Light Food

Lost in the wood

In search of food

I met an old talking tree called Montry

Who taught me a botany lesson for free

I asked him curiously 

How do you get your food?

Curtly he replied

That's simple. I do photosynthesis 

Oh yes. How foolish of me

I had completely forgotten about it

Feigning my ignorance he said

Let me show you how it happens

He touched me with his branch

Decorated with tender leaflets

Suddenly I began to shrink 

To a size smaller than atoms

With my new subatomic form

I was able to see large light balls

Falling all around me 

They are the photons, the tree said 

Climbing onto one of the branches

I anchoring myself to one of the photons

As it jumped into a lush green leaf

Welcome to my kitchen said Mr,Montry 

The photon plunged into a structure

Oval shaped and bounded by two walls

Filled with a fluid - Of DNA, proteins et al

He said You are in one of the chloroplasts now 

Once upon a time they were separate cells

Some of my single celled ancestor engulfed them 

From then on they took over the role of the chef 

Blessed with their special pigment called chlorophyll

They contains special structures called quantosomes

That's where all the actual cooking takes place 

Would you like to see it in detail ?

Yes of course I heard myself say 

The photon I was riding on bumped into a green molecule

Due to the collision impact , two bigger spheres jumped out 

I jumped onto one of those, going through a sequence of reactions

At the end of the ride I became part of a molecule called NADP

With my binoculars I saw a molecule of water 

Shattering its bonds - it released a molecule of oxygen

And donated 2 hydrogen molecules to make my ride NADPH2 

I also saw ADP shake hands with Phosphorous to form ATP

Now this my tiny human friend is called the Light reaction 

Though you humans prefer to call it Hill's reaction 

The two molecules ATP and NADPH2 fuel my tiny kitchens

These reactions need presence of the celestial ingredient - sunlight. 

Now look at that opening towards your far right 

Its the stoma. That's where I get my main ingredient from 

And what is that O talking tree , I said 

Well that's the molecule you expire - carbon dioxide CO2

The process I am showing you is the Dark reaction

And again you people refer it as the Calvin cycle

Hop onto the CO2 molecule and see it for yourself

So I did and waited to witness the proceedings 

Embraced by a group of molecules called Ribulose Biphosphate

With another molecule named as RUBISCO 

Gradually creating another one called Phosphoglyceraldehyde (PGAL)

Also my old chariot NADPH2 got reduced to NADP

As I saw from the PGAL I was hitchhiking on 

Another PGAL came and together they formed frucotse-diphosphate

There were some others who had a penchant need of phosphates

So it was given to them converting my ride into fructose 

Fructose did not seem to like its looks 

So it had a makeover and became glucose 

This my tiny friend is the food I eat 

And indirectly its also the food that you all eat 

Now let me get you back to your true size 

Viola! I was back to my human form 

Thank you for the wonderful tour I said

No problemo, Always ready to help , he said.

I realize you have been very hungry 

Let me give you one of my fruits 

A juicy mango fell on my head

Waking me up from my dream. 

Recently I was helping my sister learn her lesson on photosynthesis - the process in which plants prepare food. It is one of the wonderful processes of life that converts solar energy into chemical energy and also releases oxygen to the environment.  So here is my post for the delicious poetics prompt Poetics– Foodloose, 

Vanishing Words

 I always wonder where do these words come from, where do they rise and where do they set?  Sometimes shining like the bright full moon. Sometimes like the shimmering crescent. Yet many a times like the moonless empty sky, deserting poets and writers as the rains do to the parched earth.

Words, where have thee gone ?
Leaving thy writer forlorn

These are the moments I am lost in wishful thinking, longing and awaiting the resurgence of words. Like an explorer lost in search of his own hidden treasure.
These are the moments raining with anxiety, emptiness and silence. Thoughts begin to scream at full volume but the pen seems to have lost all its ink and I do nothing but hopefully blink, trying to verse-fully think.

No rhythm , no rhyme
I loathe that terrible time
More so often then not
I am entangled in this knot

For DB

I see her every morning 

      In the crowded city bus

Always sits at the window seat 

      Holding her black shining purse 

Rarely she misses her daily stop,

    Only on days when she falls asleep

On many days she is found,

    Reflecting on thoughts too deep 

She always keeps the window open

     For the breeze to caress her pretty face

And for the rhythm of  the breeze

     To make her hair flutter like a silken lace

Never have I spoken to her 

     Hence I know not her name 

But to be lost in her rapturing smile

     Every single moment I am game 

Some mornings she is found 

      Blushing at her mobile's latest text

 On some others she is lost
        With her Rubik's cube she is vexed


Last week she had her friends for company
     To find her name, I eavesdropped
But all I could hear was her nickname - D.B.
     For she vanished, as the bus stopped.
      

 

Written for Poetics : 6 Billion Others.. at the dVersePoetsPub hosted by Brian Miller. 

Emily's Entourage

’T IS so much joy! ’T is so much joy!
A PRECIOUS, mouldering pleasure ’t is
MUCH madness is divinest sense
And sings the tune without the words

IF recollecting were forgetting,
WE never know how high we are
I wonder if when years have piled—
THE brain is wider than the sky,




All the above lines are verses from the poems of  Emily Dickinson. I recently started reading her poems as a part of my online course at Coursera on Modern Poetry and I must say I have got quite addicted to them. They seem so simple yet convey such deeper meanings. 

First Poem

Poems, never thought I would write any

Though I had read and memorized  many 

Then on a fine afternoon in my classroom shade

In the English lecture of my twelfth grade

I was forced to write one of my own 

Fidgeting my brand new pen, up and down 

I wandered along my mind's cloud
Penning down my thoughts aloud
Taking inspiration from the Daffodils
That gathered over the vales and hills
I resonated a repetitive rhetorical refrain
Of a question that meandered my mind's lane
Framing up tiny couplets that would rhyme
Adding melodies to my mind's muted mime
I read through my first poem once it was done
Realizing that poetry is SO much fun

Written for Poetics : First Times at the dVersePoetsPub hosted by Fred Rutherford  

Pleasant Presence

O mind of mine, why do you lurk in the past ?

When you ought to live in the present 

And build magnificent dreams for the future

I do see dreams, paving way to the future 

Yet they are all prejudiced by the past

Confounding my existence in the present 

O silly mind, life happens in the present

Only in its garden bloom flowers of future 

Not in the pleasured placebos of the past 

But in the pleasant presence of the present

Forgotten Fantasies

Some exchanged
Some estranged
Some received
Some deceived
A set of messages
Delicately treasured
In the depths
Of digital memory

Each of the tiny words
Written on electronic scrolls
Tenaciously teleporting
His thoughts
To a dream
Which was a paradise
To a realm

Which never existed 

It was a toy store

Which always enticed him

Anchoring him firmly 

To the pitches of past

Decking a smile on his face

Whenever he navigated 

The rhapsodical rail
of sugar coated words

A stern voice from within
Always warned him
To get rid of these
But another one would
Always hush it to silence
Until this day
When they disappeared
Forever lost beyond retrieval

He knew not what to do;
To rejoice at the achievement
Of obliviating an obvious obsession?
Or to regret at the loss
Of the most precious possession?
He sat there in numb trance
Silently admiring the rarity
Of a beautiful sadness



Prompted by Poetics : The Beautiful Sadness at dVerse Poets Pub by Stuart McPherson  and Wordle-68 by Brenda.