At the Get-go!

 

 

At the get-go, am I to get into

the new abode,

swinging between two brothers,

with each other shortly, part the siblings,

on the elder’s completion of his life.

Performed his duties with skill and smartness

though witnessed in abundance our mishaps.

Destiny drove us to the torrents

taking away many lives of the ill-fated,

he eyed the wars between people and people

and nation and nation; terror,  humanity nil

and found in killings thrill.

 

The younger but in new garb will loom afresh;

smile on the face and hands, cheerful

to cuddle us, bringing the honey of comfort

to sweeten the days, it will carry, giving

a smooth go for the world to plan its future,

filling hope in anxious hearts, holding our hands

to light a wick in the dark and guide us.

The year in hand at bidding bye

waves his hand to his brother, offering his throne.

Forgetting the bygone occurrences,

fulfil our resolutions for the period waiting,

and may a good spirit of feeling be our pal of pick.

 

 

MAY THE NEW YEAR BRING JOY TO ALL.

 

 

 

Your Imagination!

 

 

 

A palatial domicile, you had dreamed of,

in your compound trees, ornate

with pretty swaying twigs, full of greens,

the dawn sun in its glow of saffron,

chirping and singing birds having wings

of varying hues as a palatal feast for the eyes.

 

A happy home was in your imagination,

 affectionate home mates, tangy food,

clothing of your liking, travel style of your choice

sizable rooms, costly seating in the sitting,cosy beds,

A.C.to keep your body driving away the hot feeling,

a loving partner, adjusting and bearing your ire.

 

But ifs and buts rule your physique and psyche,

if your grey matter revolves in the orbit of gloom,

if desires wear the coat of irk and distress and

if your pals, partners or progeny build an invisible

fencing around you, you will repel them

covertly, then gloom will be your mind’s emperor.

 

So, be in love with the stars blinking at you,

 with the grin of the moon,the lovely birds, 

 the beautiful blooms, the glassy pond-liquid, 

lotuses and lilies in friendship, the swimming Pisces,

and make such things your worries’ erasers,

all pull your minds to reside with them.

 

 

 

 

A Story of Yonder!

 

Climbed it, the little legs, the tree,

 cheated the tender limbs, the plant tall,

or the legs cheated the owner,

fell, adorned the legs, the doctor

no, a nurse with a plaster,

when so, the doctor asked her.

 

Would have agony, cuddled Mom,

if had been with Dad,  my mother,

he cried endlessly at me,

Now, no suffering she has, oh!No,

you are cruel, God! With Father

 not there, Mom, to dry my tears.  

 

One and a half months ate away

 days, numbering forty-five,

throwing the child to bed indeed.

 I lamented in my heart and was sad

seeing my playmates

run, jump and shower with water.  

 

The great doctor, time patted

 on the wound and pampered

the child, I, to try standing

and with his pals, playing,

as before, yes, the child became

smarter than earlier.

 

 

The Great Master!

O! Time, the great mentor, janitor

no hesitation, trots and trots, forward,

doing things  for beings forever,

opening a folder, saving animate acts,

 keeping his mouth closed, he travels,

travels, no stress, no end nor any beginning.

 

Watching and catching everything

walks at a smooth pace, for mentoring,

rushing as in a supersonic plane,

allowing no speed or slow pattern,

and giving people not much to learn,

as what he is doing is pure and clear.

 

Saving the misdeeds of ruffians

silky and glossy actions of great ones,

languid and lazy  acts of easy-goers

well in his twenty-twenty-four folder,

he walks and trots, with no pause or slip,

to open a new folder, twenty-twenty-five.

 

On opening wide, the old folder,

the acts one did will loom in front,

blaming or praising each and all

for their creations, useless or useful

for one can value and measure himself

or weigh its weight to obtain the fees.

 

Wish you all a peaceful 2025.

 

   

Dead Ears!

 

It was then that the silence took charge of the sky,

many eyes of the terrain were closed,  no stars in their

 Kingdom, though starry the night was, the clouds

 dethroned them, breaking boundaries of acts set,

 and sitting on the throne started beating the Earth;

 throwing thousands and thousands of sticks.

 

Mother Earth, pouring affection and abundant love

on her children, feeding them, providing them

 air and water and solving problems of heat 

and cold by fitting natural coolers and heaters, 

humming a lullaby tune for sleep-care for them;

but tear away her children, their Mother's skin. 

 

Shave her hair to sell for lakh-lakh rupees,

 do Surgeries on her flesh though no ailments,

 hurt her and injure her, causing unbearable pain;

she pleads with them, cries, bewails and complains,

words hers fall into dead ears of unconcern,

she laments, sheds tears and goes insane.

