AWAITING SPRING

POEM

When will the dusky blankets of

gloomy days be torn away from my life?

When will the dark clouds

of despair and needling pain

vanish from my life

clearing the path for

the rise of a bright dawn

to wake me up and cheer me up

to my heart’s content?

When will the spring

bloom before me making

me elated and delighted

and lift me to the top of

the world and enliven

my sagging spirits   to

disappear from my life

and let me drink the 

elixir of life?

Will my life blossom

in the garden of hopes and the

scent of blooms spread

across the land conveying

the message of my

thrill and enormous,

inexplicable pleasure to all?

And will I meet my

estranged love-bird fly

to me, kiss me , caress me

and embrace me and

live together for the

rest of our life?

  

SPARKS OF HOPE

POEM

His remaining sparks

of hope melted into thin air.

The flame of life, died down.

His dream of a fresh lease of life

flew away to an unknown territory.

On hearing the news of

his mercy petition, rejected –

which was the last straw-

whether his heart missed 

one or two beats was known only to him.

Resigned to his fate

he sat on the bare floor

hiding his head between his folded legs

like an ostrich.

In the meanwhile the

hangman’s noose was getting ready for him.

After a prolonged spell of uncertainty

he slept quietly

till the wee hours of the morning.

He was  seeing before him

the  last crucial moments

of him walking to the gallows.

Whether he deserved a capital punishment

was the question flashed before the eyes of

several human rights activists

and several citizens  across the nation

who struggled tirelessly

for his escape from the gallows…..

The clock  was ticking

fast or so it seemed………..

      

CORRIDORS

POEM

We walk along the

corridors of the castle

of life each day.

While we are on the

move, we meet several  

persons some familiar ones

and many others  strangers.

If by chance, we meet

familiar faces, we gift broad smiles

of familiarity to them

and they never fail to

return the same in equal measure. 

In these days and age 

we are always in a hurry

no matter whatever be the reasons.

We never care to mingle 

with them and exchange pleasantries with them.

Each day according to

our will and pleasure

we choose different  corridors, still

we continue  to meet the

familiar faces as well  as the strange ones.

Corridors aplenty,  walkers aplenty 

every second, every minute, every hour

to be precise throughout 24X7 like an ever  flowing river.

This is the sum total of life but

with the passage of time

faces change, continue to change

and there is no escape

from that reality……  

HER UNSEEN, UNWANTED TEARS

POEM

Her residence is a

poem sculpted in granite and marble.

A visual treat to

the onlookers which

for ever lingers before their eyes.

The gate itself is 

a grand spectacle

with two stuffed lions about

to roar which instill fears in

the minds of passersby

mistaking them alive about to

pounce on the former.

All, thanks to her husband abroad. 

 Her wardrobe is a

world of colourful sarees

costly, attractive and 

scintillating which are

exquisite, enchanting, enthralling blondes 

smile at her when

ever she finds time to

open the wardrobe and

watches and passes her

fingers over each of them

with boundless pride,

all, thanks to her husband

holding a lucrative profession abroad.

She has kept her shining and precious

gold ornaments and invaluable diamonds

costing more than a crore rupees

in the safe custody lockers

of a reputed bank in the city

and a huge bank balance

which too amounting crores in the form

of savings bank and fixed deposits

all, thanks to her husband

holding a lucrative profession abroad.

Two sons both in their teens

study in prestigious, reputed public schools

at Ooty,

a marvelous landscape which

too is a visual feast

to the tourists frequenting and

elites in the society

all, thanks to her loving husband who holds

a lucrative profession abroad.

Three ultramodern

expensive cars wait in

the porch always at her service.

All, thanks to her

loving husband who holds

a lucrative profession

abroad and both though

so far yet so near contact thru

frequent cell phone calls.

She with her maid-servant lives together

but not that peacefully and happily.

