The Runaway Pinky Toe

Once upon a lazy afternoon
As I was ambling towards the living room,
I stubbed my pinky toe against the door,
And it rolled right off across the floor.

As I cussed and sweared loudly,
I must’ve frightened the little chappie.
For off, it dashed like a little mouse
With me in pursuit through the house.

It scurried out down the paved driveway,
And I hopped behind with a foot in the air.
Into the little garden, it turned
While I kept shouting out for it to return.

And if there ever was a crazy scene,
It’d be of my pinky toe being chased by me.
And what made the whole thing so zany
Was being unsure of the name I should call it!

Anyway, here I was a hop hop hopping
While my little pinky toe was escaping.
It wobbled right around the house,
And over the fence, it jumped to race out.

It was then that I leapt with all my strength,
And it clamped midair in it its rightful place.
Well, I landed doing an agonizing full split
With a scream so loud, you must’ve heard it.

I slowly rose and hobbled to the front door
Wildly elated to reunite with my pinky toe.
But, of course, it could’ve been a lot worse.
I’m glad it was my pinky toe and not my nose.

Whose Decision is it, Anyway?

It’s that time of the year again.
When we rally to celebrate our independence.

The hoisted flag flutters high
Inducing in all countryfolk a feeling of pride.

The national anthem is heard everywhere,
And patriotic songs reverberate in the air.

Children and grownups, with golden words, speak
Of freedom fighters who set our country free.

But, while freedom has been bequeathed,
In today’s times, who decides if I am free?

Surely, if the freedom fighters sacrificed,
And, for freedom, gave up their lives,
Then it must be they who decided.

Or then, there is the government
That leads the country from up front.
So surely, it is decided by them.

But then, there are also the influencers –
The intellectuals and opinion makers.
This decision must surely be theirs.

What about the super-rich businessmen?
The economy thrives because of them.
They must be the ones to decide, then.

How can I not consider the preachers,
Spiritual guides and faith leaders?
Yes, they must be the ones, for sure.

So, under all this glorious confusion
Lies buried the question of my freedom.

And as I ponder over this,
A few more questions come to me.

While freedom has been bequeathed,
Isn’t it I who is free to decide …

Who will lead me?
What will influence me?
Where I will spend my money?
And which path I will take towards the Almighty?

Isn’t it I who is free to decide …

What I can do to contribute
To the growth of my country and people?

Eighty years ago, on this day,
A nation emerged from the darkness of tyranny,
And its people saw the light from freedom’s rays.

So, now, isn’t it I who is free to decide
How to keep progressing towards this light?

And, however miniscule this decision may be,
It is mine, for it is I who decides that I am free.

The Monster

There’s a monster that, believe me, lurks in the house
Who looks as innocent as it can be!
Oh, it’s a demon with an unending grouse,
And in disguise, it attacks covertly!

It’ll steal the moments from your day and night
And replace them with senseless thoughts!
Suddenly, the clock seems to run out of time
For the things you loved doing, and you’re fraught!

Now, you’re mesmerized by its hypnotic stare.
Addicted, you start craving for more.
Even through all this suffering, you just don’t care,
And everything else gets thrown out the door!

The size of your waist starts increasing,
But you’re glued to your seat on the couch!
Your eyes complain, and your sight starts diminishing,
But that monster’s something you can’t do without!

It’s time you picked up the cudgels
And fight yourself out of its hold!
My friends, be brave! Don’t falter, don’t bungle!
Turn off that TV and destroy its remote!

The Taste of Summer

Summer tastes like mangoes
Sour raw mango pieces drying on the rooftop
Waiting to mingle with oil and other spices in pickles.
Their sharp aroma would fill the house
And make its way into conversations.

Summer tastes like mangoes
Ripe golden Alphonso pulp blended with sugar and cardamom powder
And served as Aamras with meals.
Its intensely sweet and luxuriously creamy flavor
Made each mouthful feel like a royal treat.

Summer tastes like mangoes
With an extra salty zing from sweaty palms
Because they were stolen from the trees in the neighbor’s orchard
With friends, on lazy afternoons.
Each bite was worth the mad dash to the fence to escape.

Summer tastes like mangoes
In my grandmother’s pickles, mother’s Aamras, and those shared with friends.
Summer always tastes of love and memories.

‘Til Infinity

If the inkpot was the ocean,
Then
Not all the ink would be enough…

If every quill was a raindrop,
Then
Not all the rain would be enough…

If each page was a flower petal,
Then
Not all the blossoms would be enough…

If every moment was a breath,
Then
Not all the lives would be enough…

To express my love for you.
‘Tis as simple as that –
I love you forever and ever and ever.
‘Til infinity.

Defying Odds

Once you understand that
In this Universe, which is 93 billion light-years in diameter,
With a 100 billion galaxies,
And 400 billion stars in the Milky Way galaxy,
With 8 planets revolving around the Sun,
And 5 nonillion living entities on our planet, Earth,
With 8.3 billion humans,
And 22.5 million people born on the same day,
You are the only you,
Then, you have already defied all odds
To just …
Be.

So just …
Be
Your unique self
That completes the tapestry of humanity,
The cherished Earthling,
Spawn of the Sun’s starlight,
Full of galactic stardust,
With matter and antimatter,
With vacuum and plenum,
Everyday…
Just be…
You.

Listen to the Garden Sing

Listen to the garden sing.
Listen to the garden sing as it heralds a new dawn.
A new dawn that echoes the koel’s melodious songs
That are the harbinger of love and hope.
Listen.

Listen to the garden sing.
Listen to the garden sing as the colors splash across the skies.
The colors splash across the skies, and in every dewdrop
That shines on the roses, leaves, and blades of grass.
Listen.

Listen to the garden sing.
Listen to the garden sing, and now, can you hear the silence?
Can you hear the silence of the buds that fell to the ground
Never to unfurl their petals and bloom?
Listen.

Listen to the garden sing.
Listen to the garden sing amidst the sad silence.
The sad silence of each life pushed to the edge of extinction.
Who created the garden?
And who has the right to destroy it?

PS: This poem is an Anaphora

The Dream

Once upon a moonlit night,
I walked beyond the hillside.
And, came upon a place of light
Where everything shone so bright.

A golden car whizzed past me
With the rider grinning gleefully.
Everyone was dressed beautifully
With smiles as perfect as can be.

Cafes were bustling with activity
As everyone sipped the best coffee.
Wearing diamond and gold jewelry,
They ate out of shiny silver cutlery.

All of a sudden, it started to pour,
And they sat with umbrellas unfurled
Upside down on the marble floor
To catch all that fell from Heaven’s door.

Those who wanted money, got it!
Those who wanted fancy things, got it!
Those who wanted success, got it!
Those who wanted love, got it!

O! it was beautiful beyond compare!
A place with happiness everywhere!
It was then that my eyes fell on her.
I thought I’d seen her somewhere!

Why?! That girl looked just like me!
Perfectly successful and very happy!
In that instant, I recalled my dream
That I had long abandoned, regretfully.

So, this was the place where they went!
Unfulfilled dreams that were unattended!
Dreams that could never be manifested!
Dreams that were somehow neglected!

As dawn broke through from the east,
That place vanished with the breeze.
I turned to leave, sighing wistfully,
Reminiscing the dream I couldn’t achieve.