 

On turning left to write one day, seeking a soothe;  

high hills she pampered in her lap as her darling,

toppled, fell down and in haste, swallowed all

that they met with- houses and inmates in hundreds,

And the Flora and fauna that looked evergreen 

and  Yama* well sent them to the gibbet. 

 

The cloud flowed and flooded, drowning the 

 lives, which hurt the soul of the Earth, which

lie yielding romance-filled  glances to him

 always; the lesions, her progeny rendered her,

 threw her in agony and that provoked him

for adding fats to the irrigating river.

 

And she, the river too started gulping the lives

of the masters of that domain, taking a deep

 slumber, dreaming about their ensuing plan; 

Nature though cares for us and nurtures us, 

she will surely punish us if our apathy 

to her reaches unfathomable depths.

 

 

 Yama*- God of Death in Hindu mythology.

 

 

I do Want to Say Something!

I was a celebrated darling sibling for you, man,

That for your every walk of life, I was your spirit,

I was your backbone, I was your home-mate,

And I was your pal of all pals, always right.

 

For daily mundane in the kitchen, a diary

 the homemaker keeps scribbling about the needs

And I, as her brother advises her, not to be weary,

And list her usable items, that she cannot avoid.

 

Deliver Writers their babies from their

 wombs of thoughts with my help, providing

 special loving care for their newborns and I

readily travel with them wherever they go.

 

Clerks, officers, railway ticket examiners, doctors

none are absent in my counting column,

and I am there to  keep the records of farmers

and their masters selflessly and that is solemn.

 

Delightfully I lie or sleep in my places,

allotted by the intellectuals and even pupils; 

 I take a rest joyfully, sitting in the seat

that people offer me in their apparel.

Alas! All my celebrity status has vanished,

The cruel computers and phones encroached on

To my compound and I am thrown in a waste bin,

I, your PEN, see my demise, losing the state sacred. 

 

The Castle in the Air!

 

The name Amita Raj, gifted her parents;

a youth, just twenty-three years old,

looking pretty, bearing a smile of gold,

she was in the morn of her life.

 

Her face was a cute bloom at the dawn,

with decent-done hair-do and modest jeans,

 to hate her, no way for others;

 her visage was painted in charming manners.

 

Her greatest dream was soaring in the air,

displaying her doctoring with faults rare.

She was content, had no gloom,

and of course her work was her plume.

 

Ready she was to follow any trend,

sensing love and mercy as an apt blend,

fixing a stethoscope around her neck,

moved she, as a kin among the sick.

 

Like a honeybee toiling around plants

Fluttering to earn dainty in plenty,

Amita kept helping for the ailing,

be off their ache by words so sweet.

 

Alas! one day, a man in rags, insane,

 sharp scissors into her neck, inserted;

 intense narcotics, very dense

had sucked entirely his common sense.

 

A doctor with a mind full of ideas

to cure sincerely, the destitute,

had built a Castle of good thoughts;

God! It was a palace in the air. 

The Inspiring Awe!

 

Beautiful are adjectives in the scripts,

the scripts revealing all that loom in your thoughts.

Cute, naughty, with inspiring awe, the nature

spawns brightness for the beholders'  right views.

 

 Exact attires apt, the describers for nouns,

providing them with charming looks at viewers' views,

hold well in their wombs uncountable riddles,

riddles, many with or without solutions.

 

 Smile fully or partially, the solutions,

ending up in modifiers of many kinds.

 How can you all account for brain-teasers?

Simple? Tough? Ridiculous? Oh! No, fittingly.

 

Adjectives that will rightly light upon

objects to tell you about their exact effects;

yes, our hearts revolve around them well

 provoking and promoting movements.

 

Had there been no adjectives and adverbs,

Dull and dry and arid will be people's minds.

 Add spices adjectives, to words, helping readers

 retain things in their aesthetic hearts to relish.

 

‘Hard’ work, not mere work, carving catchy pictures,

pictures of gains and attainments, marches forward.

In cute babes, lovely skies and splendid blooms

'cute,’ lovely' and 'splendid' hold the nouns abreast. 

 

Qualifiers  forgetting nouns and nouns

Flinging adjectives can win no hearts. 

Hunting great success and  hurting failures

surface from comparisons and relations.

 

No comparison, and no compulsion from 

 within, precipitating no spellbound result,

 stimulating no souls, pursue no goals;

Describers, thou art the drizzling elixir.