Coconuts At Home.

The  coconuts at home

plucked from the palms at home

small and big in size

look like an entice

the green husk around

the twigs surround

fall they in a bulk

three or five in a sulk

the man atop the palm

climbs with ease and calmcoconut harvesting

knows the ones full of content

knocks them down with an intent

they fall making a noise

the tender ones of choice

brought down carefully

lest the water would flow awfully

the man chops the dry fronds

as they keep themselves in a bond

it is two in one all the way

coconuts and clearing the density  in ways

nice to see the coconut harvest

I would do so every time with zest.








A Throw With Zest.

The tadpoles and the frog

give a not so likely shrug

as to every other they are a bug

very much away from the tug.


With the distaste and ill will

we go about in  dislike  still

calling for frogs and tadpolesa unrequired bill

that remains crossly  in the fill.


With the hop and jump

the tadpoles come from dump

with the frogs looking plump

exposing in the middle a heavy bump.


As the duo pop out from the marsh

slapping the mud in strokes  harsh

croaking with a double tone  in bass

loitering about in a meandering cross.


Singing about frogs and tadpoles is rare

as they look unpleasant and bare

while none take a positive care

as the frogs and tadpoles are  not fair.


Being unattractive and looking not the best

they do not command any preference in test

as all nurture a great hatred  to them than the rest

they hastily  throw them out with a zest.





An Alarm False or Real.

An unknown reptile  creeps into the backyard,

It is red ,blue and yellow with bold marks,

It slithers on like a flaming rod,

Glittering unholy in the dark.


It has slipped into the yard  isolating from its tribe,

Signalling to a teeming populous in the garden,

 Gleefully slitting the roots of the flowering plants in a jibe,

Joyfully sucking the juicy liquid like a rodent.


They are  none other than a sort of gardener’s pest,

Thriving in fives and hundreds after the rainy seasons,

Languishing slowly  in the torrid sun’s zest,

Straying  into the yards in quest of hibernation.


Jauntily proposing a colourful exterior,

They vehemently destroy the blossoming foliage,

 Greedily wreck the delightful  interior,

 Perfidiously gobble the green leafage.


To get rid of them is  elaborately laborious,

It is painful to see the devastation,

Still more horrible to kill the notorious,

More so to infringe the earth with pesticide horrendous.


How to save my garden,I know not?

My heart throbs and my eyes well,

Seeking seriously for a way out,

The  very thought rummage my mind to a shell.

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It Has to be Back

It is back to the old place,

 Back to the usual pace,

Back in  the familiar space,

Back into the monotonous race.

All things have a back side,

All time has a back tide,

All levels have a back ride,

All steps have a back slide.


Going back home  is a pleasant return,

Reading back is a historical learn,

Falling back is a miserable  spurn,

Back to the original is  never a  possible turn.


A firm backing lands all in a  glamorous zone,

Backing detects in all an infirm tone,

An undue backing for  is precarious prone,

Backing also deletes  in all an individualistic  own.


Well, getting back to the prescribed text,

It is a back up of all the zest,

Restoring the faculties to the best,

Reaffirming the convictions to a test. 


It is back to the regular day,

It is back to the  formal say,

It is at times a strenuous  slay,

But it is  always an indefatigable way.