Poetry by Sita Nilekani


 Dancing in twilight

glow worms invade the garden,

joy in slow motion


Blue, pink, green, yellow

sea of sensuous silk, surrounds

daily morning angst


  Office gossip climbs

in crowded elevators

to the top story.


Soft soothing ice cream

absorbs melting emotions,

like a trusted friend.


God’s electric smile

cajole monsoon clouds shower

mercy on parched earth.


Lark’s spring twitter tweet

torments lonely shy Raven,

memory bitter sweet


 Smitten by Autumn

wind, leaves dance in a circle.

Hush contemplation



by the Fall spirit, crisp leaves

stagger to the ground.



The Quake

Death surfs seismic waves

hopeful eyes, mournful cries, calm

under concrete graves.

As life enters fiery flame

blue moon stands silent in shame.



Distorted vision -

color blind see the rainbow,

flowers rain from sky,

Kangaroo reads a poem,

Crocodiles sigh, cry and fly


Early hour

Dawn lifts sacred veil,

precocious clouds run down

mountain path, conceal

demure moon rendezvous with

dark handsome valiant knight.




Queen bee keeps vigil,

drones quarrel to stir honey

in golden lattice;

workers stage nectar boycotts,

riots, declare palace coup.


Continuous Improvement

Trees download software

into Autumn trash, while

resolute skeleton

awaits Spring application.

An annual update ritual.



Some say love should be felt and is not seen –

Listen to the trembling sighs of a mother, grasping

for life from two tiny sunken craters, now dry,

the eyes of her child that once reflected her entire

being and the great open African Savannah.


Hold the knotted arthritic hands of the old Gardner

planting from dawn to dusk; whispering quietly

every nuance from dark pregnant clouds, secrets

of the rose bud curled tightly in his fingers.


Picture a native son in a distant war - from afar;

sepia print, dead dusty soldier, bloody Purple Heart,

a child, few chickens, a dog, huts and helicopter

mangled, Napalm smoked them to silence.


Watch the throbbing heart of a woman, waiting

on a cold moonless night; weary eyes scanning

the curved horizon, cupped hands on quivering

mouth exhaling frozen icicle breath.


Tell me - what you heard, held, and saw is not love.

Focus a bit closer, dig a little deeper.

See, I told you…



 The winds of season cannot hold the

phases of the moon,

ebb and flow of tides,

dying in autumn, rebirth at spring.


The cyclone of change cannot mould the

simple quiet beauty of a maiden,

vivid palette of the rainbow,

jasmine scent on hot summer night.


The forces of eternity cannot halt the

woods from deep winter sleep

rivers merging into ocean

mountains bolting to the sky.


The spirit moves freely, untouched, ethereal,

leaving subtle shadows rejoicing freedom;

while men, like pebbles on the ocean front

wait to be liberated from sands of time.

Sita Nilekani describes herself as a composite of ideas, values, and beliefs, and a blend of East & West. Indian by birth and pedigree, American by choice and decree. She landed on the shores of the New World with a degree in Biochemistry (Ph.D.), one suitcase, & cherished memories of family & friends, monsoons and mangoes.

A serious walker, she enjoys Mother Nature, Rocks, Water, Sunset, and a good book. An artist at heart, she feels most centered while creating sculptures or drawing or mixing textures & colors, gardening or wrestling with words. She truly believes what Mother Theresa said: “We can do no great things only small things with great love” .

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in these columns are solely those of the writers and do not necessarily represent those of the editor/publisher.


                                                               All Material © Copyright Kavita Chhibber and respective authors.


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