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Saturday, January 26, 2013

Village and I

Life in the village is what sustains me still
But moving out was a necessity
Hard in the beginning
Soon questions of settling down arose
Village is ruled out for many practical reasons
Fondness and attachment give way to
Questions of existence
Village is now part of a beautiful nostalgic
Dream, no chance to regain
The charming aspects have all gone
Long since the well has been used and cleaned
It is a dangerous pit rather than a well with its
Inexhaustible cold, sweet water
Weeds grow from the sides hiding the view
Of the watery circle below
Reflecting the sky in its scary but enthralling manner
No water is so refreshing and trustworthy as the water
We brought up from that dear well
Now a relic evoking pain and memories indelible
The pond in the fields where green frogs
Sat on the grassy banks camouflaged ,
Basking in the sun, their protruding eyes closed partially
Is not there anymore, nor are those plantain trees and
Pepper vines, it is sort of wilderness
Life has drained off the fields
The master is not there to tend
And marvel at the flourish
Plants refuse to grow, weeds cover the land
Life is changed for good or for the worse
Time will reveal but essence is gone
If only the goodness of the past could
Mix up with the present and make it
Fuller, more satisfying
Thus wiping away nostalgic longings
Making survival more like living

Sunday, January 13, 2013


Freeing her tiny fingers with amazing deftness,
she scampers forward in all her swiftness.
Sparse vehicular traffic, level road
and cool dusk but stress escalates.

We struggle to catch up with her.
She slows down, turns full circle
studies a passerby, an oncoming bike.
Danger is unknown to her.

We pick her up by turns.
Restless and fluttering, she works
relentlessly at all grips and clasps,
wriggles her way down and dashes.

Mounted up on my hip,
she puts a hand round my neck
and nestles close, her free hand still busy
working at mine, first the soft soothing style,
then the harsh, insisting mode;
silent demand for liberation.

Aching arms succumb to pressure and temptation.
On her feet, she prances forward gleefully
to a bunch of blossoms on the grassy side walk.
Outstretched hands closing down on the slender stems,
she stops and gives me the glance of mischief.

I crouch beside her and point at the fluttering wings
among the flowers, not daring to hope much.
Amazing she stops short, glances at the dull grey
spotted wings held close, intent relishing of nectar.
The patient steady stare yields her the prized reward;
the wings open to a marvellous orange hue.

The wordless sounds of unspeakable surprise,
 the claps of  toddler joy, the bubbling laughter
She too could be stilled and stirred.

Friday, January 11, 2013

Luck is a Problematic Word

Grappling with situations
that is what life is all about.
Full of surprises, struggles, and trials
Life amazes.
Perseverance, diligence,
strain, and toil
all go into it.

Rewards come entwined
in complications at times.
Luck is a problematic word.
The divide between the
lucky and the unlucky
results in unjustifiable torment.

Not realizing that luck keeps changing
its abodes, one feels instant stinging pain,
while the other gloats.
A terrible failure, a great disappointment
one unbearable tragedy, once branded
an instance of bad luck
sure makes one a bitter enemy of the word.

Hard work and perseverance
should win in the end.
Life is fair when justice rules.