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MOTHER AND CHILD

MOTHER AND CHILD

Bearing the weight of embryo,
For months.

Embracing the tiny creature,
With heartful grace.

Milching the part of her,
With all the purity of love.

With every bone and muscle taking shape,
With teeth slowly growing,
And every small attempt at taking a step,
She’s the most impressed.

With that smiling face,
She encounters all hardships,
To make her toddler smile.

Without expectation,
She cares and loves.

From a toddler to a child,
She watches him grow.

Now the school time,
And he has to go.

Becoming his home tutor,
Teaching him beyond what has been taught,
Because charity begins at home.

Becoming a cook,
She prepares his favorite dishes,
Her ingredient, fathomless love.

She makes him,
What he is,
Born out of her, carved by the same.

Instilling the maturity and wisdom,
The transition,
From a child to a man.

At every phase,
Every step,
The mother is to be praised

With perseverance,
And patience,
She makes him somehow,
What he is now.

She expects nothing,
Just Plain love,
And that’s the acknowledgement to her!!

HAPPY  MOTHER’S DAY!

The Weekend Mail

The Weekend Mail

An Alchemist's Diary

It was around summer and half of the Paata village was already empty of its male inhabitants. The war was on and almost every men was called upfront by the Gorkha Regiment. Vishambar the postman was one of the few men left in the village along with some of the retired folks. In hills, mostly the men either get enrolled into Army or they move to the big cities to earn some livelihood. It was high time as Pakistan had infiltrated into Indian villages in Kashmir. Vishambar on his radio had recently heard that maybe this time there might be a nuclear war between the two nations. Being a high school graduate, he did not know much about the gravity of the situation, but the way the news reader told the news, he could sense that it was something really big. But nothing of any sort mattered to him- people…

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FOSSILS OF SAND

Moving through the wings of time,

Traversing its ways,

With its temporary permanancy,

And a slowly speedily pace,

Greeting the lives of water,

Both dangerous and pretty,

With hues and greys,

Granting them survival,

A supportive haven,

On planet blue.

The present becomes a past,

The past an epoch,

But your treading goes on,

With blue-green abrasives,

And the dead and living too,

Deeper you pave,

Greater you crave,

For the first and the last lives there,

From huge to micro.

Pretty your patience,

And stealthy footsteps,

Youthfully retired,

Moving untired,

Like an unpretentious old man,

With worldly reserves,

And protruding nerves,

Of beings and sea,

Just like life goes on…

FOSSILS OF SAND

THE LIVED AND THE LOVED

 

Lived are those,

Who still breath,

Whatever they be,

Happily living,

Or a despicable dummy.

But loved are those,

Who have people,

With hearts and roses,

And give them back,

But,

Combos are preferable,

Always…

The lived and the loved…

 the lived and the loved

They sit there,

With the doors of love,

Kept ajar,

In happiness and peace,

With the music,

Of tranquillity.

 

A disease,

Without side-effects,

Spreads through them,

Creating a sweet melody.

This disease,

Has borne it’s kids,

And the perfection,

Seems here,

Enjoyment there is,

That is clear.

 

A kind consideration,

Without any agitation.

They’re blessed,

By someone in the skies,

A heavenly prize,

A situation mesmerised,

What else is needed,

When love is breeded,

In the lived ones??

The lived and the loved…..

ABSTRACTIONS

ABSTRACTIONS

A globetrotter,

Was travelling,

In a vehicle.

Many people around her,

She had her music on,

In her device,

She could see other vehicles,

Around the one,

She was travelling in.

She could see some,

Peering at her,

And some,

Not even looking at her.

She knew,

She was no celebrity,

No filmstar,

No model,

But,

Just a mere passenger,

With some dreams,

In her innocent eyes.

She watched the traffic,

Watched traffic lights,

Watched the pavements,

Soiled with,

Various kinds of trash,

Ranging from,

Spitted tobacco,

To polythene bags,

To paper tit-bits,

And of course,

Feet,

Of various people,

walking there,

she knew,

she was just like them,

common,

a part of the crowd,

but, no,

she was uncommonly common.

She had a relationship,

With something,

That few only have,

It was her soul.

The man,

Watching her,

Inside the vehicle,

And smiling at her,

She couldn’t sense,

Why?

But,

She saw in him,

Her man,

Smiling at her,

Because,

He also smiles,

The same way,

And the music,

In her device,

Highlighted,

The situation.

In that chaotic traffic,

She had found her place,

In that couple,

Sitting in the car,

Holding hands,

And she almost stared,

at them,

to see,

it was,

she herself,

with that..guy,

she had previously seen,

in that man,

watching her,

and smiling at her.

Though,

The car moved,

But,

Her confabulation didn’t,

It was speedy too.

Next,

Came a flower vendor,

And she could see,

Her man,

Holding flowers for her,

In his hands,

The music,

Still played,

And highlighted,

Her fantasy,

She almost drew her hand,

To take those flowers,

But,

Then,

She saw an aunt,

In the vehicle,

In which she was,

Looking comically,

At her,

As if,

She had tasted tamarind,

But,

She drew her face,

The other side,

To control her laugh,

Which was coming,

Because,

It reminded her,

Of her old school teacher,

Who had same expressions.