Her past is a

chain of nightmares which haunt

her forcing her to sob silently

with tears wetting her

pillows and all her nights are sleepless.

Her unforgettable

days poverty and hunger

the old dilapidated house

where her poor parents and

her starving siblings

not two or three

but more than ten of them

the days she and her

siblings dreamt for at least a pair of sarees,

shirts and trousers

at least a single ornament

to her and her sisters

and those fateful days school authorities

denied them permission to

enter the classes for not

paying the fees and for not wearing uniforms

with none coming forward to

extend helping hands

all make her weep uncontrollably but suppressing them.

Her siblings still pull on faraway places

facing unlimited sufferings and hardships

but they out of false pride

never stretches their hands infront of her for help
like beggars
for her love relationship and subsequent marriage

with a pariah (lower caste).   

     

LIKE A GORDIAN KNOT

POEM

Like an elephant

trampling a person to death

some developing nations reeling

under the onslaught of debt crisis

they desperately trying

to escape from the

clutches of being paupers

seize the stick of austerity measures

reluctantly and with heart-ache

bowing to the demands of

international shylocks and big sharks

like IMF, World Bank

and developed nations

and borrow huge amounts  to tide over

the crisis keeping in

their minds future bleak scenario

staring at them like wild animals.

Nowadays each ordinary

family slap austerity measures to pull on

tightening belts by the family members….

Debt-trap is like a

gordian knot which

we ordinary human beings

desperately try to unknot……

without scenting victory at all…….  

INFINITY

POEM

If I am the Sun

of my little family

my wife, children

and grand daughter

are my satellites

like the moon

circumambulating Earth

and She in turn

travelling around the Sun.

Once

I too was a satellite,

circumambulating

my father who was the Sun of

our family around whom

like I, my mother and

my siblings were

travelling around.

TIME is INFINITY

and from generation

to generation Suns 

and satellites go on changing,

changing, changing

and the ULTIMATE TRUTH

would remain eternally bright…..

IN THIS NEW AGE

POEM

Unrequitted love

manifests un upward

trend looking like

rockets shooting

upwards penetrating the sky. 

Dedicated love has

turned out to be a

cheap commodity in

the market of life in this age

of mushrooming live –in relationships.

True, dedicated love

continues to be here

on the very face of

this earth like an invaluable jewel

but very rare.

Pragmatism has taken

over in every kind of

love relationships and other

spheres  of life.

Not let up friends(?)

from this vicious circle

in this age youths

and others decide, either this or that

as long as it is of pomp and pageantry………

POETIC JUSTICE

POEM

A nauseating smell of a

dead rat pervaded the atmosphere

across the nook and cranny

of the country.

The tyrant sensed a certain defeat

at the hands of the raging soldiers of

the rival nation to conquer him,

and annex his nation to their country.

He went out of his palace incognito

ditching his consorts, children, loyalists

and took flight to an erstwhile friendly

nation, unfortunately for him

that nation denied permission to land the

plane in that country .

A visibly shaken, shocked and panicky tyrant was

at a loss to land the plane elsewhere.

It flew around and around until it 

ran out of fuel

and ultimately nosedived

into a desert and consigned to flames.

The victorious neighbouring

nation entered the palace

and upon  watching the

tyrant’s helpless and frightened

consorts, children and loyalists who were

bowing down before  the soldiers

who were granted amnesty and asylum……

ANY LESSON………………?

POEM

Her thoughts are like broken

pieces of her colourful, beautiful glass bangles

or like broken chains

each intermittently and remotely linked  with the other.

Always she ponders over arranging them in order

but to her deep regret, gnawing pain and sadness

her thoughts like monkeys jump from one

branch of a tree to another and from there

to another branch

in short to all branches, which ever branches

the monkeys like, without rest

she hangs her head

in despair, gloom and pain.

Sometimes with a

smile blooming in her lips

she remembers the story of a man

who in a desperate bid to

concentrate his mind at a fixed point 

approached a sage seeking guidance.

