The Rose Bud
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Month: September 2016
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Meenu Learns Dance.
My granddaughter, Meenu,
is graceful in her moves
learns dance with a passion.
Primarily, her steps are a proof
thaia, thakka, thaia thakka”
she memorises them with a rhythm
as her feet strikes in cadence with the” jathi.”
She sings the hymns melodiously
expresses the theme with a “sruthi”
her eyes reveal the “bhavas” beautifully.
I am enchanted by her graceful movements
watching her from a distance
cautious of not being found by her.
My son whispers to me to be quiet.
She is a six-year-old, tender and pretty
wants not to dance before me.
Placing her in my lap I coax her with a candy.
ask her “why do you refuse to dance for me?” She hugs me with love
“granny, you mastered dance long ago.I wish to perfect the skill.
I would prove my mettle with a stellar performance.”
Saying she left me gazing
not,with a march or a run, as usual.
She glided nimbly dancing
“thaia thakka”
thakkitta“a captivating one all so casual
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Over The Weekend.
I think of my aunt
dead and gone.
Petite, she was
short in stature.
Nicely rounded
and very fair .
Her eyes were big
deep set.
Emitted anger
with a fire.
Delivered happiness
in a soft cool.
My family is known
for prominent eyes
The aunt of mine
was an idealist.
Straight in her thoughts
brief in her talks.
Could never brook indiscipline
was scrupulous in her ways.
She spent a lot of time with us
playing scrabble and monopoly.
Engaged us from distractions
by telling moral stories.
Kept us away from trends
not honourable.
She came home every weekend.
We had a memorable time.
Those days often come to my mind.
Alas! they cannot be lived again.
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Age Is A Usurper
The days roll into months
months into years
age makes you a dunce
you walk about in fears.
The older you turn
the more cautious you become
drifting away from the fun
mostly lonesome.
The world is moving fast
you lag behind.
more or less a relic of past
shallow in a kind.
Wrinkles are too many
the skin sags
you look funny
almost like a loose bag.
You walk with a stick
your eyesight is poor
you are on the brink
death waits at the door.
You have to go on
till your last day
be there no other way.
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Almost There!
The monkey on the fence
jumps up and down.
His pranks make me tense
I frown.
The worried mother comes looking for him .
Mischievous as he is
he slips behind the bushes without a hiss
I can see his eyes shine with a gleam.
The mother in a panic,
runs here and there to find him
As she cannot trace him
her hunt turns strategic.
She climbs a huge mango tree.
The ripe fruits yellowish in hue
excite her, she advances without a hue
of the encirclement of bees.
Ensnared by the bees.
she negotiates through the siege.
Plucks a luscious fleshy fruit
peels the skin and tears open in strands
the juice flows down her hands,
she licks hurriedly, devouring the fruit
The little monkey’s mouth waters,
he rushes out from his hiding
calls “mama,mama”, almost whining
his voice echoes from all quarters.
The mother chuckles having won.
Being her turn to fool
she remains cool.
For a while, plays truant for fun.
Engrossed in their play
I stay in my grilled patio. I lose
track of the time, in a close
unmindful of the sun’s burning rays.
In the milieu, I forget my rice
cooked in the pressure cooker
the whistles fail to trigger
the burnt rice looks like charred fries.
Categories
A Red Rose- Haiku
A red rose
beckons to come close
props over thorn.
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The Sanatana Dharma.
Hinduism abounds with rituals
Each day has a validity
Could be a worship effectual
a special obeisance to the Infinity.
The religion is not monolithic.
It embraces diverse traditions
Its systems are nontheistic
The religion expounds no restrictions.
Chaturthi tithi is dedicated to Ganesha,
Siva’s day is Pradosham.
Sashti is the favourite of Karthikeya.
Friday pujas are for Lakshmi.
Hinduism is a religion to Westerners seems
not right. It is Santana Dharma ( The eternal law)
Dharma, Artha, Karma and Moksha are themes
circumventing the soul or Atma.
A faith in itself is a glory
A practice being so inclusive.
Tempers anger and fury
Desire and greed being repulsive.
Not being well defined in the external
the format Saivite, Vashnavite
Sakthi and Smarta devolve into the internal
all focus on the ultimate realisation of the Infinite.
Could be a concept withholding too many diversifications
Hinduism mystically directs the spirit with a persuasion
to the aftermath, the life after death, the Seven Births
being a connivance of fear -a consideration of good and bad.
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The Disclaimer
Having said that
the half naked fair
is acclaimed as Mahatma
indicative of a Great Soul.
I, in a way, look back
delete not a day from the
annals of History.
Those days of Independence struggle
when the Indian subcontinent
turned violent -a craving for
freedom set the fire.
A lawyer, from South Africa
who being treated shabbily
in the Dark Continent
landed in Mumbai
only to be disturbed
by the agitations
and shouts of indigenous
Bharata Matha Ki zindabad.
His ideas differed from the rest.
The ahimsa he propagated
became an instant call
He rose to become an idol,
a leader who led the Nation
finally to Independence.
Fortune would have it
as be the rule in any cast,
few warriors earn accolades
the efforts of rest
are buried deep with their bones.
Gandhi became an iconoclast.
The Father of The Nation
as he is addressed had many
pitfalls and shortcomings.
The partition he advocated
is an aberration unamendable,
the two countries are enemies
right from the inception
not anytime better
turns sour and bitter
day after day even after
sixty-seven years of freedom.
The Mahatma remains great
while his folly burns
India and Pakistan.
Schism rips apart.
A half-naked fakir
came to be known
as Mahatma.
A man who walked
with a bowl
clad in a loin cloth
is called Buddha.
A shepherd’s son
born in a stable
in Jerusalem
is acclaimed as Christ.
That be how
greatness is found
the external glamour
is but a teaser
while the profundity surges
with a felicity.
Meenas Poems 