Month: January 2022

Going about in a tasking
realize it is a masking
decide not worth the asking.

Wish I had  a girl
hair falling in a curl
eyes   shining like a pearl.

I dress up one of my boys
 who walks with poise
guffawing  with a noise,

Having been at home 
for almost two years 
 I have no thought 
of how I look

A saree  goes around me 
 fully starched  and ironed
gives me a comical  image  
-a stuffed puppet.

My white strands of hair 
 have become dominant
 perched high on the head 
 gifts me a matronly poise.

Of recent, I starch my blouse
 which remains stiff  tending 
not to get crushed,  posing 
 like  a  military colonel.

at least in attire, as I 
am known for my easy 
way to handle duties  being 
far too lenient with my staff.

How am I going to change 
if the world opens 
to travel and commercials.
 I chuckle, 

visualizing my status on board
of a plane when I have to go back 
to my second home, the co passengers
will reel with laughter,

.

I stand on my toes
 to put the latch in place.
 it slips, comes down.
 I raise my toes a little. 
 the latch  seems merciless
  falls down with a creak,

I have to fix the one
before going to bed.
Eyeing a low stool
I feel I have hit a bonanza,
drag it to the place
 try to get on it.

No matter how low it be 
my limbs turn rigid,
knees remain still 
the stool looks like a monster,
Oh ! only my toes 
manage to be supple.

Pushing the stool in fury
 I toe up and up
 the latch goes up
 and fastens perfectly.
I retire thanking my toes
give a gentle press. 

A day of wait
the one from near
the other from dear.

Both are to come
the tag with business prolongs
the link with relation pulls along.

it is anxiety that takes control
a fruitful turn meaning a definite
could bring rewards infinite.

Pacing up and down’
restlessness settles
uncertainity nettles.

I sit unmoved
with fingers crossed
eyebrows twitched.

A message flashes
reads, results will be known
tomorrow in the afternoon.

it is Hema, I hear
grumbling,
“It is not my mistake , not 
my mistake, anyway,” 
on and one she goes.

 Cannot find  any mistakes. 
  I am worried  as she 
 gesticulates, sobs, finally spills out,
 “born  dark is not a sin”.
Do I hear her right?

Thrown out by the girl’s  hurt
I take a quick look at mine.
More or less the same tone, I feel.
nothing ugly , anyway, I think,
wheatish complexion.

The racism, one faces,
where  skin takes 
 predominance saddens me.
Proficiency in language, the other
takes a back seat,

if you are slightly dark.
The regional influence 
 might at times overlap.
not  a drawback as perceived 
confides Hema,

“Hema. mastering a language  
is an art. Slips and defaults,
 spellings and  missing
 punctuations  are seen 
in everyone’s . natives have too many,”

Cheering her, I console myself
recollecting my experiences
relating to colour, usage,
 writing skill, Yes. I have travelled 
with humiliations catching up  

Rituals and customs 
turn back breaking,
It is Pongal,

A decade back
it was different
age was beside,

help was in abundance.
 It turns out to be an one 
woman show,

Pongal in the courtyard
 earthen pots and mud stoves,
firewood, and decorations,

 curries and broths 
being almost nine in count 
clubbed with the auspicious,

timings make me pant,
 The day before resolved 
to cut short  the menu,

stick to the main ones
somehow go back to the age old
custom,  been doing 

for 48 years, apprehensive
 any miss out ,be it the number,
could lead to  unpleasantness..

 Meticulous! I appreciate,
Not long,  sudden onset of pain
 from the knees and hands

debilitates, holding my knee
 I settle on my bed.   smiling 
 and sobbing at the same time.

I say one of a reckon,
he replies a maize or sweet corn,
expressing a scorn

Another one is born
being christened as Omicron
milder mutation that darns,

comes not alone
with a sibling in tone’
called as Deltacron.

Dawn sees hundreds
dusk sees a flood
of thousands instead.

The rise turns magical
spread remains inimical
variants of Covid typical.

Wishes remain wishes
seeing snow, the fluffy ball
white and cold
numbing the fingers
lying like a white roll
on the terrain.

The other one
to see the world
eating whatever
comes in my way
overcoming the feel
of nausea and distaste
i experience,

Could these two be possible
in my lifetime? I ask,
being me who is to blame
dislikes out number the likes
carrying along a quaint
sensation of nostalgy
hard to express.

A little patience, heart commands
a pause instructs my mind.
I pay no attention,
it is now and at once
commence with a bang,

Turning at times hysterical
like a mad dog,
I wag my tongue
harsh and rude
like a hungry tiger.

Blood shot eyes,
expressive of indignation
enhance my seething
temper and I appear
more or less like a devil.