The sage with a detached smile in his lips

and with calm, tranquil and

serene face reminding

one of a transparent pond full of blue water

without ripples reflecting the clear and blue sky

advised him :

‘whenever you sit in meditation

at a secluded corner

free from all noises and other disturbances 

never allow a monkey to

intrude into your mind’.

Obliging the saint he

bowed down before him, went away

and sat at an isolated place

free from all hustle and bustle

and commenced his meditation.

To his disappointment, needling pain and sorrow

what he always saw in his inner eyes was

a monkey unwilling to leave him…..

She often sees the

face of  frustrated man and asks herself :

‘I am like that hapless man…..

Any lesson……?’

TEARS OF JOY

POEM

Awaiting you at Dadar

I spent the whole night

sitting and dozing somewhere

walking along from one end of the

platform to the other end

through the milling crowd

who had already come

and who kept on pouring into the platform 

like incessant rain

some with their luggages

some waiting to

receive their dear ones

who travel all  the way from Kerala,

and with the train blaring horn

from far away distance

with the anxious relatives 

and friends with their  eyes  shining,

hearts thumping and with many a joy

and news to share

hugging each other

lifting up each other with

rivers of tears of delight flowing down

each other’s faces

and lights shining

up above to display them

in front of the world.

Porters who were sitting

in the corners and playing cards

wake up and run helter-skelter

to have a good day

and cabbies waiting outside for good

rides expecting somebody to call them

for journeys, if possible long distance ones,

God willing.

Though I wandered looking for you

from compartment to compartment

till the last traveler went out

I couldn’t locate you and with sadness

I caught a taxi to the flat and

to my utter surprise and pleasure

you were there awaiting me outside the flat …..

you mischievous pretty girl..

‘Am I enjoying a dream’ – I asked myself

with my eyes gone wide

and you rushing to hug me, hug me, hug me

and trying to lift me up

to the world of ecstasy……  

THOSE GLORIOUS DAYS

POEM

Those were not the days of cell phones.

Those were not the days of internet and 

e-mails pregnant with life-less words. 

Those were the days of

lively, throbbing words

inside inlands or postal covers.

On the day of her departure to the

distant city to take up  her new assignment

her eyes welling up and

the lump in her throat

blocking her not to bare her feelings.

With a smile, though a painful one

which he hid behind the veil of pleasantness

he consoled her.

‘Cry not my daughter

I wish always I wish

you were my own daughter

do write to me and

share with me your joys and sorrow

here I am free to share

with you and console you

whenever  you feel like missing me badly

here I am always anxious to learn

about your moments of joy and delight and

thereby overwhelm me and get me elated.

You always wished

to call me your friend, philosopher  and guide,

even your mentor.

Do I deserve such compliments

and if you are so particular, eyes

you can call me that way

and let me call you

my daughter, my own beloved daughter.

Once in a year or two, whenever

 I get an opportunity to

pass thru your beloved city, you know

by that time you would get accustomed with

the city, part of the city which does

have a rare virtue to endear anyone

who spends mere two weeks of sojourn

 with her and gets attracted to her lullaby,

care and affection.

You know, once upon a time I too was

in her lap and was close to her bosom.

Write to me, my daughter

write to me, whenever

you fell free to share

with me your joys and sorrows….. ‘

AS USUAL

POEM

Everything was as usual.

With embers of anger

and frustration raging within her

she woke up from deep

slumber with a sudden jerk

on hearing  the roar of calling bell

reminding that of a lion.

She walked towards the

door without switching on the light 

unlocked the door gritting her teeth

and went towards the bed with drowsy eyes

and slumped into it,

lapsed once again into  deep sleep.

Wobbling, he switched on the light

and locked the door from inside

and without undressing fell into

the sofa after switching off the light.

Everything was as usual.

