The chickens so tiny and small
go behind their mom
a retinue on the move
so wonderful to look at
the counts one, two and three
reach in no time the two digit
a scope for human perception
who curtail giving births
scary of the natal care
afraid of the educational expense
dress, food, comforts pertaining to the children
the restriction has its own merit
as the inflation runs riot
the good fat hen walks past with p
ride
while her brood trots along with a please
she knows not of any hardships ever so
it is a pleasure to have a large family
well that is all for her at the moment
with that she roams with immense happiness
Month: April 2015
The Best Disguise.
The best disguise
is one of stealthy guise
with so many tries
I ended up as a fly.
Why did I choose a fly?
I wanted to lie
wished to be sly
so choose a fly.
A fly is here
it would be there
could be anywhere
as well as everywhere.
It is easy to be like that
I thought so in fact
how hard it turns in stat
is an experience in flat.
I became a fly for a moment
sat in a place as if in a torment
flies do not sit in a place permanent
unfortunately, I sat there adamant.
Knowing, not my disguise for a second
a child walked over me in a trend
ouch, I cried in pain with a bend
I got hurt beyond a mend.
That is the end of my disguise so soon
for not a child I would have been doomed
conceal does not come easily to me as I thought
came to know later it could be bought.

The Sole Beneficiary
The wind blows forever
the moon basks in its glory
so does the sun shines
while the ocean roars
the river sings
as the streams flow
the mountains stand majestic
with the hillocks graceful
nature is wonderful
happy and joyful
the only eyesore
be man’s neglect
he spits and spews
draws and drives
chews and churns
his greed knows no bounds
yet he does with vigour
being the sole beneficiary
.
I am a witness
as if in oneness
I sit in quietness
just a mere witness.
I am a spectator
as if in an incubator
I watch from a perambulator
just a silent spectator.
Why am I so?
I do not know
as I notice in a row
derelictions in a flow.
If all be like me
nothing would there be
all would flee
inaction causes no glee.
Let the rest of you
leaving me out of view
rise up and speak out the due
destroy the evil in true
Who She Is In A Way?
It is a trick
more or less a gimmick
she is a friend to all
always there in a call
that was before long
now she is away for long
does not respond at all
nor does she answers a call
she has turned a mystery
her good nature has become a history
she dodges and drives through
never in place all through
I seek and search with fervour
could find her where so ever
I give up and sit back
she came today in a slack
she was with me for a few minutes
disappeared from my hold in a minute
hopped and jumped to a place little away
showed up for a few minutes in a stay
then ran away for the day
could you recognise who she is in a way?
she is none other than rain
The passion for writing
is like a kite
above and up it flies
never does it shies
my enthusiasm rises
it multiplies in thrice
then mounts up in four folds
the thirst I could not hold
I write like a mad
pen poems of sad
poetise joy
talk with coy
know not my structure
nor my grammar
either the syntax
without an index
that is me through and through
a soul into the blue



