Aishu

 

I first saw her when she was two years old.

She spoke to me in her broken English.

- Talk to people - She was probably told.

We were unaware that that was her wish.

Bubbly child sounded much like a dolby-

Aishu was born to spread love and laughter.

This little kid brought out the kid in me.

And her presence I will feel much after.

She was a friend, and she was a daughter.

Someone you could just dream or hope to be.

I will pluck memories from my jotter.

And wish her joy wherever she may be.

I will miss those big, naughty, dreamy eyes.

Though they will appear in a different guise.

Version

 

Memories are just versions-

some are real, some made up. 

When truth finds no diversion-

we conveniently dream up. 

Mysteries are glorified. 

And the history is blurred. 

War and peace are storified

for we like the written word. 

A myth is passed on as fact-

unaware what truth it lacks. 

Interpreter

Leaders talk back and forth in their lingos. 

The interpreter stands by translating. 

The future of the world is mapped and coursed

as people around live in hope- waiting. 

But somehow the interpreter blunders. 

Exchange of dialogues turns ambiguous. 

People now stand stupefied in wonder,

and the curious  become furious. 

Unaware that the language was twisted-

the chaos these leaders fail to fathom. 

Toil is wasted for the time invested.

The peace-talks become a meaningless hum. 

Was this an error or just theatre?

The interpreter becomes the scripter.