Mechanical, to be precise……

Like diluting a

concentrated dark solution

thick darkness will gradually fall

and the sun will rise

but for them life is as usual……

WARS

POEM

Reports of war between

two countries,

reports of war between

a group of nations

against another group of nations

even if millions and millions perish,

millions and millions flee for life

and seek refuge

in any comparatively

peaceful nations and set up

tents in constant fear  

properties worth millions crash down

ear-splitting explosions

as results frequent bombings

fire-spitting machine guns,

explosions after explosions

tragic scenes of innocence getting

stifled for no fault of  those ‘red-roses’

occur/occurs in some parts of the world

ultimately gaining nothing….

Reports of rulers still visiting

other nations signing either defence contracts

worth billions and billions of dollars

while millions are starving 

millions of hapless girls and mothers

raped and murdered

prices sky-rocket

millions of roofless beings

millions without sanitation facilities

greenery disappearing from the face of earth

terrorist hydra spreading

tentacles and squeeze the

essence of innocents

wars were here

wars are here

wars will be here

and we are here to

fall victims…. 

NEW ERA

POEM

The freedom fighters

were on the look out for the

ruthless, wretched autocrat

who ruled the country

for more than three

decades with an iron-fist

depriving the masses of

the basic necessities

of life like hunger, famine, malnourishment et al

resulting in starvation deaths of

lakhs and lakhs and as a result

their patience reached its nadir.

They gathered under

one umbrella and

decided to take up

cudgels against him and his loyalists.

The arrogant dictator ordered his loyalist

militia to butcher the masses enmasse.

The militia tried to suppress the

masses with all their might.

Fire-bombings,

machine guns and

other sophisticated weapons,

and lakhs of armed forces killed

and maimed millions of freedom fighters mercilessly.

With grit and determination the latter

with their  lethal weapons launched

fierce  attacks and killed the armed

forces, loyalists and

 near and dear ones

of the dictator and

without taking at least

a second’s rest went on

the rampage with the sole aim of demolishing

the fortress where the

autocrat was wining and

dining with his confidents

enjoying the dancing of scantly clad

attractive and lascivious danseuses

who inebriated them.

At last after heavy

shelling and bombings

the masses demolished the fortress.

The autocrat stealthily

ran away for life

with some of his sycophants and consorts 

and the  remaining ones were murdered.

Finding no safe haven to

hide, the dictator at last took refuge

inside a tunnel.

After angry and determined search

for the ‘man-eater’ the

fighters located him and

pulled him out

beat him up, kicked him

dealt continuous blows on him

and dragged him down the

dilapidated streets until he

was bathed in blood and

finally pushed into the hell.

They celebrated his murder by dancing

along the streets and bursting fire-crackers

for days together.

The rise of a

new sun heralded the

beginning of a NEW ERA……

NOSTALGIA

POEM

We vividly recall the
days on which
we were part and parcel of
the capital city of Delhi.
Though Delhites
we were delighted
the very moments dark clouds
appeared on the sky.
We often anxiously waited
for blessings by the
rain god for torrential
rains to escape from  intolerable heat
and heat waves or loo lashing the city
and we used to
dance down the streets
until we were satisfied to the brim.
Citizens and vehicles
nearly submerged
across the length and breadth of the
capital city.
It was  sort of a festival for all of us
both watching the pouring rain
glancing from the balconies and those who
often swam with the current.
The same was the case
with the drivers and other travelers
inside the vehicles.
For those who were
an integral part of the capital city
even today Delhi
has not changed a bit and whenever
the city nearly
drowns in the water
and rises to the maximum height
like a reservoir in spate.
For we watching
the sight through visual media
the scent of nostalgia
compels us to visit the
city once in a while.

SITAR

POEM

Ever since they got separated

she withdrew into

her shell and kept away

from all relationships.

Ever since they got separated

she didn’t like to indulge in

romance with anyone.

