“Every year vines grow taller & fatter…they
cling to every support on their way, suck nutrition from moist soil, sky &
sunlight…And Flower! Plentitudously masculine, for the pain of bearing fruits
is great…& it’s not everyone’s cup of tea.
The towering vinelike egos are clipped at the nip
Then they shoot sideways and are born females heavy hipped
It’s time for spring gala….
Heart-whole this bug goes around singing love notes oooo la la….
Men are no priests but they shrive and women shiver
The petals close and their heavy bottoms quiver
Flower becomes a fruit and grows bigger
First green then they begin to color
Yellow, orange, brown, spotted… some wild,
Fellow beings are invited to sing and dance together
They make merry and pluck our children
Leaving the umbilical chord bleeding for ever
The gala is no less than an illusion
It’s a spring in odd time and without any reason
They often miss the center of this musical ringing
For their deaf ears can only hear their own singing
Calliopean! Calliopean! Calliopean!
Let them go… if weather stays clement we shall be again offspringing… ”
Gourd fairy turned to the classroom of wide eyed gourd children as she finished
telling them the story of Gourd Gala….While the entire farm looked amused
hearing the bright prospectus of their future… Tara… sitting quietly in a
corner did not look very pleased… Her head was shrooming with questions…. “What
if I don’t want to attend this party and want to know instead… what happens to
everything outside of the Gourd city…”
Pale she looked…. a frail child…. barely fed and questions she was raising were
too heavy for her own bearing…
“Sparkling windows of magic twinkle in time…. if you manage to peep through
once as they shine…. you are freed for ever…. from the cycles of hard and soft,
day and night, good and bad… and you shine for ever in eternity… A shining star
you become…. Tara!”
“How do I peep in then?”
The fairy with a vulpine smile turned away….
“O child… O child… O sweet child o’mine
You have to LIGHT UP! and shed your carry on
The mud of old, the air of new
And the tiny viny tendrils you cling to
Carry only the essence of you
And see how fast you move
Innocent flowers like you have leapt miles on the golden map of boundaries
Rendering the lines dull every-time they crossed these
Only essence! Only essence! Only essence!
The Gourds traveled the Americans, the
Europeans and now the Indians
Mixing leads to a delightful variety
Pumpkins, bottle… bitter gourds and the exotic Zucchini
For what is in micro is in the macro
Take these and SHIVOO on the flying shoe… ”
To quench her curiosity she left the Gourd
city… Her stop over was the fellow being’s workshop…. where she saw her fat
bubbly kins stacked over the shed and some in works… Highly manipulated… some
beautified, some filled with fire, some purely functional and some objects of
desire…. She heard him say “These are new and it takes me a while to fathom
their unique hue. They often carry the essence of what it is that they would
like to become and so I work to shape them…. but being an aginner, I prefer the
alternate plan…. It gives my designs an edge over the other and helps me sell
Ornately punctured, stunningly truncated,
denotively etched with forms and symbols…. they all stood for something….
something of his own… and he protected them as his belongings…
He toiled, sweated, burnt himself before he
burnt a mark on them. After nine months of waiting… two months of drying,
washing, skinning and shining …. then working on them with his drills and
knives…. Tools of a smith!…. etching on them his marks…. he calls them his
own….. Some he hangs from the ceiling of his room… And at night… they appear…
the sparkling windows of magic…. all at once…. in all forms….
The workshop becomes a luciferous galaxy of
And some were just kept intact and left to dry…. the seeds inside, he said…
rattle and put his children to sleep…
She flies higher as she ponders over her recent discoveries…. “Though happy to
see her kins meeting their desired destiny …. neither the Gourd Gala nor the
fellow being’s workshop…. but to make a new family, I want to fly to another
Free from the lines of good and bad… As she
LIT UP! and shed her carry-ons… The fairy’s voice echoed in the canyon….
“ELATE!!!…. Pufff your orange selves up…. Your Gourd Gowns in the fresh air….
It’s spring without spring…. Again!… Spring of the internal blooms…. And I’ll
freeze you…. Right There!…. in the moment of your happiest selves…. Capture in
eternity…. your best elation…. for it’s only happiness that should echo…. only
spring that I want to see….”