Monita

Monita

By Rohini D. James
Copyright March 2015
All Rights Reserved

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Seize the Time

My watches in the freezer tick menacingly on
And crows feet disapprove.
Laugh lines haven’t seen a beam in years,
Not since Edith died;
My love. And my grandchild
Is not mine. Worldliness leaves no place
For a dying old man suffering
Emotional obesity, unable to shed any more tears,
Incapable of acceptance as curtains fall
As the leafy golden fires of autumn do.

The fall is a thief and my watches won’t stop.
There’s more frost now than time that I’ve got.

I want not for roses I’ll never remember
Bring me my darling girl
Before the cold of December.
Forge no regrets in the creases on my face.
My house, like my bones, crumble,
Hence I’ve begun to slip away

She graces that campus with her mother’s long legs
And grey eyes that denounce the innocence I had beheld.
My hands had worked for a pension and wiped her tears;
Those girlish sighs and infantile dewdrop sorrows.
She forgets me now like her mother did.
My company nullified by charm and romances kindl’d.
“Grandpa can wait,” I’d heard her say.
And I fear she will wait for my dying day.

By Rohini James
Copyright March 2014
All Rights Reserved

Holi

Under the tie dyed skies
I feel the cerulean love.
Left to dry,
Painted pink with pleasure.
If only we could sit still
Long enough to relieve the stinging in our eyes.

I have handfuls of rainbows,
Glittered galaxies in my palm.
The night most boldly shows
The contrasts of these vivid psalms
That leave my hands in clouds
To anoint entire crowds,
Blessing them brilliantly for holy victory.

We embarked on the festival of colors
And even now I still taste the dyes,
When we were bathed in puffs of powder,
Choked by the air but elated to parade through paradise.

In that moment the earth was a family
With common purpose, stained with the same euphoria.
In that lost footnote in time the planet was home
Bound by the hymns of joy we sang.

Moments like those
Kindle in me
A hope.

God forbid it is stripped away
With the washing off of the bright dust.
Our unity again lost with the flowing of rivers of mingled muck.
The next year will bring brighter hues to mark our skin
And hopefully, a peace that is constant and undying.

By Rohini James
Copyright March 2014
All Rights Reserved