Thursday, August 13, 2026

GAS Featured Poet: Pulkita Anand

 


Pulkita Anand, from India, is an avid reader of poetry. Author of two children’s e-books, her recent eco-poetry collections are 'we were not born to be erased' and 'What's left Icarus?'. Various publications include: short stories kids,  New Verse News, Green Verse: An anthology of poems for our planet (Saraband Publication), Comparative Women, Origami Press, AsiaticInanna Publication, Bronze Bird Books  SAGE Magazine  and elsewhere.



Oftentimes…


Spreading the stars bedsheet, with the pillow of the moon

Oftentimes I throw the ball of the sun and it comes again. 

Oftentimes I get drenched without the rain.

Oftentimes, a sparrow eats the sun and pigeons peck at my heart. 

Oftentimes a frog jumps onto another planet, and a dragonfly nimble a mountain. 

Oftentimes loneliness comes and gives me company. 

Oftentimes a river comes to fill me and hope flutters as a butterfly. 

Oftentimes people change and seasons wonder.

Oftentimes a swan eats the world in a grain.

Oftentimes a moth burns in a desire for embrace. 

Oftentimes fireflies shine in the soul.

Oftentimes waves wash the memories and leave salted water. 

Oftentimes jasmines bloom in my heart and no one notices.

Oftentimes time flows and a heron catch it.

Oftentimes trees live where no one lives.




Rain

The sky’s grey attire is changing the embroidery of the land

The herons, the geese, the egrets, and the storks are drawing a patch

The hiding stars and moon wink in a slant shimmer

The wet morning is shaking the dew from her skin

The drops from the sky and the drops from her skin

The flakes of sun freckle on the pattering pond 

Are doubly beautiful and good

Stitching rainbow, flowers, buds in a new hue

Seasons are wearing sheen and shine

Smearing the scent and scene of refreshment 

Oozing from every pore and every part

Filling and fulfilling waltzing with Zephyr

Chirping orchards with nuptial songs

Spreading the ancient scholarship of mutual growth

Life is dripping from the drops

the sun peeking and weaving gold in the reeds

Folding its hems for the other seasons




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