No Hands

No   Hands

He  rides  fast, good rider,

With   Determination,  craft in hands

Two wheels  propelling  ever his

Gamut -  all for  a  training for race;

Leading for speed up in bike

To fetch water in  plastic vessels

In times of dire necessity and

drought  from hamlet to hamlet

while the inmates of  old plastered

house  wait in anxiety, and grandma

walking with  a stick   adjusting her

thick glasses and rim over her hanging

ears  and   measuring time   by the  sun

transcending to the Western horizon.

Careless of Calamity and Death

Possible     evil knocking him down,

 He drives faster and faster. Mind and

Soul  always competing with  self

Flying away, does he think of his

Wife  and children and kith

Dependent upon him.  Spirit

Runs   faster than logic. Still  his

Hands on;  no hands but will only

Competes, downward his journey.

                     

                                                                                       

Guardian’s behind the scenes : empire

Guardian’s   behind the scenes : empire

This  moment of vignette

and  blonde    not  Trite   but   colorful,

the  much  awaited  Ballet this precious

hour  on this  stage,  steady

and  inspiring  after  ceaseless

 practices  and   training  behind

the   scene,  come  to please us,

 the  audience; yet who knows

what passes  between their  hearts

and  secret  layers of rumination;

mark  an imprint in our hearts.

Beneath  the dry and glitter,

The layers of paint,  another stay

and  story -  behest not to come

to surface. Their   nimble move   are

 symbols of immortality.

 

Guardian’s behind the scenes : empire

Guardian’s   behind the scenes : empire

This  moment of vignette

and  blonde    not  Trite   but   colorful,

the  much  awaited  Ballet this precious

hour  on this  stage,  steady

and  inspiring  after  ceaseless

 practices  and   training  behind

the   scene,  come  to please us,

 the  audience; yet who knows

what passes  between their  hearts

and  secret  layers of rumination;

mark  an imprint in our hearts.

Beneath  the dry and glitter,

The layers of paint,  another stay

and  story -  behest not to come

to surface. Their   nimble move   are

 symbols of immortality.

 

TAKE AFTER GUARDIAN’S “ THE SLOE WAS LOST IN FLOWER”

TAKE  AFTER  GUARDIAN’S  “    THE SLOE WAS LOST IN FLOWER”

 They had  a walk in April’s

 Inspiring  hour making promises

 And prospects to further a 

 Safe entourage.   Snow and sloe

 Sat in their memory, how ere

Lost in flower and foliage,

Singing many   a  romance

and   leading and misleading

the pair, I know not. How only

lost in   lies and lives.

Far away, after so many

Days amidst thickening bower

Cold winds brewing, freezing

Their hour,  their  ambitions

 Encountering many thistles;

Yet, hour of Truth before and

Uniting both in wedlock betimes.

Looking back( Guardian ) class photogrph

Looking back ( Guardian ) class photograph           

The other day-cleaning my shelves,

Clearing up piles of records, chanced

 Photos Disfigured and edgeless in

Their roomy corners  assigned.

School days  unforgettable ,formative

Years and stay  deep in your calling.                              

Home work and birthdays and gardening

Only in our  remembrance tools.

Tit bits of politics only from our

Newspaper reading, we were more

Oriented towards games and bird watching.

Yes! “ One foot in childhood  and one foot                 

In adolescence.”                  

Looking back this old photograph.                    .

A nostalgia ever drumming in

Your ears. What happened to those

Uniforms and  shoes and  socks           

Which were  a bug and force  for us

In school hours, tightening our  move

And freedom. Scared of bombs  and wars

As any school child would do. Generations

Of school children thumping in records  :

Yet ours is unique in  photos.                                             

                     

                                                                                       

What if the Sun Shines

    Me born, denied  of   vision,

    my dark room  like x ray theater;          

    my living luxury with unbounded

   Forte. What if the seasons blossom

  with respective smiles, up swelling  like

  springs of water taps in corners of

  railway platforms, for me the dark

  is my ordained luxury.

   A gentle tap   going afore

  when compelled by necessity

  on the traffic ridden roads, sun beams

  glare at me impartial, jasmine and rose

  those captivating, nosedrils    piercing          

   fragrance, foray that they belong to

   their category, for I see them not.

  All  these  for   the sense of my being,

 Flip for the skin and  flesh;

 But  my four walls, for my soul  attuned 

 ever since I came into this blessed soil!

 for  it bears me still ,still and  silent.  

 What  if the sun peeps out!

Youth and Aging process

 Youth and Aging process

When Lilacs bloom and garden

Is full with  sweet  fragrance,

Youth and sprightliness go

hand in hand to march ahead.

Morgan  and   Liza   walk  up

With full throbbing hopes

to   build  a  future  in  well spun

hut,  a  bliss  and bonanza now.

Aging in the form of   couple

Stand afar, sit a while and

Stand, cursing their shrunken

Skin and layered flesh.

Many a farming, many a

Cattle, milking cows their forte;

Their yesteryears  bereft of loss

And bemuse had a smooth sail.

The escalators yonder bid a   note

As if youth and  Age are two sides

Of the same coin, bear and live

Else  be in  ruthless   strain.

somebody's struggle somebody's take

some body's struggle  somebody's take.

In  the  spiraling  heat  of
Summer’s  scorch  and pride
there is  one  construction site
Of  flourish  and  prosper,
sturdy  Quay  and  concrete slabs,
Obstacles, yet needed  for
Effecting a  furthering finish.
The workers in uniforms,
Up and  down  the cranes;
The   sturdy   winches
Forsaking  them, loyal to
Their faith move to and fro.
booking  are open, at whose
cost  do they realize?
 nearby somebody fanning
himself with  bookleaf,viewing
 above, moods   a  metaphor
of verse and figures; ads  on banner
shine  like palm branch .