Black is the color of undefined space,
of chasms so large many fear to fall,
inky background behind the night rainbow
void of busy-ness of day,
flowing cleanly down the split shaft
of an old quill pen, seeping deeply
into dimples of vellum;

Striking contrast, none or full phases
of lunation, back to black, again
and anon, ebony skin bejeweled
in glorious hues, unruly hair
and wild patterned dress,
cradle of civilization suffused
with damp earthen heat;

Unsterile, untamed, U as in unify, more
like u-turn, what did I miss, back to origins,
basics, unity in community, necessitating
complementarity, muting
blinding tonalities of white;

Born into a dusky womb, darkness follows
into death, settled now into the earth,
home we take for granted
until breath and water are gone.


19 thoughts on “Tributaries

    1. Mahalo, Val. I wrote this one awhile ago and brought it into the present, thinking of the defeated native people at Standing Rock. This country seems to be slipping right back into its dismal racist origins and it really does make me sad. Aloha ❤

      Liked by 1 person

  1. ‘Night rainbow’ is an intriguing expression and I have been wondering where does it hide…within us or in those dreadful chasms created by mankind in the quest to accomplish self-centred goals and that too at the cost of our own fellow-beings!
    An outstanding venture Bela…this poem transports me back into the ‘inky background,’ which we take for granted and accept our realities cynically, forgetting conveniently that all changes begin from one person. Let’s keep the hope alive, let’s keep the inspiration ignited. Thanks for highlighting core issues. Stay blessed!

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    1. Balroop, night rainbows actually do exist – we’ve seen them only twice in the past 11 years though, so they’re pretty rare. So amazing! And yes, as a metaphor for sure I have to believe they exist, as well, though sometimes I wonder these days … the selfishness you refer to seems to be running rampant (dare I say ‘once again?’ – yikes).

      Thanks so much for your kind praise – and I completely concur that the only change we can surely effect comes from within – or at least that’s how I’m perceiving your words – forgive me if I misconstrue.

      Sending hugs and heartfelt wishes your way! ❤

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  2. A wonderful torrent of luxuriant word play, Bela. You are to words what a great chef is to fine ingredients, it seems to me. I don’t understand the process of creating poetry, but imagine it to be something like weighing the words against one another to find the perfectly harmonious blend, perhaps a bit like creating a recipe. I’m sure the inner process is far more complex and subtle, not analytical, but I probably would never understand. Anyway, another triumph, undoubtedly. I ate three portions. H ❤

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    1. I won’t go into the fact that I’ve also run me own restaurant – I do love to create. If you ate three portions of this, you would love my cooking, and I would love to feed you! 😉

      You are beyond kind in your praise, many thanks. Hariod, dear, poetry simply spins out from the ethers through my hands. I can’t explain it either, except since i was small, I’ve memorized words and made rhymes and nonsense from them. I’ve also done a fair amount of boring academic writing – all that annotation stuff made me crazier than I already was, but I did learn structure (and to what end, I cannot say).

      I think we’re all good at something, and if we can attend to our strengths, it gives a bit of satisfaction to an otherwise random and chaotic series of events as we make our way through time and space. I’ve never aspired to accounting, for example, soul crushing stuff that must be. Leave it to those well suited.

      And speaking of random, yes. I think writing for me is definitely Not analytical in any sense. Once the piece hatches onto the page, it gives my left brain a bit of something to do; it’s the critical part that can source a better adjective, a different structure.

      Many, many thanks for your kindness and attention to my offerings here. ❤

      Liked by 1 person

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