Category: thoughts

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reverberation subscriptions thoughts

The Sparrow And Me


Tweeting all the way,

Down its causeway,

The little sparrow,

Sits on my window.

 

 

I go about my way,

Addressing my routine pay,

While the sparrow,

Flutters at the window,

 

 

I attend to the  call,

Of a distinct claim tall,

As the sparrow,

Chirps from my window.

 

 

 

I move around  the house,

Taking time to browse,

When the sparrow,

Perches above the window.

 

 

 

I finish up my chores,

Then close all my doors,

At once the sparrow,

Whistles across the window.

 

 

 

I  take a short  nap,

From the rigorous  lap,

Inching the sparrow,

Cackles from  the window.

 

 

 

Only now I barely see

This tiny lovely  wee,

Longingly  the sparrow,

Bids adieu from the window













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subscriptions thoughts

How many Smiths?


It was  a real fun,

Compiling the run,

Of smiths on  a roll.

Listing in a scroll.


 

 

Starting with dazzling   goldsmiths,

Crossing  the  shiny silversmiths,

Down to the durable copper smiths .

A conjugation of all  fine smiths.

 

Renewing with decorative  pewtersmith,

Reaching the strong ironsmiths,

Finally to the basic  blacksmiths.

A congregation  of all  metalsmiths

 

 

 

Locking up with wordsmiths ,

Hanging on to  tunesmiths,

Hovering over playsmiths,

A jumble of all abstract smiths

 

 

The suffix smiths ,

Carry on a kith

Of specialized  craft,

And ornamental draft.

 

 

Suffix Smith is a forerunner,

To the modern prefix doctor,

It is an archaic  creative,

Befitting the new derivative.

 

 

 

All smiths  make things fine,

To earn and gain,

A skilful profession,

Which demands neat execution.

 

 

Do we find  many  more smiths?

Since the tabulation is a myth,

As I missed  the  most practical smiths,

That of  gunsmith and locksmith








 

 




Categories
subscriptions thoughts turmoil

A Midnight Call


The night was sombre and  still,

It was a dark and dreary  fill.

No stars to twinkle and  thrill,

Bereft of special  delight and frill.

 

 

 

The house  was in  a deep silence,

Everyone was asleep  by preference,

There was no possible reference,

But  there existed a plausible  observance .

 

 

Disquieting the  sullen  eloquence,

A shrill ring  triggered from a distance,

Awakening the household in deference,

Jolting everyone to incoherence.

 

 

Fumbling I make it to the phone,

Tumbling  I respond in a subdued  tone,

To   a shrill voice strange and  unknown,

While the caller  dropped the receiver down.

 

 

Cursing the  unfamiliar voice,

I go back  without a choice,

To my bed with no rejoice,

Seeking a fresh and  delicate invoice.





 

 





Categories
subscriptions thoughts turmoil

An Ode To Number Eight


Numbers are for counting,

Not for crowning,

Numbers are for Maths,

Not for tax,

Numbers are for identity,

Not for entity,

 

 

 

Certain numbers beckon the flock

But eight sucks,

As many dread its pluck,

Because it brings bad  luck,

Oh! it is a mere superstitious  buck.

 

 

Number Eight is propitious to Chinese,

As it is in their Cantonese,

A     gorgeous  appease,

Signifying prosperity and peace,

Carrying with it wisdom and release.

 


 

What does eight propound?

It is but another sound,

That is dressed up as a hound,

Extricating a deliberate  impound,

That of a curious found.

 

 

 

Imagine the order without  eight,

It makes an odd bite,

Leaving a void right,

Interpreting an imbalance  straight,

Voicing a  bill incorrect.

 

Oh!  It is up to all of us

To consider Eight  as an octopus,

And accept it as a plus,

That  evolves a gleeful buzz,

Reaping a meritorious  crush




 

 








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Categories
Economy subscriptions thoughts turmoil

Revolution Of Gold


Revolutions  are so  many,

Which break the  thicket   dreary

By committing deeds  bloody,

By  insinuating speeches  fiery,

Resulting in  deadly eventuality.

 

 

The Yellow metal soberly,

Has turned the stones briskly,

By  rising gradually ,

To shoot up suddenly,

In a  buzzing move   graphically,

To an unassuming level sporadically.

 

 

Revolutions have  an end,

As they have a set trend,

Which is exhibited  in a brand,

Of high  vibrancy and demand,

While slowly the tension disbands,

Settling to  a subdued  strand

 

 

 

Will the same behaviour be  seen?

In the golden sheen.

Which emits an opulence  clean,

Leading to a grand mean,

Masquerading a royal   queen,

Resigning to a  modest lean.

 

 

 

Today it races ahead,

Tomorrow it will  behead,

But the thirst will spearhead ,

A  demanding   price spread ,

Soliciting a tumultuous  thread,

That of  an imposing  surge dread




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subscriptions thoughts turmoil

A Messiah


In a land of racial bias,

In a place of economic malaise,

In a sequence of  physical violence,

In a circumstance of mental disgrace,

Where the world is in turmoil,

While the nations remain unbalanced,

Where the universe is in  a grip of turbulence,

While the countries slip into a devastation,

As the people target each other,

Creating a pandemonium of ill will,

As the men delve deep into animosities,

Opening  the box of Pandora,

Letting out  a swarm of bees,

Bustling with  chagrin and vengeance,

Buzzing in a shrill crackling  intensity,

Spreading distress and fear,

Implanting desire and greed,

Implicating evil and misery,

As they involve  in a manipulation,

Of cruelty and atrocity,

Evolving a disarming scenario.

