Dear Mr. Keats
written by: Manjula Bhadraswamy
I could never deny your poetry, or your power over us.
Sad, you didn’t live long enough to see your imprints.
The drizzle- what pleasure it brings.
I’ve been sitting in front of this window watching the rain;
Its merciless splash against my wild Almond since morning.
Surprisingly she looks as though a bride drenched after her Haldi.
Water sliding down the leaves brings forth a shimmer and shyness
that only a new bride displays. Yellow flowing down her translucent body.
Day after day I return to the same spot and watch the rain fall.
Sometimes sipping coffee, sometimes listening to Gulzar,
oftentimes doing nothing. Such delight! Pure grandeur.
There you go- the poetry of earth! You smile standing beneath my tree.
The melody of rain- isn’t it something to soak yourself into?
immerse completely with divinity?
Today, the rhyme and rhythm of the rainfall against this gentle earth,
drowned me into a landscape. Serene and sacred.
There you sat under clear blue sky watching a Philomel sing;
our hearts overflowing with her music.
She was of the rarest of blue. Ecstatic blue.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever. Oh. What pleasure it brings!
You turned to me and smiled. I nodded.
The Poetry of earth, in each one of us, you said.
I nodded again. You were so certain.
Isn’t it a pity that beauty can be threat? Or even a curse?
Aren’t we aware of the battles fought- lost and won? I looked at you.
You were silent. My eyes shrank.
The poetry of earth again. She is a mighty Oak, you replied.
And waved goodbye vanishing into the blue.
Ecstatic blue. Rarest of blue.
- Dear Mr. Keats - February 9, 2025
- Trip to Redwood National Park - February 29, 2024
