Milking

 

The big fat cows with their milk-bellies sway.

With long loud moos they burp the milk away.

Predawn comes the milkman in his blue van.

Fills it in bottles for all to display.

Freedom

 

To be where I want to be.

To say what I want to say.

To look like no one but me.

To act as the senses play.

To think without any guilt.

To do what I think is right.

To let no emotions wilt.

To not surrender to might.

When I hear those soulful rings-

I shall soar on eagle wings.

Ticks

 

My heart wavers often times

but it beats with solemn pride.

Mind churns melodious chimes

for thoughts have nowhere to hide.

As fate rolls its cyclic dice

emotions flip and unlock.

To know the wise from the vice-

the soul sounds intuitive knocks.

Let the life-cards play their tricks.

I listen and read my ticks.

Desire And Passion

 

With all my will I desire

but lack the might of passion.

I burn with the thirst of fire

but know not love from fashion.

For a false image I crave

which blurs with passage of time.

Where as fate embrace the brave,

and pursue the pure divine.

Desire is ephemeral.

But passion is eternal.

Bow And Arrow

 

Bow is moulded by the soul.

Its mighty strings tensed to roar.

Wood is curved and battle-rolled,

and would twang to bow or soar.

Arrow piloted by mind

headed to distant armours.

But its steel-eyes, feathered hind

might trail a path amorous.

A bowyer prides in his craft.

A fletcher juggles his shafts.

Rain

 

The scent of petrichor permeated.

The land readied for the pearls from the skies.

The muse of the drenched souls long awaited-

poured its heart out with melodious sighs.

Some souls danced in this shower of blessings.

Some watched it splatter on their window panes.

And the tall trees spread their wide leafy wings.

Cats and dogs chased in the slippery lanes.

The birds gaped for here fell their wonder drops.

The streams burbled with a sparkling vigour.

The valleys greened around the mountain tops,

and the echoes rolled with a new swagger.

Small paper boats swirled around in puddles.

And the sweet drizzle lulled us with cuddles.

Grape

 

And the vineyard buzzes with dark red grapes.

My mind and the soul exchange lustful gapes.

Here comes their crush - vintner the grape crusher.

And the velvety fruit juicy form drapes.

String

 

Play me on a violin

or strum me on a guitar.

Pluck me on a mandolin

or buzz me on a sitar.

Lean on me to dry your drops,

tie me to a kite to soar.

Wrap me around a sweet top,

shake me for the bells to roar.

Pull me to call in favours

or detach me and savour.

Image

 

You cannot digest what speaks the mirror,

and feverishly search to mend the damage.

You blame it for it reflects your errors,

and portrays not your new made-up image.

So you snap, click and edit your photo-

colours to present a different picture.

Camouflaged with layers from head to toe,

hiding the soul but flashing the texture.

You caption this frame to further enhance,

peppered with a sweet voice to go along.

In hope to upraise the societal stance

but unaware where you truly belong.

But soon this drama and dice go backstage-

you call the mirror for a pure image.

Ganesh Chaturthi

 

There he sits with folded legs

with long ears that lend to all.

Round about the trunk-nose spreads,

eloquent eyes like a doll.

Blessings for good beginnings-

here we redeem all our vows.

Sweetness of modak streaming,

quietly munches his mouse.

Longer need this ten days lease-

but he dives into the seas.

Janmashthami

 

Embodying divine spirits

the human pyramid soared.

Swaying with colourful wits,

the souls danced as the rain poured.

And amidst the bells of joy,

a small boy climbed to the top.

Mischievous appearing coy,

he broke the clay yogurt pot.

And as the white honey flew-

deep inside me a conch blew.

Birthday

 

She would wear a new saree,

and wait with a plate and knife.

Bindi, bangles, eyes sparkly

for the cake would soon arrive.

Smile broadened when we entered-

we touched her feet, hugged her tight.

And as the emotions stirred,

she blessed us with all her might.

Would a cake now taste yummy?

Happy birthday to mummy.

Liar

 

When the silver sands of the beach beckon,

I tell myself that I don't want to roll.

What does a lone ship at the sea reckon 

when I sail not but she can read my soul?

Though far away, I hear the mountains call-

I tell my limbs you are too old to climb.

And the echoes of the valleys recall

but I fear that I am not in my prime.

And when the long gliders fly in the sky

I close my eyes for they seem just too high.

But I am awake when the seagulls cry

for even daring to dream I am shy. 

How far do horizons appear to lie?

Or is it just me I wonder and sigh.

War-Cry

 

War is over and fewer men return

now aware that it wasn’t yet their turn.

