Splendour And Sophistication


The various forms of art
seen in the expensive aspects
keep us agog.
Those observed in humbler ones
hold us fascinated.
Creativity overwhelms.

The ideas and the colours
carried out with imagination,
intensified by the competence
provide an excitement,
a happiness, an awe
a tranquillity in all.

A basket of Palmyra leaves
woven close in vivid crimson
intermittent with black strokes,
used by a community on propitious days
looks straightforward but, extraordinary

Replicated in pure silver,
the basket looks rich
but, lacks the elegance and solemnity
the Palmyra leaves extend.
The splendour and sophistication
are not interdependent.

A Film Of Dust


The dust on my furniture
turns me wild.

A film develops on the wooden chairs
making it look dull.

The creamy coat grows thicker
if I lose sight of them.

The floors receive a black tissue of dirt
demands a sweep and a mop daily

The colours lose their gloss
look sallow.

The bath shows up hard
with the water stains.

An efficient care is required
the upkeep is expensive.

Working through the difficulty
I spend a fortune to keep them respectable.

Have to deploy trained and earnest
personnel. I seek and strive.

Hard to identify such men nowadays,
I face a hard time.

Impossible to do it alone,
I contend with a grim condition.

Meantime my house becomes weary.
Ghastly it appears with dust on its body.

 

The Lazy Teachers


The children of a small hamlet
walk miles to the school,
with an eagerness to learn.

The lazy teachers abstain
from their obligations. They are
contented with the lucrative revenue.

The students show no progress.
The parents withdraw their wards.
The schools remain as buildings.

It is a catastrophe, a shame.
Dishonourable to the
noble pursuit.

It Is Her Curiosity


A parody of a sort
keeps one in a faux.

My cousin guffaws.
It is his expression of happiness.

His laughter is her focus. She laughs,
precisely–complementary.

My friend gesticulates while he converses
a meaningful attribute of him.

He is her target. She does it with precision
Proves an imitation par excellence.

She is not an adult as one would assume,
but, a girl two and half-year-old.

I am bowled over by her curiosity.
She is a wonderful child

 

Patterned Functions


I behold celebrations
days together.

It is a birthday,
wedding, a baby shower,
sweet sixteen, a house warming,
puberty is an extension,
proposals for a gathering.

They host heavy meals gifts are exchanged
a half a day passes with an irrelevance.
Gossips hold you for a time,
feasts for a period.

It is a pleasure for the majority.
Seeing people enthuses them.
Listening to the talks pleases them.
They have a memorable time.

They are a mechanism to associate
declares my cousin.
Functions are enlivening with intermissions.
Patterned ones become a burden.

My Impish Pal


Languishing in my room with the air conditioner booming
I curse the season and its dog days.

Done with the most horrible?. Is it not? reasons my friend
from the other side oof the world.

I am on the eastern side in a tropical country
while she is on the west in a temperate zone.

If only she is before me I would have smacked her
she is thousands of miles further away.

She senses my repugnance, continues her parody
states I need no jackets to keep warm.

I yell at her impertinence. I am burning
and she engages in a comedy.

She is bent on infuriating me. I recognise her character
a saucy one who mocks and ridicules.

She is an imp.

There I Am


The faith, I profess,
not on others,
but, on myself
makes me powerful.

I do my work
perform on my own
I do not seek support
stay likewise.

My talks are not personal
They show no one.
I speak of weather and related.
I am at ease.

I am called a reserved.
declared a quiet person
an unfamiliar figure.
stay unrecognised.

That much I can write about me.
I am an ordinary human,
not bound by any anxiety.
I go on.

The Manic Disorder


The varieties I find
overwhelm in a unity.
Sounds an oxymoron.

The haze, in the highlands,
sails as distant as it could
causes no illness.

The wind is a breeze
and a storm on occasions
a familiar occurrence.

The sun radiates intense
and measured in regions
a recognisable phenomenon.

The river runs smooth
and floods in seasons
a prevalent feature.

The sea engulfs
and recedes at intervals,
is but, a dominant character

The distinction is logical
implied to a range,

 one of an energetic stratagem.

Man creates a furore
soars up and crouches down,
a manic disorder.

The Colour of The Blood


It is a subjugation
one of a blood link
a  strange relation implied
not anyway a wonder.

It is a commitment
apart from the filial
seem a curious paradox

which disengages.

The ambiguity in relationship
as it is to the perceptions
goes on deep in the ribs
possibly, simulating the real.

A look through the lens
finds various propositions
engages not the eye,
befits accurate in the searches.

The unforeseen expositions
show l the east expected convictions
those of which are subjective
and cause a repulsion straight.

The filial relation takes a right about turn
emerges as an outcome of dislike
where the blood is not red anymore
is blue-black contaminated by greed and lust.

Trend Setters


Lets, not the blistering sunlight escape,
a community, known for its culinary ability,
starts a process. A diligent one.

It  comprises all under the sun
that of mangoes, brinjals,
gourds, onions and rice

Sliced brinjals and gourds
cooked with tamarind, and salt
find themselves in the fierce sun, no sooner.
Miserable ones!

The mangoes have their skin stripped,

pieced with discrimination.
The seed, knifed in the midribs,
clings to the pulp.   Resemble golden nuggets.

Dexterous!

Immersed overnight, they are left to dry,
It is rigorous and disciplined

The dried mangoes are a delight.
Mouth watering!

The  shredded, onions are blended with the batter
of urad dhal, chilly paste, seasoned with spices and salt
made into small balls are left in the sun.

A kind of  cookies!

Soaked grain is grounded to a refinement
supplemented with salt. Poured into moulds

the batter takes up various forms.
The dried ones are pasta.

An indigenous procedure carried on
through generations. They are the forerunners
of the modern packaged food.

Unfathomable technique!

No preservatives. added.

Economical and secure in genre
Conceptualised and followed.
A wonder!