Monthly Archives: September 2017

The Predicament


In certain predicament,
I sit on the pouff,
in a haste. It moves.
I fall flat.

Gather myself, straighten.
Walk in a pace. I stumble.
The right leg stretches.
I am hurt.

Pull myself together,
“Careful” I tell myself.
I climb down the steps.
Something trips. I fly.

Wish I could remain in one place.
Never I could be. A caution,
perhaps.  Significant,
I catch the point.

“Stay where you are”.A voice from behind.

Might be my mother’s,  long, long ago.

 

 

The Sojourn


Flying non stop
for fourteen hours,
is a drain and a strain.
legs ache,the hip pleads.

I stand, pause, sit
shift the legs, the cramp
turns unbearable.Ouch!
the muscles stiffen.

I fall asleep, awake as the
plane bumps, my head
knocks against the one who sits nearby.
The pain is beyond.

He frowns and mumbles.
looks daggers. I apoligise.
The eyelids close, whilst
my head wobbles

The annoyed neighbour
pushes the head and I
wake up in the jolt. He screams.

Is it so painful? I dare not ask.

Ashamed I sit tight
in the jam packed row
All eyes are on me,
I feel belittled.

Again sleep overtakes
I try to resist, but slumber
gets the better of me
and I doze.

I open my eyes in the middle,
look at my neighbour.
His head slumps
against my shoulder.

He is tired also, I tell myself.

 

 

 

 

An Umbrella


A reunion
with the inmates
heightens the tree’s spirit.

Eavesdropping, she
learns of the sparrows
departure. Chuckles.

Infers,

the aroma of the mangoes
draws the birds. They shift
A delightful abode.

The lascivious fruits
make them harp around.
The beaks glow yellow.

The bitter neem ones
send a despair. The sparrows
frown and curse.

Not longafter,

the mangoes are plucked
packed in baskets.
Ride off.

Lo!

the sparrows return.

 

 

 

The Umbra


The neem tree,
beside the bedroom,
ever agog in spirit,
appears deolate.

I spot the minimal,
only the rustle
of the leaves
keep her going.

The sparrows have
disappeared. The empty
nests stare. The lizards
go up and down.

Walking back to the bed.
with a heavy heart, hear
a snap a break and a crash
with a thump.

It could be from within,
might from without.
I yearn for the company
of the sparrows.

I remain, how long,
Startled, I rise
The incessant chatter
reverberates.

Rhythmic amd mellifluous.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Display and The Read.


It is celebration,
navaratri or the nine nights
honour the Godess
while the Saturdays go
to make the day for Vishnu.

Each household has a Kolu
and every other read
Ramayana.

The month long festivities
is a divine compliment
with pujas and prayers.

A sort of entertainment
where the Gods and Goddess
participate with mirth.

It is a splendid splendour.

The Unforgettable Days


The reading glass
falls on the nose,
I adjust.

The swing screeches
needs oiling,
perhaps.

It is the morning sun,
mild, nice to bask
and read.

Encounter a difference.
A peculiar feel on the toes,
a nibbling.

Unmindful, I pursue,
An encore, find three
sparrows.

I drive them away.
They return. I go
into a reverie.

The days,
the youngest
on the lap,

the second born
clings with a grip,
whimpering,

the eldest is busy,
pulls the hair
with a vigour.

The sparrows have flown,

One goes to the farthest end,
the other settles in between, the third
chooses the nearest point.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An Undefined Joy


The sparrows come back.
This day many in a row.

I try to count. One , two, I go,
but, they play truant.

Finally, find seven of them
picking and pecking my roses.

The seven little sisters chirp and yelp
Not once rhythmic.

The bustle continues
as they play game for an hour.

I join. Scatter grains on the lawn
The flock descends in haste.

I continue the sport. Place an earthern pot
with water. They sip and rejoice.

I watch them with tenderness.
Happiness is contagious, I skip and jump.

The integration is worthy.
Feel sad when they take wings.

The cacophomy
keeps me in a trance.

Off to bed joyous.