(Delhi, May 2021)

Yogesh Patel

Each plight of sparks     enlightens a crackled sky

Ashes drifting in gasps

The oxygen            never arrived

like promises                  and hopes


But there’s plenty for Hades

in the hellhole, a car park

though concocted with stench

charred flesh burning        dashed hopes


A doctor comes out for a smoke

but runs back inside

filled with the dead lurking

in his lungs            as ashes


Alfresco         the wood-fireflies 

pop          in the cloud of fetid smoke

indoors          the unattended dead

wait under        the sign          No Smoking



(This poem appears in poet’s collection, The Rapids, published by The London Magazine in October 2021:

Back to normal

It is not a fruit.
But it has fallen off the tree with a stone.
Just because it has fallen off the tree
it is categorised as a fruit.                                                                                                                                                                                                                For days, no one bothered.                                                                                                                                                                                                           The rumour is moths ate all leaves.                                                                                                                                                                                              The trees mutated as the viruses do!
These latest nuts have plagued the grounds I walk on.
Squirrels cannot classify the pits for their need.
Despairing, they all huddle up on roads quiet                                                                                                                                                                             in the pandemic.
The conference like all others ends in disagreements.                                                                                                                                                        They all agreed to ignore the rare pits                                                                                                                                                                                          as nature’s bizarre idea!                                                                                                                                                                                                              Though they must be all happy
having had the chance to read their papers without Zoom.                                                                                                                                                They returned to their brushwood
in search of routine conkers like all academics                                                                                                                                                              waiting to see what happens to the odd harvest.
With squirrels deserting the roads,                                                                                                                                                                                                 I feel safe now from rabies.                                                                                                                                                                                                    Though, not from the roads overrun with the excess crop.                                                                                                                                                    All politics played, the council removed them.                                                                                                                                                                       The arborists found the treatment, sprayed the trees, and killed the lab moths.
In the world of conkers, it is now easy for me
to come and see you                                                                                                                                                                                                                     But as before,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      I will only text you.



(This poem has been included on Royal Society of Literature’s Poetry Wall 2021:

The poem also appears in poet’s collection, The Rapids, published by The London Magazine in October 2021:

Yogesh Patel has received an MBE for literature. He has co-edited Skylark magazine since 1969. Currently, he runs Skylark Publications UK and the Word Masala Foundation. Honoured with Freedom of the City of London, he has LP records, films, radio, children’s book, fiction, non-fiction books, and three poetry collections to his credit. In 2019, he was a Poet-of-Honor at New York University. The House of Lords and the National Poetry Library have staged his readings. Amidst many, PN Review, The London Magazine, and BBC TV and Radio have published his work. So have also, numerous anthologies featured his poems, including National Curriculum, MacMillan, Sahitya Akademi and others..


You can find Yogesh on his websites PatelYogesh and SkylarkPublications

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