Ever since they got separated

he went to US  to demonstrate

his skill in the world of sitar

thereby charming everybody

and for inviting applause by the audience

and he came across a US lady who

fell in love with him and she made him

her  life partner.

on hearing the news she felt nothing

and kept mum.

While he could forget her and marry a

white lady why couldn’t

she enter into a married life with

a person she liked?

She didn’t even think

about such a relationship. 

On hearing about him winning laurels

as a sitar maestro she felt immense

pride and hid her pleasure and delight

behind the veil of gloom.

While both were the

disciples of her father

she was always a step ahead of him

and both fell in love with each other

and got married with the blessings of her father.

Ever since they got

separated she never 

touched any musical instruments

and gave them eternal rest.

Ever since they got separated

she went on a pilgrimage to

holy places and paid obeisance

and reached the foothills of Himalayas.

While she was travelling

to North India once she met him

and his second wife  

she didn’t feel envy or frustration

but the flame of his shining face died down.

She spent her

time looking through  the window

of the train and enjoyed

the sunflower fields on both sides of the railway tracks

and peahens spreading attractive wings along the way.

When she heard about his death

in United States leaving his wife and

two daughters 

through the visual media first

and print media later

she didn’t shed  at least a few drops of

tears since detachment

had already entered her soul…..    

HE CAME EMPTY HANDED

POEM

He came alone empty-handed

we were seeing him

the first time in our life.

Our hospitality seemed

touching and enthralling to him.

The innocence in his

eyes reminded a transparent

pond reflecting the transparent

clear blue sky up above.

It looked like he had

come to our home with

a determination to stay 

with us as if the home was his also.

It was a treat to us  to watch his movements.

We served him nutritious

food  in the days to come

to ensure his happiness and satisfaction.

With the leap-frogging of the

days, the aged ones breathed their last.

The occasional  deaths of  the aged persons

seized our happiness intermittently.

Like us weeping in remembrance of

our elders he too shared our sorrow

by shedding  tears down his cheeks

since he had already

become one among us.

He emerged  out in flying colours

in each examination

-until he completed higher studies.

He fell in love with a pretty lass

while he was doing higher studies

and with the blessings of elders

he tied the nuptial knot

and exchanged garlands and wedding rings

the ceremony ended on a happy note.

In their married life

his wife  delivered

two children, one a baby boy

and the other a  baby girl.

With almost all elders

bidding farewell and 

their souls flew out

to their heavenly abode 

solitude like a curse 

encroached the line

prohibiting not to cross the line

from entering the home

the silence of the graveyard overpowered

even the rare opportunities

they wished to celebrate.

Both he and she got aged

and she was the first to

bid farewell to all.

That was a severe shock to him

And even though the

children  wanted to make him happy

and cheerful

but to no avail.

Depression dragged him  graduall]y

and he too followed 

in to her foot steps 

and one day he also went

empty handed…….

THE TWILIGHT

POEM

Sun had shed

his intense anger

with the slow approach of twilight.

From afar I saw my

uncle in his saffron 

robe sitting on a concrete bench

under a gulmohar tree with full of

red flowers.

He was sitting alone

as if he was expecting somebody

coming to visit him.

He had become too lean

looking like a breathing skeleton.

When he saw me approaching him

his eyes shone and tears welled up in his eyes.

I sat near him and gifted me a painful smile.

From a millionaire to a

pauper because of

his uncontrolled drinking

with his so-called

friends in the faraway city.

And he finding no other way

started disposing of his business empire.

At last he along with his family caught a train

to his native village

followed by shifting 

to his wife’s house. 

‘Auntie and children

coming to meet

you once in a

while, No?’ I enquired him.

With sarcasm writ large on his face

he told me:

‘Even if the children

wanted to see me

the ultimate authority

is she and no one else.’

The twilight sun

went down the western

horizon with the fall of darkness.

