fragrant breeze
kids rush in to sell roses
at the traffic signals
Published by
Kala Ramesh
Kala Ramesh is a performing vocalist in Indian Classical music. Coming from an extremely artistic and culturally rich South Indian family, Kala believes -- as her father is fond of saying -- that "the soil has to be fertile for the plant to bloom" and feels that she owes this poetic streak in her to her mother. A proud mother of two young adults, Kala lives with her husband in Pune, India.
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Does this fragrant moment make a Haiku? This is just a faithful recording of a scene that happens over and over in any Indian city (or for that matter any developing country).
Mary by calling it lovely has just romanticized child labour.
kamesh,
please forgive mary’s naivete. remember, alot of americans
are political children.”” how else can one explain the
reelection of of bush? americans tend to think everyone in the world lives like they do. they don’t think in terms of
child labor, they think in terms of, “”oh how cute.””
too hot to wear…
this shirt sewn in a sri lankan
sweatshop”
The answer to your 2 nd question …
The first is for others to answer!
at each traffic signal
through the long year
children beg –
torn between
to give or not . . .
a tanka I wrote sometime back.
this is the scene in India, and it is painful.
I always ask these ‘flower’ children in Pune, whether they study, go to school –
More than 60 % of them do.
In their spare time they sell flowers.
– kala
Do you know that in that wide – world have a nice county called Albania. And now I am saying you that in that Country is developing in good way the shorter poem: Haiku””, that has begun to invade the world. we here have a good Haiku – Club and it is well – known in Europe and broadly.
My haiku: winter scorched oakling. spring brings. the verdant mantle. my best wishes! Kujtim”
think not i’ve taken offense to your comment, yet i feel the need to clarify the points you’ve attempted to make.
retrogressing, i’m reminded of a female friend who made the statement, she knew the thought process of men.
i think mary’s words show not her being naive, but the unsuspecting innocence of youth, and the poetic manner in which kala expressed it; however, i sense the (naivete) within your words …
within the seeds
who knew —
were we to have white peonies
bob,
child labor is child labor is child labor.
there’s nothing lovely”” about kids
working the street in 100 degree
temperatures. by the way, those
kids aren’t working 40 hours a
week. but let’s turn back the clock
a bit…
appalachian dawn
childrens faces
dusted with coal dust”
breeze
eagle’s shrill
pierces the ears
wind collected
in a jar upon a windowsill-
a restless fragrance
— Felica
http://www.purpleecho.com
Lovely! I will remember this one.
The dog wag one’s tail…
his mistress of the house smell
of rose’s perfume
kala,
nice work. here’s a little different take on the scene, one
i wrote last year after being stuck in traffic on michigan
ave in chicago.
lawrence
rush hour
flower vendors stroll
from car to car
Does this fragrant moment make a Haiku? This is just a faithful recording of a scene that happens over and over in any Indian city (or for that matter any developing country).
Mary by calling it lovely has just romanticized child labour.
growing light –
vendor’s stand
hot dogs, popcorn, corn dogs
aroma fading
kamesh,
please forgive mary’s naivete. remember, alot of americans
are political children.”” how else can one explain the
reelection of of bush? americans tend to think everyone in the world lives like they do. they don’t think in terms of
child labor, they think in terms of, “”oh how cute.””
too hot to wear…
this shirt sewn in a sri lankan
sweatshop”
Kamesh
The answer to your 2 nd question …
The first is for others to answer!
at each traffic signal
through the long year
children beg –
torn between
to give or not . . .
a tanka I wrote sometime back.
this is the scene in India, and it is painful.
I always ask these ‘flower’ children in Pune, whether they study, go to school –
More than 60 % of them do.
In their spare time they sell flowers.
– kala
Like the breeze
Unconcerned drivers
Pass them by….
Guha Krishnaswamy
that’s a good one Guha – and so true.
-kala
Hairy spastic man
Selling roses at the corner
Wakens the heart
hiding behind
the windscreen wiper—
a thin man
such beautiful responses …
just goes to show that every art has a heart embedded
inside –
-kala
fragrant breeze
next door roses
bow in the wind
Do you know that in that wide – world have a nice county called Albania. And now I am saying you that in that Country is developing in good way the shorter poem: Haiku””, that has begun to invade the world. we here have a good Haiku – Club and it is well – known in Europe and broadly.
My haiku: winter scorched oakling. spring brings. the verdant mantle. my best wishes! Kujtim”
Shivering in the cold
youg boys sell balloons late night:
New year revellers
wolfgang,
part I
think not i’ve taken offense to your comment, yet i feel the need to clarify the points you’ve attempted to make.
retrogressing, i’m reminded of a female friend who made the statement, she knew the thought process of men.
i think mary’s words show not her being naive, but the unsuspecting innocence of youth, and the poetic manner in which kala expressed it; however, i sense the (naivete) within your words …
within the seeds
who knew —
were we to have white peonies
bob,
child labor is child labor is child labor.
there’s nothing lovely”” about kids
working the street in 100 degree
temperatures. by the way, those
kids aren’t working 40 hours a
week. but let’s turn back the clock
a bit…
appalachian dawn
childrens faces
dusted with coal dust”
wolfgang,
100 degree weather, huh; the haiku was not about sweatshops.
in my adolescence, i’ve bagged grocery, sold newspapers, watched my siblings, picked grapes, and etc.
sweatshops, no; my being industrious.
i knew/know the difference
g. bush re-election, there is a process, regardless of it’s faults, that continues to work, for lack of the perfect system.
everyone could live as i do, just as everyone could live in your world.
sunup,
no different than so many before
the jays return
A little libret
for
Kala Ramesh
A unseen poacher
shooting a bird on the wing-
my heart itself
A lightning
or a shooting star?
The life ofa man…
Celest music-
the crickets cease
to liesten to Kala
Long after
the sound was foded,
her alive soul
Last gesture
of the swans’ conductor-
an unmoved hand
Shut up!
let’s listen
this silence
children of the bush
burning for shade
but Free
noon-time blare of horns
overweight panhandler
on the street