An expectation   of resurrection,

From the bondage of  satanic  hold,

Keeps the troubled soil,

In a note of consolation,

Lifting the head towards the sky,

Focusing the eyes on the glide,

Expressing a sombre serenity,,

Espying the gradual descent ,

Of the redeeming Messiah.

Will he save the mass?

Will he discharge justice class?

Will he  deliver peace  fast?

Will he ? Will he?

Cries the grieving heart,

Wishing a transcendence  straight.


 

Categories
reverberation subscriptions thoughts turmoil

I Remember My Mother.


I recall the  golden hours

When I was caressed by you

I retrospect the  days,

When I was reprimanded by you

I think about the years,

When I felt close to you

I recollect the period,

When I was scoffed by you

I recapture the events,

When  I was blessed by you,

I restructure the  anecdotes ,

When I was ejected by you.

I saw the two sides of you,

The good in my younger days,

The bad in my older  years.

Let the affection  be  a  dream,

Let the friction  be  an illusion.


 

 

I  remember your  unfathomable  love alone,

I retrace  your  cherished thoughts alone,

I   renew your  graceful behests alone.

Which   have made me ,

What  I am today,

Which has given  me the tenacity,

That I carry with pride..

Which  has  endowed me with acumen,

That   aids me in my progress,

It is an inheritance,

That  none can deny me.

 

 

I hear  your   firm voice

Bidding me to  work hard,

I visualise your  stern eyes,

Commanding  me to talk less,

I feel  your  strong presence,

Ordering me to do more.

I see in your  astounding execution,

Great skill and talent,

Which you  have passed on to me,

Which none could  grab or plunder.

 

Yet , you in course of years,

Fell down from your elite status,

Of comfort and luxury,

Tumbled  down  from your citadel,

Of fame and name.

While ,I stood watching your ignominy,

Helpless  but in profound grief.


.

 

Ma, What went wrong ?

I failed to ask you,

When you were alive.

I tried many a time,

But I never got a chance,

As you were not yourself,

In your last years,

A mere helpless puppet,

In the hands of many,

Who came not from your tribe,

But from a disaster zone,

Robbed you of your pluck,

Deprived you of your luck,

You knowingly or unknowingly,

Became a weakling,

Both in mind and body,

All  at the same time,

Which pushed  you tooblivion,

Never to catch the glory,

Which was yours in prime.

 

Oh! my dear mother,

Rest you in the grave,

Like a  poor lamb,

Helpless and ignorant.


I still remember you mother,

Not as a lamb,

But as a Lady,

Highly talented and competent.

Let me live ,

With that precious memories alone







Categories
reverberation subscriptions thoughts

A Rivulet Sings.


A tiny stream of water,

Gushes down the path,

Holding across all,

Tortoise, frogs, and fish,

Moving along in,

A happy band,

Making noise all over,

Chattering and croaking,

Gleefully and merrily

While the tiny rivulet

Sings  to itself,

A melodious song,

That of life and blood,

That of vibrancy and velocity,

That of cheer and humour,

That of fineness and lustre,

Miniscule magnifies the trifle,

Trivia enlarges the small,

Small enhances the  beauty,

Beauty  merges with divinity,

Thus forming a plane

Of essence and vitality,

Renewing faith and trust,

Invoking prayer and benediction,.

Which ensue a grand denouement.


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subscriptions thoughts

How Fair We Are?


“I am the fairest of all “

Story of Snow White recall,

Fair you are,

In complexion and colour,

Are you fair in other?

Quoth the mirror?

Not to Snow white alone,

But   to everyone.

Snow white smiles affably

While we  grin peevishly,

She nods gently,

Whilst we shiver nervously,

She is fair all through,

But we are unfair  to the cue,

She sweeps across in pride,

When we weep over in deride,

Snow white is the fairest of all,

Is not a claim tall.!!

How fair  are you?

We do not have a clue.



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subscriptions thoughts

Will Age Stand By?


Only your parents will live for you,

But your  friend will  wait for you,

While your spouse will  go by you,

Mostly your children will   quicken you,

But ,will  your age stand by you?


As age waits for none

It transforms young one

Into a matured  run,

Again it transfers an old tone.

To the  greying prone.



As the clock strikes one,

The hours go by one,

While the morn  slides to none,

The day is counted as one.

Allowing  the intervals  to relish in  fun.


Days  add up to  make months twelve

Which again calculates the  year well,

Sensing a calculation  to swell,

The years  cast  a shell,

Causing an eventual  bell.



Lest we live along,

Forgetting the years long,

Measuring seriously a small furlong ,

Forgetting the miles before long,

That at end  will traduce a fallacious song.


Age runs s miles ahead,

Waiting for none to tread,

Marching ahead of  the thread.

Racing away from the blood,

Deceiving everyone like a flood.