Greeting February Poem by Ananta Madhavan

My quilt and blanket slid off.
I wriggled out of bed, a little shivery;
The watch showed two-something.
Far too early, but I liked to hail
February, the shortest month, but still,
In this Leap Year, at its full stretch.

A dear uncle who had lived in England,
Once told me when I was barely nine,
The story from an operetta, where the hero, Fred,
Had to wait four years for his next birthday,
On the twenty-ninth of February.
Uncle sang a snatch in mimic baritone
From Gilbert and Sullivan about
A model modern Major-General and the
‘Pirates of Penzance' in Cornwall.

I have worked for a Prime Minister;
Who was one of that rare kind,
No slouch for work, a steady leader,
He lived long, perhaps felt much younger
Than coevals born on the first of March.


In careful strides I came to my room
With a wall of books, unprinted words,
In scraps of manuscript and some in cyber-lore,
Not yet extinguished by the delete button.

I saw, faintly reflected on my tiled floor,
A bloated rectangle of pallid moonlight,
An elongated shadow, all askew.
I stood in awe at my plate glass window
And gazed in wonder at the black sky,
The crescent moon in lone brilliance,
Half-a-globe, afloat on rocking waves,
A satellite in lunar orbit, arcane lore.

Do we too cast dim-lit shadows that might seem
Distorted and askew to stranger eyes?
Do we too orbit in an arcane lore?

- - - -
February,2016,
Mysuru, India.