There is melody within me, there are songs…
Yet, why do I sit in silence?
I don’t want to live just to eat…
But I realize that food itself is an art—
the crackle of roasting seeds, the sizzle of oil,
the rhythmic chopping, the simmering hush.
Whoosh—
Do I talk to the wind, or does the wind talk to me?
Click!
I take photos when I see flowers,
And become restless watching the changing colors of the sky
as the clouds drift—slow, then fast, then gone.
And when the sun appears like a red orb between the leaves and branches,
I am filled with wonder.
Yet sometimes, only the sight of the moon at night brings me peace.
The whisper of rustling leaves, the distant howl of a dog,
and somewhere, the soft hum of a lullaby.
Two of the octopus’s eight arms emerge from my ears,
gently scratching my head—scritch, scratch.
And the six arms inside me rest like an iceberg…
I don’t know how itchy they are.
And I search for a penguin within my heart.
At times, I feel afraid that these dolphins keep giving me kiss after kiss—
wet, playful, endless—splash!
And I want to fly with the flamingos,
to pierce through the clouds, to hear the wind whistle past my wings.
I want to enlarge the aquarium for the fishes,
to watch them swirl and swish,
to hear the gentle plop as they break the water’s surface.
Nibble, nibble—
I glance around while eating, just like a rabbit and a squirrel.
Sometimes, I wish to rest like a koala,
hugging a tree, breathing in the eucalyptus,
listening to the slow creak of the branches.
And I also wish to play with the trunk of a baby elephant—
its warm breath, the snort of laughter, the flapping of giant ears.
Caw!
I call out to you like a black crow,
While you, like a swan, float gently with your children in your embrace,
the soft ripple of water, the hush of wings.
Who knows how to form a heart like two swans?
But the longing remains the same.
Like a butterfly, I remain in the dilemma—
flitting, fluttering, never knowing where to land.
Yet, I can take flight at any moment.
And I slip away like the water of a waterfall—
rushing, roaring, then vanishing into mist.
Sometimes, I retreat into my shell like a turtle—
a quiet thud as I withdraw, the slow sigh of safety.
I know that the more I expand, the more challenging life becomes.
That’s why I scatter myself only along certain streams,
Soaring like a kite in just a few directions—
the tug of the string, the whistle of the wind.
Aren’t these the same streams in which I scattered and stretched myself thin?
Now tell me, how will you gather me back together?
Himanshu Ranjan lives in Bengaluru, India. He is a poet and a Young India Fellow. His anthology is titled ’36 Love Stories’ in which he has composed thirty-six sonnets and a sestina. His poems have appeared or forthcoming in ‘Eunoia Review,’ ‘Poetry Potion,’ ‘Scarlet Leaf Review,’ and Indrdhanush.’ He loves teaching chemistry.