VIEW FROM THE VERANDAH: Poetry, Butterflies and The Sound of Silence in Summer Love

Shanee R Banda shares the second in her series of poems.

Butterflies

Paralyzed are her lips
As she struggles a word to say
Her tummy flips, tumbles, and turns
Butterflies

What could be the cause
For such a state as this
Is darkness her truthful final answer
Or is innocence feigned

In and out, she breathes
Perchance it will calm her nerves

Unwanted memories, the barricade break
Arrested emotions run wild
To discern which leads the pack
The mind fails to compute

And so silent she remains
For what word can she say
That would not be a lie

Sit Still

Sit still for a moment
And look, listen, and observe

At first, you’ll see nothing
And hear zilch
But linger a little longer

And as if on cue
The sweet fowl will gingerly make their approach
One by one, each allowing its presence to be known

With song, whistle, or gentle cry
They say their hellos

As you marvel at their elegant coats
How beautifully the colours are blended
Black, white, grey, and mustard
Blue, green, and brown
Dusty pink and grey
Orange, purple, and yellow

Your ears begin to pick up on more sounds
That earlier had been almost non-existent
But now so loud, yet so calming
The ear, yet untrained, is unable to discern the creature calling
But the heart recognizes the presence of more gentle folk in the vicinity

You’re not alone
All around, beauty pervades
Your senses begin to pick up on subtle disturbances
The leaf falling and bugs scuttling

Sit still and see
How there’s much more to everyday
Than we give credit

What can I say?

I don’t know what to say
I haven’t got a single thing to say
It is unsayable

If I said it
How could I say it
To whom would I say it
And where would I start

I want to say
What I want to say
But I don’t know how to say it

If I say it rashly
I may be unable to unsay it
And then what would I say

Shall I say it
Or shan’t I
To say or not to say

The Sound of Silence

The air mostly still
Every now and again
Will caress your skin
And gently waltz with the leaves

Monkeys and baboons
Like sworn frenemies
Keep to their sides of the territory
A quiet understanding

Cicadas sing that constant tune
At a frequency so high
You could almost miss it
If you didn’t stop to listen

Out in the distance
The music of wood and axe
Can be discerned
The mystery man keeps a steady beat

A loud howl breaks the calm
And the ear yet untrained
Is unable to determine
The unmistakable call
Of the local beast

A sweet song from one fowl after another
Joins the melody of the moment
As what appears to be a deer
Or that species of animal
Makes its soft approach
Ducking the circling sprinklers

The world could be on fire
And nobody here would ever know

Insects of all colour and size
Fly and crawl
With an air
Of easy unconcern and indifference

The rumble of an engine kilometers away
Disturbs the peace
How so rude

If the nurse could bring her machine
She would find
That the heart
Has slowed down
To a tranquil rhythm

The thoughts couldn’t have been
Any louder or clearer
Yet remaining agreeable
If this could be home
Why who could ever mourn