Winnower

Cinnamon breeze
winnowing leaves
Hushed beneath
Windows' eaves
Whisper trees.

Avenue long
End of song
Pink sunset view
Enthralled blues.

Lone Raven cries
Heart's steely ice
Harsh evensong
Melts my eyes.

Bird goes up high
To survey the sky
Never to return
Till you and I can
Dispel this lie.

Death is Is-Not.
Life
Is an umbilical knot.
foretell then,
O passers by,
Why,
When our lots were cast,
Against odds so vast
Why Hopes don't die
when He casts the Die?

Yes,
Some wayward breeze
hopes eternal breed,
O wayfarer
Does it breed lies?
It says to me,
We were meant
To last...Yet
Though
Ashes to ashes
And dust to dust
The spirit is
Eternal wanderlust.

Something...
Someone...
Somewhere
...
In sweet scented breeze
Reveals  to me
Rivers of truth
Beguiling birdsong
Buds of austerity,
Fragile precious
Utterance
Nothing is ever lost
In nothingness
We must believe

Release
Release
Release
Lies that sicken, steal our ease
cankerous cancerous miseries
killing us daily with
Fatal  Disease.

There is
No death

Death is Not.

Life's umbilical knot

Can't foretell our lot.

Entrances and Exits
Fatten the belly of defeat.

Holy is our hope
The universe
Our entire scope.

(c) Amrita Valan 2016

The phrase "Cinnamon breeze" borrowed with permission from my friend and fellow poet Nivedita Lakhera