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Poems By Poet Vera Sidhwa  7/22/2014 8:56:23 PM
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  VERA SIDHWA
 
 
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  33.     

All Friendships

Do you suppose I saw
That time when a tear
Streamed down your face?

Do you think I saw
That defense in your eye,
So menacing a look?

Can you visualize your hardened face
with oxi-dried lining
Meant to reflect harsh winds?

Do you not think
I too felt the same,
Bu couldn't say much to comfort you?
 
Vera Sidhwa
   
 

   
   
 

  34.     

American Indian Flute Song

The American Indian flute song,
Played in my office all day long.
Evoking images of lonely, wide plains,
Of the American frontier of olden days,
Where the horses ran down the praries.

My ears heard the song as lonely musical notes.
The nighttime prarie seemed empty,
The wigwams with their stars above,
Standing with no sound around,

In a three-thousand mile wide nation,
That was soon to be alone.

The Cherokee nation didn't matter,
Neither the Navajho,
Just the other,
Caught in a race of total subjugation.

Not knowing the karma it would pay,
For the tragedies of both races,
Both travelling in irreversible paths,
Lead to the fall of North American Earth.
I turned off the flute music.
Then I left my office for lunch…

Now the flow of the traffic,
The noise of the honks,
The buildings looming high,
Scraping the sky.
The freeways a mess,
The favorite music station incoherent.
The lunch hour traffic way too fast.
The sun rays shining on this polluted Earth,
Climate changes or weather got wrong?
And the clogged-up sidewalks to walk upon,
Made everyone go back to their offices.

To hear the American Indian flute music,
Kicked-up a slight notch now.
The flute didn't sound at all,
Lonely now.

This flute put me in a frame of mind,
Where peace could dwell and peace could find.
 
Vera Sidhwa
   
 

   
   
 

  35.     

Beauracracy

He blocked my progress,
He stopped me short,
He took away my looks,
She tore up my books,
He took away my job,
The looked like a mob,
He disrespected me,
He threatened me,
He gave me hush money
In secret he called me honey,
He did not abide by the law,
He from public coffers did draw,
His two faced presence unsettled me,
His deep secrets transpartent to only me.
I won't work for a beauracracy
 
Vera Sidhwa
   
 

   
   
 

  36.     

Chalk

I crouched on the sidewalk,
With different colored chalk,
In my hands.

I drew a circle and then a triangle,
In yellow and blue and white.
These colors seemed right,
For the picture I drew bright.

But then came along a bike,
And smeared this picture bright.
My hard work was destroyed,
In a second.

I tried to look for the offender.
I did not him find,
For the offender was me.

It was I who didn't like my own work,
And tried to shift the blame,
On no one there but I on the bike.
 
Vera Sidhwa
   
 
 
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Poems By Poet Vera Sidhwa