World Poetry Celebrates Mamta  Agarwal from India!

  Ariadne’s Notes:

The World Poetry Café Radio Show, March 16, 1- 2 PM PST, on CFRO 100.5 FM, welcomed the talented and lovely poetess Mamta  Agarwal calling from India with her beautiful poems in a diverse and unique show. After four years, it was a great honour to talk to her and hear her wonderful poetry once again. http://worldpoetry.ca/?p=9088

Also included was the excerpt of a play by our super technician Victor Schwartzman, who left the radio listeners  breathless during a dramatic section of the play “Listen to Me”. It is being published  in the near future at: https://www.redfez.net

Celebrating St. Patrick’s Day was co-host Neall Ryon with a series of limericks by Bryon.

A very special e-poem Eternity. This is a poem inspired by the passing of time and memory (C)   by  Jason Endfield, (www.jasonendfield.com) from the UK was full of sensitivity and grace .  We hope to hear more  from this talented poet in the future.

To hear this special Show CLICK HERE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bougainvillea’s a poem by Mamta Agarwal, India.

After summer solstice,

We earnestly pray for rain

In north Indian plains,

Drained after a long unforgiving summer.

Gulp down lemonade

Or a drink made of khus, almonds and melon seeds

Or juice of roasted raw mangoes, sweetened

And spiced with crushed cumin

Black salt and fresh mint leaves.

 

I glance at the sky

From my balcony

Eyebrows knitted,

And sigh in dismay

As I watch clouds gather

Tease and leave.

I can smell rain in

Some far off hills,

As wind carries

Wet earth’s fragrance.

 

My eyes rest on woody bougainvillea;

Vines scramble over boundary walls

And fence lines of neighbourhood villas

In colours as varied as a child’s first

Box of water paints.

 

As I take a swig from

My bottle of Kinley,

Am filled with wonder,

How they remain so buoyant

All day and by night,

Despite no respite

From drought and heat.

While the Sun furiously beats

Down on earth’s cracked crust?

 

But mother nurtures the roots,

Who knows how she replenishes itself…?

The thorny vine knows not sloth,

And withstands the fiery wrath

And burst forth in blossoms,

Full of spirit

Just enjoying being.

 

Oft I wonder, some flowers

Are fragrant, others a’int.

See what a plethora

Of colour, size and aura!

How amazing, they parlance

In complete silence.

Captivated, I just forgot

I was feeling hot.

Mamta Agarwal (C) All rights reserved.

 

 

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