The Box

I had a little box.
It was made of marble
With carvings on the top
And a small, metal handle.

No, I don’t recall
If I got it as a gift,
Or if it was bought
From the local market.

In that little box
I kept my tiny treasures –
Shiny stones I came across,
Shells, beads, and pictures.

With the passing years,
I forgot about the box
And all the tiny treasures
That in it, were locked.

One day, it did appear
When my room, I tidied up.
It was lying in a corner,
Amongst the other stuff.

I opened that little box
With a smile on my face –
For memories, it brought
Of another time and place.

That box is my connection
To my younger self.
It’s my oldest possession
As it sits on the shelf.

I love that little marble box
And the treasures it contains.
With it, time seems to stop,
And I become a child again.

Two Brothers-A Tale

They were as thick as theives.
Partners in crime; brothers in mischief.
They had a plan right up their sleeves
On that eventful day before Holi.

Up they scrambled on the terrace
With loads of balloons that were inflated
With water and colors together mixed,
And, hapless passers-by were their target.

Soon, anyone walking on the street
With a colored water balloon was hit,
And try as they might, they couldn’t see
Who it was that was throwing these.

And the puzzled look on their faces
Was worth the planning and the wait.
Oh yes! It was a merry piece of cake
This splash and hide kind of game.

And this went on nonstop that day
With no respite come what may,
Until one of their helpless targets
Saw the perpetrators as they hid.

Soon, he stormed up to the terrace
And caught the brothers red-handed.
And then they had to bite the bullet
For they were now at the receiving end.

They were dunked into the buckets,
Colored with gulaal from the packets,
And with the balloons, were targeted.
And that was the end of their racket.

Yes, the conquerors were conquered,
And they were indeed beleaguered.
But, they weren’t in the least bothered-
Those mischievous little brothers.

Bedtime Story

“Let me tell you a story,” Gramma said,
As the kidbots lay on their podbeds.
“Yes, please!” They shouted in unison,
As she turned on their recharge buttons.

“Eons ago, on a planet light years away,
There lived a wise and beautiful princess.
Stories about her spread across the land.
Many princes arrived seeking her hand.

“What version was she?” A kidbot queried,
“They could have just cloned her easily!”
“Shush!” Said gramma, “Keep listening!”
“This is where the story gets interesting.”

“One day, the princess ventured out alone
And was attacked by bandits unknown.
A brave commoner came to her rescue,
And in doing that, they fell in love too.”

“Why couldn’t she use her light laser?
Was Love a trap the bandits laid for her?
Who saved them when they fell in Love?
Was there a starship?” Piped the kidbots.

“Oh my!” Said gramma shaking her head.
No! All of these never ever happened.”
“Yeah! Yeah!” They all grumbled together,
As they fell slowly into the cryoslumber.

“Yes!” Gramma sighed as she glided out
Looking at the blue moon in the clouds,
And from inside her bank of memories
She remembered her ancestors tearfully.

Not Meant for Me

My heart is heavy
With the sadness inside it.
Outside in the sky
The crescent moon shines
With a smile not meant for me.

I am in the park
Walking with my memories.
It’s a summer day
A small child plays on the swing
With a smile not meant for me.

Spring has arrived
With melodies in the breeze.
Colorful bouquets
Peek from the florist’s window
With a smile not meant for me.

I pick up the shells
Strewn on the golden sand.
Every ocean wave
Curves as it bobs up and down
With a smile not meant for me.

PS: Each stanza is in the 5-7-5-7-7 Waka format.

I Have Memories

I have memories
Of strolling with my mother in the evenings.
Of the nippy, gentle autumn breeze,
And the bright red leaves falling from the trees.
Enamored, I used to run after these.
It was like being in a magical land of fairies.

I have memories
Of losing my heart to him.
Of the laughter and love I felt only in his company.
With him by my side, I was never lonely.
I felt so much like the orange colored autumn leaf
That twirled as his love-like zephyr swept me off my feet.

I have memories
Of Death scarring parts of me.
Of stealing moments that were lovely.
Everything around me seems to weep mournfully.
And, yellow autumn leaves glide gracefully
As the light wind guides them to their destiny.

Waste Not, Want Not!

Locked in her room, she’s busy writing poetry,
And the testament to her efforts
Are the pieces of crumpled paper on the floor.
Paper – that was once a life-giving tree

The house is busy with the wedding reception party.
The guests fill their plates with more than they can eat.
The rest is thrown in the garbage cans on the street.
Food – that in some houses is a scarcity.

It’s nighttime, and he’s brushing his pearly whites,
And as he does that while looking in the mirror,
The tap is running, and in the drain goes the water.
Water – for which some people trudge for miles.

It’s a hot summer, and the AC in the room is running.
But as she goes to the bedroom to lie down and sleep,
The AC and lights are left on, and they consume electricity.
Electricity – that in some homes is a luxury.

Waste not, want not!
Remember what you throw away
Are the very things for which others pray.
Instead, be grateful for these things that you’ve got!

Waste not, want not!
There is no alternative to Mother Earth.
As her children, we are all related.
So, use all things wisely, as these are all we’ve got!

A Prayer

Somewhere in between slavery and freedom
Flows the river of knowledge.

Somewhere in between knowledge and awakening
Is the shunning of irresponsibility.

Somewhere in between irresponsibility and duty
Spreads the maze of karma.

Somewhere in between karma and results
Lies the journey of perseverance.

Somewhere in between perseverance and conviction
Is the destruction of temptation.

Somewhere in between temptation and heaven
Stretches the path of righteousness.

