under the
onslaught of heavy droplets,
losing petals and
hanging on to the moment
with just the core of seeds,
that will burst open tomorrow and spread life.
I ride through the night sky
mourning today
but tomorrow,
I may smile multi hued
with the flowers
By Shravan
was the nickname
given to a mate
who was teased much.
I was teased too
but i flaunt my florals
with pride
These are the medals
i recieved
for meddling in mud.
Those that offer a flower
to their power-
ful idols
and mock a man
that pays tender attention
to a bloom,
they
know not
that the flower blooms
from the goddess' soft moan
they
know not
it's power to unhinge
a troubled mind
with only a kiss
of its scented breath.
By Nivedita
By Ananya Sarkar
Moments from the day
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