Straight From The Heart

Compassion overwhelms.
Millionaires extend cash.
It is kind from the rest.
Philanthropy at its best.
Governance distributes both.

The enforced stay at home
brings a lot of woes.
The reach of support is limited
The system cannot take care
of the entire community.

nor could supplement
the income of the wage earners.
A month and more of curfew
knocks the community down.
Most go without food.

The children starve,
the aged bear hunger.
Adults remain helpless,
unable to go to work.
The deadly virus spreads like fire,

Partial lifting of lock down
will bring consolation.Men
should not succumb to idleness.
Responsibility ensures sensibility
where generosity falters.


Half Done

Work started with an impetus
pauses for reasons beyond.
disoriented I feel.

It is but depressing
as the days go by
without any event.

“Tomorrow will be better”,
I tell myself. That is how
I reconcile.

The day dawns
with little light
turns dark very soon.

A pain springs from nowhere
enough to make me
an invalid.

I pass the days
with hope and frustration
I sleep and wake.


They Still Survive

I am familiar
with a group,
typically slow witted,

who engage in stretching
their area from
feet to miles,

who do not miss
a count, manipulating
hundreds to millions,

getting to know them
I find them shallow
possessing no skill,

a bundle of braggers
who camouflage ignorance
with preposterous talk.


I Am In A Soup

it is turning an ordeal,
the day to day menu,
with my cook in self
quarantine for 40 days,
while the usual isolation
is only fourteen, he sets his time
went home in haste
much before the lockdown,

He keeps calling me ealternate day
for money. He wants to be safe
not bothered about my hardship.
He sends his bank account number,
without the bank’s name, branch location.
He fails to understand they are important
for transactions, insists the number will do,
as he is the headman of the village.

I give up. Remain unperturbed,
as he has got his salary a fortnight ahead.
Back in the kitchenI break my head
as to what should I prepare
for dinner. Quickly, I make a chutney,
desirous to come out as soon as I can.
Sweating, I hurry to my parlour,
recline on the couch, Ayyo ! I sigh.


I Myself

I like silence
where I could hear
the clock tick,

love solitude
where I could talk
to myself.

keep smiling
where I could
hide my feelings.

It is quietude
that speaks

It is withdrawal
that experiences
in depth,

It is warmth
that transcends


The Mosambi Juice

I make mosambi juice
for my baby, a must for
him at 11 in the morning.

Sterilize the feeding bottle
pour the juice, wait for him
to wake up.

He is not fussy as all that,
but gets up with a loud cry
enough to bring the roof down.

The clock joins with him
as it strikes eleven times,
with a great sound.

The little one drinks,
burps with a smile,
engages in baby talk.

As I rise to get the bottle
cleaned, my in – law walks i.
She remarks

“Bhagavathi’s child does not drink juice.
His skin is smooth and shining”.
Bhagavathi being the maid.

Both, Bhagavathi and I, are hurt,
the one for feeding, the other ruing
her inability to feed.


The Names Of Twins

In lockdown India
when the corona
turns atrocious,
a woman gives birth
to twins, She names
them as Corona and Covid.
after the deadly virus.

It is 24 March 2020,
and happen in Chhattisgarh,
when the virus gathers momentum
in the Indian subcontinent.
Incredible. How can they?
I mumble along with
the rest of the world.

As the community struggles
to win over the attack.with deaths
and anguish.The parents
behave strange.The christening
takes effect. Amusing!
An admixture of geniality and
quaintness.Hard to understand.

The twins, boy and girl
will grow up blessed
with perfect health,
They being the warriors
of the bio war.


It Being The Day

one of great travail
where no work is done
still poses a tedium.

Exhausted I turn,
with sweat in the forehead,
perspiring with a sigh
as the sun draws to noon.

The skin becomes dry
Hands and feet give up
I am fallen. Trodden
by the extreme heat.

Air conditioners, fans
prove no match to the warmth.
Forecasts say this will continue
for few more days.

It will be dog day,
I drink pot full
bathe thrice, I cannot
smother the parchment.

As age catches up
the rigour is unbearable,
I stand without ease
no other way I could,


The Status Symbol

Mapping the trend in the recent years
I trace to places untrodden
by society so far.

Frequenting pubs, getting drunk,
almost every evening commands
a respect on today’s society.

Driving through the city
in luxurious cars raises
the level of living .

Flying to places and countries
for a cause or for socializing
is regarded high.

Dining out, holding parties
for birthdays, for anniversaries,
elevates the ranking.

Dressing with ostentation in mind
in expensive outfits lends
an enviable position.

Adorning with finest jewelry
sporting a feigned smile
bestows pride.

So masquerade the “nouveau riche”
with painted faces and artificial

Morality, discipline modesty
govern a distinction
which most ignore.


Back To The Stone Age

no mechanism whatsoever,
lighting fire with stones,
eating raw food,
wearing minimal clothing
made of leaves and barks,
hunting and fishing being
the chief occupations,
those of us in the year 2020
are compelled to emulate.
We do disgruntled.

Back to the Stone Age,
where men slept
under no shelter,
just under the trees
while the sun shines,
retreat into the caves
when there is rain and thunder,
beget children, raise families,
do not know to read or write,
live in great joy.

That could be ours too
living close to nature
not governed by greed
without monetary concerns
eat what you grow,
a little more if be the need
what you hunt and drink
pure water from the pond
a peaceful existence
without disease.