‘She has amassed a huge amount

while I was spending my  golden days

 in the faraway city,

and when I became bankrupt

 she asked me to go out of her house

since she didn’t have any  need of me.

I saw my children silently

weeping which broke my heart.

Meanwhile the disease reached its

final stage and I caught

a bus to meet  my one

and only brother who

was instrumental in

admitting me in the sanatorium.

Occasionally he comes to me

from  the faraway house and 

spent some precious moments with me.

The river of

time was flowing quickly.

‘Uncle, let’s go

inside the sanatorium

and it is too dark’

we entered it and I helped him to

lie on his bed.

I gave him some money and told :

This is for my satisfaction. Please

accept it. I shall come

to meet you at least

twice o r thrice of a month.

Tears flowed down from his eyes…..                                                                                                           

and from my eyes too as I was  walking

to the street side

to catch an auto or bus to the city

to catch the train chugging  fast

runs  thru my village.

His emaciated figure

reflected again and again

in the mirror of my mind………..

PARKS CUM GARDENS

POEM

In the suburbs of Mumbai

parks and gardens are aplenty.

One day is not enough

to count the number of

parks here in Mumbai.

With darkness slowly descending

and sodium vapour lamps opening their eyes

the greenish-yellow lights come

to life till the morning

partially unveiling the dark blankets.

Citizens flow to the parks

to spend their invaluable

time there for more than one hour.

Lovers, couples, parents,

children and people who prefer to be lonely

and aloof from others thinking about  

what they deem appropriate etc etc.

At central Matunga

there is a circular garden cum park

covered with green carpet

and tall trees here and there

bearing  different kinds of

blooms and concrete

chairs around and in the middle.

Parents visit the park with their

children on holidays

who play hide and seek game there

which bring smiles to the parents’ lips.

Friends who pay visit discussing

various subjects pertaining to matters

which to them are important.

The vehicles circumambulating without stop

except when red signals say ‘no’ disappear

until flickering of green signal which says ‘yes’.

Similar is the case about citizens who

wait to cross the road.

In this imperfect world

of  absurdities these

people visit the parks 

which are dime a dozen.

About hundred feet away

from the beautiful

circular garden cum park  

there is a sprawling park with concrete

chairs on the sides of the park.

This is a park exclusively

for lovers (need not be lovers)

who make merry

and a number of voyeurists

who take their place in

the middle of the garden from where

they enjoy the merry making of the lovers 

thereby arousing their carnal instincts.  

MISSION TO THE STARS

POEM

Climbing up the ladder one by one

taking ample time

we reached moon

the first time in our life.

We walked and climbed the hillocks

and collected soil of

the moon and bundled it.

To our shock and surprise

we saw a man in dhoti

conducting a tea shop.

Inside we watched a

few people, both men and women sipping tea.

Aghast we whispered in each other’s ears

it is better not to

take rest  for a long time

apprehending trouble

from those people inside the tea shop.

But to our surprise we saw their

expressionless faces as if

they were not seeing us.

Anyhow we stuck to

our decision to climb up the ladder  one by one

since our ultimate aim was

reaching for the stars

glittering up in the skies.

The more we climbed up

the more was scorching heat

virtually roasting us.

Still we climbed up and up

until we  couldn’t climb up further.

The man who was in

the first ladder felt like he was

being burnt to death.

Besides him we too felt

a burning sensation

and all of us suffered

dehydration and prayed 

to God for water to quench our thirst.

We blamed ourselves

for not carrying water

before  preparing to

climb up the ladder

and should have known

about the thorns of blazing heat

being thrust into our body

as we were climbing upwards.

Someone from among

the stars shouted us

to return to Earth within no time.

It was just like an

oracle from someone up.

‘We are your forefathers

and whenever you get

aged without seeking

anyone’s permission

you would reach here’

the oracle reminded us.

On hearing the

warning we were

in a hurry to reach earth.

Unfortunately we

were far away from

the earth and we cried

and cried, prayed and prayed

for stomachfull of cold water.

