My National Poetry Month challenge to myself has become a collaboration between synaesthetic artist Sammy-John, myself, Anjum Wasim Dar and Jay Gandhi: Day Ten: C Sharp Minor

C Sharp Minor

C Sharp Minor

A day in the park

the light is white as noise is bright
they tread along the spectrum tight,
and every ray is welcome bliss;
each wavelength blows a tender kiss
a shade of green between the mean
a patch of gray amidst the scene
beetroot is pink and there’s a link
which makes me tangle as I think
a cream has come up from behind
like a curtain which blocks the mind
At playground, the children are tired
and all my neurons have been fired
it’s all quite mysterious and dark
but that’s the charm of night at park.

By Jay Gandhi

Picked Apple And Change In C Sharp Minor

I wrap my head with a coloured scarf,
lean on a staff, sprout grey hair, wrinkled,

as a decaying fruit fungus faced, moles and brown blotches,
and a small spiky moustache. She lets me in

the well-tended garden, and admire the fruit
and the fruit of her.

She is

a Pear’s sweetness salves a searching tongue,

a Peach’s blush like sunrise

a Plum’s scent entices, smooth and laughing,

a Cherry’s scarlet lips rain sodden

a blossoming branch

makes bees dance

a secret orchard

‘You are so much more lovely’, I snog her.

Then apologise.

I sit on the flattened grass,
look at the branches
bend weighed down with fruit.

There is an elm opposite,
with gleaming bunches of grapes.
I tell her with my ancient voice.

Remarkable tree, and its entwining vine.
But, if that tree stood there, unmated, without its vine,
it wouldn’t be sought after for more than its leaves,
and vine also, which is joined to and rests on the elm,
will lie on the ground,
if it were not married to it, and leaning on it.’

She replies “It is a tree. Marriage means nothing to me.”

” A thousand men want you,
you shun them, turn away
from their wooing.

But if you are wise,
if you want to marry well,
listen to me, an old lass,

as loves you more than you think,
more than them all, reject others
and choose Change to share your bed!

You have my pledge as well:
he’s not better known to himself
than he is to me: he does not wander
hither and thither, lives by himself
and he doesn’t love latest girl he’s seen.

You’ll be his first love, and his last.
He’ll devote his life only to you.
He’s young, blessed with natural charm,

can take on a fitting appearance, if needs be. Whatever you want,
though you ask for all of it,
he will do.

He doesn’t want fruit of your trees,
or sweet juice of your herbs:
he needs nothing but you.
Take pity on his ardour,
and believe that he,
who seeks you,
is begging you,

in person, through my gob.

C  Sharp Minor
It will not be in a tin fruit can with sweet juice
but in gardens high of a hundred levels

with flowing river water falls and fruits in plenty
none forbidden nor prohibited, but tasty
fruits I saw in childhood would be a surprise
studded rubies  in yellow without space, like
Berries, bananas layered , dates figs and olives
grapes, apples I  loved and dreamed about –
Dreams colorful peaceful and brighter than  the
brightest star, skies opening  in circles of sound
C  sharp minor , symphonies of  fragrant flowers,
celestial  overtures descending in harmony, all

these emerge  as ecstatic aquamarine in numbers
in thousands of  pearly castles in golden diamonds

O beautiful gardens heavenly, I hear notes in C sharp
minor, I  gather good deeds to be in, with the symphony

By Anjum Wasim Dar

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