James Ki Wadi

But for an occasional boozy debate-

silently the men drank in an old hut.

The thirsts of the guzzlers did not abate

with their dreamy eyes and the souls half shut.

Here a pond rippled amidst the tall trees,

and in the cool grass the dogs lazed away.

Here the toads croaked with bellies full of fleas,

and watched these puffy eyed men drool and sway.

This place terrified us when we were kids

though the scary looking men were not mean.

We scrambled away from their stares and hid,

unaware that they were not as they seemed.

Little did we know that with hours to spare-

we would do the same one far day somewhere.

Saturdays

Tele blazes the background,

ticktack go vegetables.

Ice in whiskey swirl around,

old legs sigh on a table.

Their smiles reflect the warm souls,

and gossips spice up the air.

On streets of our past we stroll-

photos, memoirs everywhere.

How old yet fresh are these lanes-

I wish to be here again.

Meena / Appu Clan

Meena watches us from miles

with Appu now by her side.

Through the sunlight streams her smile

to tell - here her soul resides.

And his own back Appu pats,

in the gruff voice joy he hides.

I guess he reads all our chats-

feel his scholarly eyes glide.

Yet we want to hear them more-

so we knock on heaven’s door.

Carpet

Here she lies in woolly laze

with the embroidery spread.

Here we soar in God’s embrace-

hope for wings with magic threads.

And her spell warmth emanates

in the winter nights of blur.

Royal aura nobly states

when honoured to walk on her.

But for joy and slumber deep-

what troubles under not sweep.

Intrinsic

Often I wonder of her-

the silent strength she portrays.

Of the fire that she stirs

like diamonds when on display. 

Then why I look to others,

ask if this beauty is fair?

When deep I hear the mutters

that she is beyond compare.

When virtues the soul unmasks-

your eyes will set the benchmark.

Threshold

We come from different terrains,

and arrive at the threshold.

With less faith in fate’s domain

we stand seeking a new road.

But we fear the time ahead

yet dare not the clock on hand.

And blemish the past instead

for unfit to take a stand. 

And to conceal the errors-

we just alter our mirrors.

Empathy

Today I assumed your guise,

wore your clothes, walked in your shoes.

I saw with your deep set eyes,

and wandered amidst your muse.

I sensed the throbs of your veins,

and your image undisguised.

Same old picture with new paints-

happy to be recognised.

The vicarious thrills and woes-

the soul of a mirror knows.

His Chair

Here he idled silent hours-

tea, newspapers, memories.

Here he sat but seemed so far-

sometimes lost in reveries.

Half shut window, half shut eyes-

often in noons he napped here. 

But his smile could not disguise

the thrill of ice cream with beer. 

Now his indented chair squeaks-

his deep-seated presence speaks.

Window

High up a house I sat by the window,

and let me eyes flutter till they watered.

On a quiet street where trams tinged below,

and wriggled through the old town and sauntered.

In the distance waltzed the colourful sails

to the rhythm of the melodic sea.  

Their lazy swagger left a frothy trail,

and naughty waves rippled with ecstasy.

And across my house lived an old lady

who sprinkled, caressed her pots of lilies.

She gazed at the trams from her balcony-

bemused by the riders ride wavily.

My long window frame filmed pieces of time-

with mugs of coffee, tumblers of red wine.

Spain Yard

Large and sensuous appear the mountains-

how they undulate with a lustrous roll.

Shades of lazy green on the horizon 

where tanned hills stretch like wrinkles of a mole.

Scent of the forest mingles with the wind,

and sprinkles its essence over the field.

Dew in the air floats around with a glint

to which the blades of the grass gently yield.

Carpets of sunflowers bathe in sunshine-

the lemony curls with the chocolate disks.

Colours guzzle these misty eyes of mine-

the brush of the artist paints picturesque.

Miles of landscape is sketched on this canvas-

Long, winding roads, and the clock behind us.

Pillow Talks

Lay down your head on me when toils are done,

the limbs are weary and taken their toll.

When moon takes over the reigns from the sun,

and rest you must before the new tides roll.

Your droopy eyelids seem to have seen much

as the blur images of the day float by.

The lease of the ears is past as such-

it is time for the shy tongue to untie.

I feel your thoughts unfold over my crease-

some are dew heavy, some with dry humour.

They soon mingle with my wrinkles to tease,

and tell the tale in their dreamy murmurs.

Your shape imprints with every toss and turn-

but sweetens the night as our musings churn.

Sea Legs

Ship swayed on troubled waters-

the mischievous sea at play.

The frothy slopes ponderous,

and secrets deep to display.

The wheel spun searching in hope,

sails fluttered to winds of change.

The seamen tightened the ropes,

and love defogged all the rage.

On those oscillating decks-

somehow I found my sea legs.

The Sleep

With heavier steps and heart

he walked around in his house.

Not believing she would part-

his will to live was soon doused.

Awake at nights with her thoughts

in hope that she rose one time.

Everywhere her picture sought,

unfolding days of their prime.

And one dawn he woke no more-

head on hands slept on the floor.

Hunger

Two small stones clattered for beat,

deep nasal voice sang for food.

Little girl scampered bare feet,

arms for alms her mother stood.

Often a smile filled these souls-

not enough for their bellies.

Sometimes few coins clinked their bowl,

and the lives got a new lease.

Short and light is their slumber-

long is the song of hunger.

Amma

Unknown to different culture,

stranger to other language.

Yet determined to nurture

her babies of varied age.

She would pamper us with food

and barrels of coffee strong.

She revived the motherhood-

where she had always belonged.

Short feels her stay so priceless-

her image stamped is timeless.

Romantics

The colourful buds nestled each other-

their love blossomed for it sought no season.

The pleasures of vibes and eyes that muttered,

the mischievous veins heeded no reason.

Her gaze would kindle his poetic soul,

and wrinkles of her smile glowed with his verse.

The drops of emotions glistened and rolled,

blended with aroma of two lovers.

Sweet were the voices to ears so eager,

and gossips played a different melody.

And in absence their presence would linger-

the whispers imprinted on memory.

The wind would carry their scents to announce-

the fifty five summers of pure romance.

Raaha

As cotton weaves its magic,

a smile is stitched with each thread.

And the borders are all lit-

colours of traditions spread.

How graceful she is when draped,

and flows like musical notes.

Her designs don soulful shapes

of passion and fashion coats.

She is Raaha for all age-

emblazons our heritage.

My Little Thinker Twenty Two

How fast these years have sailed

waltzing and riding each wave-

from the time when she first wailed-

unaware what joy that gave.

Now, she speaks with twinkling eyes

which are ever so agile.

Gobbles up chocolates and ice,

and hides the mischievous smile.

She has a soul pure and true-

little thinker twenty two.