We found ourselves in a state of

between the devil and hard rock.

CASTLE OF DREAMS

POEM

In the dark alleys of life

what would happen when

a person with normal vision and

a visually challenged person

are trapped?

Both the visually challenged person

and a person with normal vision

would evolve into two sides of the same coin.

What would happen

when the train of life enters a long tunnel?

When a train enters a long tunnel

the passengers hope for a light at the

end of the tunnel.

Until the train emerges out of darkness the passengers

who suffered kind of suffocation and heave a sigh of relief.

What would be the dreams of parents

whenever they mull about

the future of their children?

No doubt they would hope to

see their children building a bright future.

What would happen if their

train of life derails  by which

resulting in the collapse of their train of life?

The train would collapse and their

parents’ castle of  dreams

would crash down into a  heap of dust.

What would you feel

while on your way to

the railway station to catch the train when

a child in her shining costume

reminding one of an angel,

gifts you  a red rose and wish you:

‘Good morning uncle, today

is my birthday’

looking into her innocent eyes

and attractive smiles, caressing her chubby cheeks

you feel like you are being

elevated to a world of  indefinite delight…..

‘Many many happy returns of the day baby,’

‘thanks, my child

uncle feels elated……..’’

Her dad whom

you  are familiar with

might be glancing at you

from a distance of a few feets

with a broad smile…..  

COMPLACENCY

POEM

Everyday during my evening walk

down the narrow road

without footpath

I let my eyes wander around to the

left, right and front

to enjoy the beautiful

lush green landscape

and variety of flowers

which enchant me, enthrall me

and the cool breeze

from the west on its way

to the east caresses me,

embraces me and

plants kisses all over me lifting me to

an ethereal world.

Unlike the city which

does have footpaths

and a broad road for the

vehicles to ply in opposite directions

this rural narrow road is

full of  craters and pot-holes

thru which vehicles

move along to and fro hooting horns.

I, being a daily evening walker

those living on the street side houses

might be throwing their eyes  towards me also.

Upon looking at my eyes

wandering left, right and front

must be  apprehending an accident.

They might be shouting

at me to take care

while walking along, it seems

the narrow road full of craters

and pot-holes thru which

vehicles rush ahead blaring horns.

But I am confident

and my unusual presence  of mind

might be jumping all hurdles while walking ahead.

With the onset of sunset

after reaching the junction

I start returning to my residence.

While walking ahead

Sun evolves into a wide crimson circle about which

I always think about

‘what a glamorous visual feast to watch’

forgetting my private thoughts.

While continuing my evening walk,

a  car suddenly came to a halt

and the  man driving the

car shouted at in his full-throat voice

‘Bloody rascal, where

the hell are you glancing at

and don’t you know

how long we tooted

followed by a chain of

epithets breathlessly’.

‘Pardon me for the inconvenience

it is my fault.

Actually I was enjoying

the beautiful sunset in the western horizon.'

He was frowning at me and

without uttering a single word

turned the  ignition key and sped along.

I blushed and looked around…..

KICK AND TOSS

POEM

Like a football being

kicked and tossed around by

a group of football players

or like a cat for the

sake of fun kick and toss a

mouse around before

killing and swallowing it

he is being tossed

and kicked by his

authorities  across the

length and breadth of the nation

and get on his nerves

but suppress it.

On thinking about

his parents  and siblings

since he is the sole

breadwinner of his family

he obeys his authorities

otherwise faces the wrath of

his authorities

who might show the

door and thus dispense with his  service.

He is aware of  such instances

Charge with gross insubordination.

If he were a

descendant of a wealthy family

he would not have

continued and remained subservient  

towards the institution where he served.

But he being the sole breadwinner

of his family he allows himself

to be tossed around

till the very bottom of his patience.

Intentionally playing

into the hands of

the higher-ups though

heavy is a fun also.