Of Wintertime Which Has A Poetic Ring Poem by Gayathri Seetharam

Of wintertime which has a poetic ring
-Gayathri B. Seetharam
A red cardinal silently waved at me
From the boughs of the plant by the front porch
A splash of crimson red in the snowy landscape
Bringing joy to me, its viewer, your poet - dear reader;

My joy knew no bounds
When the cardinal visited me again
While I was peeping through the front door window
And flew inside the bushy junipers
In vain, did I long for it to come out
And sing to me its bird song;

It did come out of the bush
And flew to the opposite house
Without even glancing at their scattered bird seeds
An onlooker said that this is how
A man longs for a "sprig of muslin" or a piece of fluff;

I didn't think much of it at that time
But the wealth of meaning behind the lines,
"Fly away, Peter; fly away, Paul"
Came to me all of a sudden;

Is it thus also with the blue jay
Who is elusive in his constancy
For as my feminine instinct tells me,
My son would like to graduate and leave home;

He does not even care for baseball anymore
When growing up, he loved it with every drop of his blood
But it is to his credit
That he learnt skating from his friend
And played ice hockey
Through the same channel with his friends
For although my husband and I sent him to many classes and summer camps
But we did not encourage winter sports;

Of red cardinals and blue jays
Does the world know
But does it know about the raven
Who says, "Nevermore evermore";

The raven, it is said, sought a snow maiden such as I
Who thinks ice is her enemy when walking
And with every drop of my blood, do I wish
For the "colour of money" to become a part of my working life once again,
Said I, to the raven, who said, Black is the soul of the man
Who hath no juice in his veins or no salt in his flesh
Or who hath no appreciation for your work;

Could it be possible, Nevermore Evermore Raven,
That ice floweth through his veins
And his blood which is warm as the summer sunshine
Shall melt the ice and turn it into sweat in my direction
Or I shall say to these black hearted men
Who have paradoxically, hearts of gold also,
That the ice in their veins is going to turn them into an ice sculpture
That is silicon
Which is not so far from the truth
For they all have microchips in their brain.