Too Little

Little did I know what people talk behind me
Little  did I care about their remarks,

That being a few years ago, I am in my mid age.
It is different all the more as I struggle to catch up  years

Each and every thing matters, some appear as a taunt,
the rest  seem to be scathing.

Being unable to move forward I stay confined to a place
 away from  scorn and jitters.

That being a retreat offering   a solace,
enabling me to prolong unfazed.


That I Do

The attempts of mine are towards visualizing, 

making, matching so that they will go 

with the event, something memorable 

 related to the occasion.

Say, if it be a birthday, working out to make

 a befitting gift.

 Like that I go, especially, when  they are my own.
Of course as Picasso says,, I borrow, 

steal, improvise. Let me put it thus,
Something which is there, something which is not there


How I Create

The strain I endure
the pain I undergo
stands out at every event
regretting at the moment
 forgetting a little after

 I  indulge  with enthusiasm
 scrutinizing every detail
 conceptualizing the incidental
 matching, adding, attributing
 a mania or a phobia, can I call? grips me
 with a tight fist, I stay imprisoned

A team of craftsmen
work with me in my pursuit
to create, to bring to reality
my dreams, I give them the outline.

 I can visualize but drawing
is not my forte, they do  with skill
send pictures, I fine tune them
marking the corrections,
patiently they redo, an online
interaction  goes for a week
They understand, I compromise
 finally we accomplish it.

 ” Here we go”.  we scream with glee
  I have not seem them nor they have

  all being worked  with applications.
  It is tension filled fun – a creation



Parading through my unkempt garden,
 hooting and playing  with joy
 the family with the mother on lead
 pecks and picks the worms on the way
 while the father dances atop the attic
 spreading out its colourful feathers
cooing with love, a signal  to the wife
 bidding her to come near.

Proximity, to human, animals  as well as  birds
one of man and wife, being universal,
 whatever be the age, as seen
and heard in the peacock’s  call
I am fortunate  to perceive
a  picturesque presentation
more or less a  scenically
gorgeous visual that unfolds
every morning,

The intimacy, subtle and chaste
creates a beatitude, hard
to express.  


A Wry Smile

The mind is unable to hold
 the numerous  queries

 it fails to contain
the quips and taunts

buckles when confronted
 with dubious allegations.

 It seems I am  full, too full.
with a sigh  and a cry

I confront them
with a wry smile,

moving  with a heaviness
enough to throttle.


Me Then And Now

Picking an anthology of poems
I read  with interest as the
notes  comprising of references
add charm to the memories
pump in joy and happiness,

Tucked in between the pages,
I  see a photograph of a young
girl in her teens, smiling bright
eyes emitting joy,  fair and slender
she appears an epitome
of youth.

Tossing the photo  over and over
 I look at myself, survey from top to toe
 a silver haired woman,  eyes
 expressing  fatigue,  still fair but rounded
 gaunt, haggard, cheeks drooping.
 an in between  old and middle.

Placing the book back,
 I relook the photograph,
detecting a similarity.  the smile
running through the curved
thin lips.


A Short Life Story

Neither  an optimist
nor a pessimist
 I take life as it leads.
It is my story in short

Having  obtained a fraction
of what I should have,
I live  happily, at least

To others, whoever it might be
 I am deemed to be a receptacle
 one that receives  with a smile
 never pours out in fury,

Contextual each incident is  at large,
 pushing me out from  the focus
 I gulp even the hardest
with grace and poise  


Death Stares

Sometimes, I feel it is better to die young.
“No” I say,  “it is not in your hands”
I know pretty well.

So thinking I grow up in years
 death still remains far
 I presume

“No”! I cry. My heart warns
” You can never predict death”.
Assume  my heart will give up.

stop pumping  and will rest in peace.
 That day might be today, tomorrow,
 this hour, no one knows.


An Unexplainable Feel

After the Corona
the last two and a half years
I see myself  with my relatives,
a wedding so to say.

My legs get stuck up
sensing  difficulty in stepping ahead.
I stagger a little, that be my
physical pull back while my eyes roam

 between the rows
 where many of my close ones
 go missing, they having  opted
 to board a non returnable flight .

Pausing a bit, I walk forward
espying younger faces, gleefully
replacing the familiar ones.
 an unexplainable feel descend


Pieced Apart

Could be nothing more
nothing  less should I say
 more of a hurt that lingers.
 a wound that percolates
deep and deep into the levels.
harping and meandering
through corners and paths

 causing a jolt  and  a freeze
 feel life is almost over.

Days go by the remnants  
disseminate  but the residue
 surfaces on and off bringing
 tears. an unthankful job
 whatsoever. a mother feels
 as she grows in years.
 recollecting the days she worked
 persuading her child to remain atop.

Well, he might consider it is a routine
any mother would offer, forgetting
how most leave the children to fend
for themselves. happening at present
in his own home.