On a Sieve
What if the tea leaves,
Brewed ,boiled and broken-
Gave up all its essence:
All at once-
To sweeten our lips.
And all the residuals,
Grim and grime-
Unwanted, unloved unction-
Poured from our roots to the head.
Are fragments of the same string of time-
Of unborn thoughts that cling inside us,
Waiting to be born whole.
Till then yet leave a residue in some odd colour-
As good memories in the mind.
But give in not of all the essence!
Little by little,
Tease to please.
Peace by piece.
Scatter a bit of hope as flavour –
Like the last of essence on a sieve.
Plague
The greatest battle ever there is –
Is fought for serenity over the mind.
The mind is a battlefield –
Reality, distortions, and the sum of all,
There is and will be.
When plagued with depreciation-
The Self wages war with the ego.
When the ego exalts –
The poetic mood comes from high to naught.
Call it the polarity of life,
Call it a mere disorder.
But it is the way life finds its co-ordinates,
From the memory of trauma.
It is a sacred affliction,
More sacred than the sacred itch to create.
Effigy Burning
To let the ego burn like
An effigy!
And bury it with love-
And rise on the third day:
Like a Lazarus to the Messiah’s Word…
“Come out”.
Ego, come out of Her!
From illusions and delusions.
Of vanity and distress.
This world isn’t meant for you.
But it is going to offer it all back.
Once resurrection reassures.
La Petite Mort
Write heartfelt words,
make it into a strip tease.
Tease the pleasure out of
a capricious audience
who stays for the high
and nothing else.
It is a little death to write.
Something dies to transmute
words into something new—
a brief tryst,
saucy when printed,
all to suffice
as sex to the mind
.
All is doomed poetry,
in between little deaths to create
something to feel,
something to tease,
something to tear
contours of the mind.
In these between little deaths,
all is poetry.
Bread Making
Add the florid, fragrant flowers
in the swish, gushy red earth.
Silently churn the ground,
tremors and tremors.
And knead and knead
the magic of breath into the elements,
magic chemicals, the blood, brine, salts
of the planet.
Add the dust of the stars,
and bake the melody of two.
Clay humming dolls,
as they make music
while making a seed of a sand grain
out of love and lust.
Let the cosmic seeds bake in the warmth of the rising sun,
until it becomes the glitter in the eye of the loving creator,
by the vitality of the flesh and glistening of the spirit.
A new scent hums and turns in the dearest sleep,
dreaming of colour and her dues on earth,
until the sun caresses the lids to blossom.
Sleep in a quantum seed of light,
little seeds of sweet scents,
a bread made to be broken,
to be given as a token to heaven and earth.
Lumps of cells of light,
in deep ecstatic motion,
unperturbed, untouched by the presence of the present,
unborn,
pure,
blissful.
About the Author
Tania Alphonsa George is a young poet and educator with a profound passion for literature, language, and teaching. An old soul at heart, she frequently immerses herself in philosophy, art, jazz music, and classic ‘90s music, finding inspiration that fuels her creative and intellectual pursuits.
She has published her poetry and essays in several respected literary journals, including The Pangolin Review, Indian Periodical, DAATH Voyage, GNOSIS Journal, Journal of Literature and Aesthetics, and Literary Cognizance. In 2022, she co-authored the book Integrity of Words and Blank Verses with her maternal grandmother, Gertrude John Morris, marking a much cherished milestone in her literary journey. Driven by a commitment to inspiring and igniting young minds, Tania is determined to make meaningful contributions to education, with a vision to transform the field through research and innovative ideas.
