Bright Blue Bird
K. Srilata
This post has taken its time, yes. I’ve been a bit ‘under’ in the last few days. I read the newspaper every morning on the verandah, with a cup of masala tea and tie biscuit, in a patch of gingerly advancing sun. Reading about all the ways in which we are being tested, some more than the others, leaves a curdled taste. This lockdown stings like a bit in my mouth, and I imagine running free, in an open field, the slow drizzle tap-dancing a cool ditty on my face, and the wind, a roaring gown. It is such a time of flux, and every day new things come to light. I think of how this pandemic has driven a colossal wedge right in the midst of our lives, and how the time to come will be marked out as offspring of the masked generation.
Still, beautiful things don’t cease. Acts of human kindness and selflessness pepper the doomscroll. Little slivers of light- conversations and performances, and the wonder of sharing, community, and digital companionship, revelling in art, and, in poetry, continue. The show must go on.
Actually this is what keeps me going; discovering new art, creating fragile things in an image of beauty, sharing poetry, sharing song. It happens in a moment. The overwhelming cacophony of the world goes silent for a moment, like the first day of the lockdown - empty streets, clear sky, and the whispering of leaves. And then, a silent breeze rises, like a giant waking up from slumber. Its tempo increases, its hoarse percussion gathers leaf, dust and the vacancy of eyes.
I look down at my notebook. The page is printed*
I share with you today, Prof. K Srilata’s ‘Bright Blue Bird’ from her collection, Bookmarking the Oasis. Accompanying the poem are a few “blues” that I like. There’s Van Gogh’s Wheatfield with crows, Magritte’s Castle of the Pyrenees, Picasso’s The Old Guitarist, and Charanya’s visual interpretation of Saima Afreen’s The Ocean Never Returns Our Names that featured in the March Edition of the Poetly Calendar.
Prof. K. Srilata’s poetry has been featured on Poetly before- Everything Drowns, Except this Poem.