The teary eyes thirsty for a long sleep

but pillows will dry after nightmares burn.

Butterfly And Bee

 

I would want to be a pink butterfly

basking in the yellow morning sunshine.

I would flap my colourful wings to fly,

and hop from flower to flower to dine.

Or rather I live as a honey bee,

and make the golden liquid of pleasure?

I will disguise it from those eyes greedy,

and shall use my sting to guard the treasure.

But a honey bee buzzes all the while-

for people like us who steal her nectar.

And the poor butterfly is so docile

that it lives to please us like an actor.

If ever fate gives me a choice of role-

I would not know on which path I would roll.

Sketch

 

What I sketched took shape elsewhere

my dreamy mind had conjured.

The same deep eyes, fluffy hair-

an image appeared from blur.

When I coloured her red heart-

it began to beat somewhere.

Now all the paints of my art

this art-born woman will wear.

Here she is on my canvas-

and there she lives amongst us.

Hurry

 

How has this clock with two swords

wrapped us around its fingers.

The tick tocks and chiming chords

have cast a spell that lingers.

We hasten as strike the wands

and drift nowhere from somewhere.

What magic lies far beyond

that this hour seems so unfair?

But time heeds to no worries-

Is there a need to hurry?

Jug

 

A jug of whiskey with spice

for the two mischievous old.

Bouts of fire on cubes of ice-

the hazy stories retold.

Sweeter rumbled the mumbles,

and louder the glasses clinked.

Woozily tales just tumbled

as the oldies laughed and blinked.

Giddier turned every verse

till the sun donned new colours.

Rapel Mallick

 

Long I walked on the road along the shore

till the coastal sun took the reins to pour. 

The salty sea-winds ruffled my long hair,

and I paused so could weary legs repair.

Across the street a smiling young  man stood

selling his wares amidst the shaded woods.

Heaps of coconuts piled on his old cart

displaying the pure art of nature’s mart.

He looked at me and saw my thirsty eyes,

and asked if I wanted one cold as ice.

I could sense the sweet water of the fruit-

sweeter it seemed at the end of my route.

But alas! I had carried no money-

I would be deprived of this white honey.

In a helpless gesture I told him so

but shaking his head he refused my no.

“Quench your desire and say no more,” he said.

“Joyous I be when a thirsty soul fed.

Pay me whenever you are passing by,

else enough I see in your thankful eye.”

I was taken aback by this kindness.

The offer too surreal for shyness.

I guzzled the sweet coconut water

as the day was turning a bit hotter.

Happy I was, happier the man seemed.

It broke my heart for I may not pay him.

Grateful was I though heavy was this load,

tourist I was so might not pass his road.

Then I asked him about his family-

the sweet eyes of his salted steadily.

He lost his young wife when their son was born,

holding her hands with the last look forlorn.

The little boy is all he lived for now

along with her memories of their vows.

so much to live for, so much is plenty-

as I turned to leave with my hands empty.

But then I saw an old friend approaching

with hands in pockets and my hopes searching.

He lent me the cash I owed this young soul

who had taken the sun’s reins and control.

Here stood a unique man one of a kind

who seemed had already made up his mind.

With that cash he bought me a souvenir-

a seashell that journeyed from far to here.

I thanked him for the gift and bid goodbye

caressing this beauty with a curious eye.

A milky white piece with memories hemmed

to remind me of this man, a true gem.

What Is It?

 

Summertime but I feel cold.

Empty thoughts that seem so deep.

Heavy eyes of tears unrolled.

So tired yet cannot sleep.

Things begin to drift away.

Known faces now appear strange.

But my wits will find a way

as memories rearrange.

Worry not to find the cause-

the mind has taken a pause.

Rajubhai

 

Man with a sense of humour

though appeared quiet and shy.

Read no news, loved no rumours,

just with his smile he lived by.

He would greet with a salute,

and wander at a canter.

Chirped till you told him to mute,

but ready for a banter.

His wand now no more in hand-

I will miss this blue-shorts man.

The Dancing Girl

 

I have watched this little girl

grow up in my neighbourhood.

Fluffy hair ever unfurled

dancing away her childhood.

She walked with a bouncy gait,

and spoke with her big round eyes.

And the boys would drool and wait

for a glimpse of fire and ice.

Though I shall see her no more - 

her image my soul will pour.

Final Breath

 

Here she took her final nap

with no fear, tears or wails.

A story book by her lap

likely of romantic tales.

Smile still lingered on her face

but the one that makes you weep.

Close yet so faraway gaze

that my soul forever keeps.

Let her past be my future-

my mother and my teacher.