good Love measure memories. Poetry

The Father’s Day To Me.

It  is Father’s day

seem to me very different

we had in our days

no such events

yet we loved our fathers

did not tell them loudly

admiration and respect we had  together

nothing into the cloudy

it was a subtle appreciation

we nurtured  secretly in our minds

Father to us was a creation

with much authority in a kind

we nestled close to our mothers

fathers stood a little aside.

Coming to my father

his immaculate white attire

caught all eyes rather

never seen him in any other colour

not very tall in stature

posted a smile always

that  undoubtedly won over

the hearts of many in everyway

a  gentleman to the core

dynamic and impressive in posture

sported a  twinkle in his eyes

could write a beautiful brochure

about his routine and ways .

Anyhow I remember him today

not for his genoristy or love

the measure he adopted  in a way

especially towards me in a proof

had made me what I am today

independent and stern in attitude

let me end with good old memeories

as they alone would make anyone k6094394happy.


The Other Way Rememberance

Remember your mother
think of your father
say the Holy Scriptures
acknowledge the Holy men
a nice thought in the run
how could it be ?
I address with a plea.

They brought us to the world
raised us well as told
worked hard to take care
is it anything rare?
I recollect the days slowly
fighting odds was not there truly
the little here and largesse there
has left me to closeremeber bare.

The good they did to me at least
never outdid the bad in treat
showered they the treasures on one
refused to part the same to the next one
I mean not the monetary in all
they be the love in full
never did I receive any without trial
well, that might be their style.

The Holy Scriptures do not record
nor do the Holy Men are in accord
the one-sided formula is the universal rule
ignore the travails they preach in full
work on the positives all the more
set aside the negatives from the shore
never could I act on that way
I stand alone from the crowd all day.


The Days in Trend.

A day for all things
be it for lovers
for mothers ,for teachers
for fathers, for all souls
for all saints ,for all I know not
has been the latest trend
that flows throw the bend
a card is invariably cardsent
with that the day is forgotten
a token of remembrance is what you say
to me it is an expense at bay
frolicking and thanksgiving should come
not from the lips but from the heart
a true way to remember in silence.


The Poor Girl

The onus of the girl child

there being a push-off

than father hating her

for no reason whatsoever.

The girl born suffers all through

being cursed by the father

held with affection by the mother

not openly but in the inner heart.

She grows up with the years

second to her brother

who gets all the goodies

she being happy with the remains.

The boy goes to school

no matter he studies or not

the girl is sent to the primary

then drops out considering the family’s poverty.

The girl shares all the responsibilities

the years when she has to play

she spends doing household chores

even goes out to do domestic work.

The little salary she earns

adds to the family’s sustenance

with the father always half drunk

and the mother toiling in the sun.

With little education and innocence

she gets married at a tender age

bears the yoke of marriage

never would her husband share.

Pity is the girl’s life slogging and working

never could she rest for a single day

with the child on her way

praying that she not give birth to a girl.

poor girl


The Deal —-Feminism At The Back

There erupts a tease

there emanates a fleece

it is a deride

it is a high bide

being a woman

is but inhuman

as she  is at stages

under her father till an age

then her husband takes the reign

followed by the sons in all signs.

The fatherly role is too authoritative

with a strict approach tentative.

The dictator is the husband

getting her dancing to his loud band

while the son plays a self-conceited game

putting I before all in no shame.

The girl, wife and mother

with no pride in her feathers

with mouth shut and eyes downcast

plays second fiddle to everything fast

that being the fate of the woman

wherein she is a graceful  human

as long as she goes by the male’s domination

once she revolts and rebels

she has to move with a label

a shrew with a vicious ambition.images (8)




The Good Old World.

The father was away from home
The mother being at home
bothered about the money
and the interest it would fetch.
Supervising the kitchen
bossing over the servants
She admitted her children in school
with the full belief that it would
churn intellectuals on the go
but her children became nuts
behaving quixotically and looking funny.
The father came and was pained to see them
so he sent his children to hostels
hoping to get good results
Again, there happened the same course
with the children making nothing out of itfoolish children
That which is seen in early years
stood through all the years
with the father and mother gone
the children behave as frivolous as ever
doing nothing essential but everything invalid
all of them have crossed the sixties
Yes, the world is so large and kind
holding such people in its loving fold.


The Great Story Teller

My mother has a daughter
fair and lovely
with thick black hair
and big laughing eyes .
She is a nice child at times
but naughty most of the time.
My mother scolds her all the same
for not keeping quiet and breaking things.
My father always takes her in his arms
whether she be good or bad
it does not matter to him.
she loves him the most
but no, no she loves her mother too
for if she knows she likes her not
she would give a big pinch.
please do not tell her
what i told you it is but a secret.
The little daughter is no other girl
it is me ,me. cried my grand-daughter.

As told by her when she. came to see me some time back.1210197855gi2dw1

Age desire Experience Lesson Life Looks Love Theory thoughts

A Deal

Eat vegetables calls the father.

Drink fruit juice  pleads the mother.

Take cereals for breakfast shouts the father.

Have a cup of milk compels the mother.

The six-year-old has a lot to bother.

She prefers chips and muffins altogether.

She looks beseechingly at her father.

She turns lovingly at her mother.

Her eyes express her desire rather.

Would she have her choice? a pointer.

Never would she we gather.


Actions Age Evolution Experience Poem Story subscriptions

The Loving Grand Pa

Early in the morning there was a sound.

It was not the cock a doodle do.

It was not the clock’s ding-dong.

It was not the baby’s shrill cry.

It was not the bird’s sweet call.

It was not the mother’s shout.

It was not the father’s retort.

It was not the boy’s grumbling.

It was not the paper boy’s cycle bell.

It was not the milkman’s  loud alarm.

It was not the whistling tea-pot.

It was not the hissing shower.

It was, it was, a snore.

Emanating from grand pa.