Then,

There,

She could see,

An old man,

Walking,

Along the pavement,

He looked similar,

To her grandfather,

But she knew,

That was not he.

Then,

She saw,

Some men,

Laughing,

Amongst each other,

She didn’t know the reason,

But,

She was reminded,

Of her own laugh,

In front of her friends,

When they laughed,

At her laugh,

And not on the joke.

Then,

She saw,

An artificial puritan,

Having a can,

In his hand,

With some mustard oil,

And coins in it,

That,

Reminded her,

Of her childhood,

When she once,

Got so scared,

To see herself,

In oil.

Then,

There went on road,

A Merc,

Again,

With a couple,

Both,

Wearing sunglasses,

And,

the man driving,

at a fast pace.

She saw,

What she thought,

And she thought,

She saw,

And there she was,

Enjoying the AC,

In her black Merc,

with that same guy,

who,

she actually knew,

didn’t exist.

With a jet’s speed,

She opened her eyes,

To reality,

Her stop had come,

And she,

De boarded the bus,

Abstractions!!

ATTENTION-SEEKERS

ATTENTION-SEEKERS

  

Oh!no. You tickle me but don’t put that needle in my skin. It hurts! It really does! I can’t bear the pain of a syringe in my skin everyday, after every minute and the worst part…You leave a mark, a  red mark and you so much like the red color that you wanna gulp it, as much as you can leaving a red mark behind and yeah, I know it’s not a pimple.  It’s because of you. You’ll never realize but red spots don’t look beautiful over my skin or anyone else’s. And, why can’t you be just lazy like us? Why do you want to do a job for which you are not even paid? Why? I know the red is your lifeline but your lifeline will dwindle the red in our bodies which is our lifeline and now please don’t say that it’s your birthright. Why can’t you just drink water like us? Why blood? You proliferate in stenches, sewers, stagnant water and you know, you’re no less than any terrorist. You tickle, you prick, you gulp what you think is your right and then fly with pleasure but you don’t stop irritating us and making us struggle, diverting our attentions or rather seeking our attentions while we’re doing any damn task. And, you’ve so well increased your market value over the years that we’ve stopped using lotions for a soft, supple skin. We better apply ‘Odomos’ to it. We spray Mortien and a Baygon instead of an air freshner and yeah, even Hit too. The name suits..’Hit’ .You’re terrorising because you spread Malaria, Chikangunia, Dengue. People have started to use anti- mosquito products because of your terror. But, you know, we’re good good humans, what we get, we give back too. We leave almost no stone unturned to terrorize you in turn and by the way, you’re so tiny, you better stay away but I know you won’t abide by this. You’re not scared of your size. We,ve stopped to play with shuttle cocks these days. Well, that’s all because of your witty way to seek attention in the market. Even racquets are put to your service. It seems as if we’re having a war, where you’re our opponents. Our weapons are these racquets and yours you already know..your sting and we both are war- mongers..isn’t it? What a shame? We do war with micro beings. But, we know, you’ll never take the blame and you’ll keep on making us struggle with your attention seeking ways. Now, what should I say, I love attention- seeking things?

DO WE REALLY NEED A MIRROR TO SEE OURSELF??

We always yearn for looking beautiful. Don’t we? We put over lots of makeup, we wear that favourite branded dress, those danglers, the stelatoes, the mascara, the eye shadow…..and what not Why? Just to have a deep glimpse of our beauty in the mirror? Yes, right. But, what’s the real need of that? So that wherever we go, people would look at us with awe and say” oh, she looks beautiful.” Or “ He is looking handsome/ smart.” And, say, there’s one who enters in with messy hair, minimal style just for the sake of dressing up and not to catch the ’ OMG, she looks so beautiful’ looks from the people. Of course, very few bother to look at her and there’re few who are going  by themselves to talk to her. But, whosoever talks of her says that” She’s a dame, a well- mannered lady.”And then more people go to talk with her because what they’re mainly attracted to her is her nature that is beautiful and not her looks and though the question of looks dosen’t even arise when she is the topic of talks because she dosen’t need looks to beautify herself. She dosen’t need a mask that is beguiling to woo people around her.

What goes on in defining the deep meaning of a mirror is your reflection, not in the sense only the outer, external one but the insidious , latent one too that we can see or feel in the kind of similarities with the people we’re attached to or associated to. Has one ever gone into wondering that why we are with people whom we’re with? What is the reason behind that? It’s because the people we’re with are like us in some or the other manner and therefore, we actually come in terms of knowing our own self when we meet such people. We know that we’ve this or that quality or weakness only because we’re associated with similar people. Whether we realise this or not but we’re always attached with our mirrors or not merely mirrors but it’s reflections. This notion and perspective of a mirror may seem to be futile but this is the only true picture, sketch, portrait, or whatever synonymous word one may use for it of a mirror!

I’ll conclude by saying that mirrors are for the ones who are materialistic but their reflections are the actual facade of our beauty. So, next time you see yourself in a mirror, don’t let the truth hide and see it inside and ask yourself’ Do  I really need a mirror to see myself?”