O Almighty, bless me with the vision to see Your way.
Lead me to You, so I never go astray.

The Rainbow – A Story

Once upon a long time ago,
There was a little village.
But, it was unlike the others
As the colors dwelled in it.

And, it had a single street
Where the colors lived.
Red, Blue, Yellow, Green,
Indigo, Orange, and Violet.

But, it wasn’t a happy place,
For the colors often fought.
Each vied to be the Captain,
The Leader of the entire lot.

And so, they tried very hard
To pull the other one down,
At times, through sabotage,
Or by other means unsound.

Then, one dark stormy night,
A wanderer sought shelter.
And he soon came to realize –
The colors hated each other.

As they sat around the fire,
They asked the wanderer,
“Who among us is Superior
And the one true Leader?”

In silence, sat the wanderer,
Then he said he had a plan,
But, to decide the winner,
They’d have to stand in line.

So, as the night disappeared
And the sky turned a dull grey,
The colors stood together,
Held hands and stretched.

Violet, Indigo, Blue, Green
Yellow, Orange and Red,
Side by side were seen,
In a rainbow in the Heavens.

“So now tell us,” they yelled,
“Who among us is better?”
“You can see for yourselves,”
Replied the wise wanderer.

Then, it dawned on all of them
That each one was beautiful
With a place in the spectrum
And that they were equals, too.

As the wanderer left the village
With the rainbow in the skies,
He left peace and love in his wake,
And the hope for happy times.

The Bridge

Once upon a long time ago,
There lived a maiden fair
In her warm and cozy abode
Near the edge of a deep river.

Far across on the other bank,
There lived a handsome lad,
The bravest in all the land,
In his castle near the sands.

Every so often, the fair maiden
Would come down to the river.
With lilting notes, she would sing
Songs that floated in the zephyr.

One day, the princely lad heard
Her voice carried by the breeze,
And he sang in reply to her
In the purple twilight of one eve.

And with the songs, their love grew.
They longed to meet each other.
But their wishes were tossed askew
By the raging and abysmal river.

Never to give up, the young lad
Set out to seek the maiden fair.
On his steed, he rode far and wide
Till he found a bridge to cross over.

O! They were the happiest lovers,
And soon, they wed at the altar.
Singing their love songs together,
They lived joyfully ever after.

And if you don’t believe this tale
Of the fair maiden and her true lover,
Ask the witness who lived to tell –
It is the bridge across the river.

Perchance

She was ninety-six; he was sixteen.
Her days were ending: his were beginning.
She was a dreamer; he was called a geek-
Poles so apart they could never meet.

All that changed the day before the party.
Rumors were that he madly adored Betty,
A pretty girl who lived on the same street.
But scared, he was, to confess his feelings.

And so his ninety-six year old granny
Found him sighing, sulking, and lonely.
“It’s a girl, isn’t it?” She asked wisely.
“Yeah!” He said and told her his story.

“Well”, She said. “When will you do it?
Ask her if she’ll go with you. Why wait?”
Mortified he was as he exclaimed loudly,
“What if I do, and she doesn’t agree?”

His granny sat near him and said softly,
“What if you ask her, and she agrees?
Of that, there’s an equal possibility.
You should ask her, if you ask me!”

And she spoke something of regretting,
In the end, the missed opportunity.
But he had heard all that was needed.
And all the way to Betty’s house ran he.

He asked, and she agreed promptly.
And off to the dance, they went happily.
So my friends, truth be told truthfully,
A chance not taken is one lost, definitely!

The Mirror and the Girl

“You’re fat!” The mirror said
As she looked at her reflection in it.
“Actually, fat is not even correct.
If there’s a word beyond its superlative,
Then, that word would be accurate.”

“But,” in defense, she retaliated,
“Years ago, there was that incident,
Due to which I was badly affected.
I eat whenever I feel stressed.
Food comforts me, and I can’t help it.”

“Be that as it may,” the mirror stated.
“There’s a lot of weight on your waist.
Actually, it is not a waist but a waste.
Rolls of fat piled up from all you ate.
A little less of that, and you’d look great.”

“Yes!” She agreed, “Please be empathetic.
I have been trying to exercise and diet.
I start, but find it difficult to stick to it.
Cardio, walking, aerobics, and weights –
I try hard, but it always gets interrupted.”

Back at her, the mirror just stared.
“Stop making excuses!” It declared.
“All that ever matters is the present,
And it’s true that you’re unhealthy and fat.
Actually, fat is not even correct…”

Before it could complete its statement,
She struck it, and it broke into fragments.
Victorious, she screamed, “Take that!”
And around her, the thousand little bits
In unison retorted, ” You know, you’re fat!”

Dear Time

Dear Time!
Only fools think that they can bind
You in seconds, minutes, hours, and days
Like a captive held in a cage.

Dear Time!
You flow like the river of Life.
Paradoxical, you are in your ways,
As a minute can be like seconds or days!

Dear Time!
With a clock, you can’t be defined.
It only takes a glance into the week’s days
To understand how you really play.

Dear Time!
Monday is your first child.
Looming high like a stony mountain.
Getting over it is such a pain.
It’s really difficult to comprehend
How its hours get so stretched.

Dear Time!
Tuesday is your second child.
Spreading like a path across rocky terrain.
A milder hike as Monday’s inertia remains,
Yet, it demands a lot of strength
And stamina to get to the day’s end.

Dear Time!
Wednesday is your third child.
Winding like a track in a dusty landscape,
Forcing a brisk walk without a break.
For an escape, the heart begs,
But the minutes do not relent.

Dear Time!
Thursday is your fourth child.
Like a trail sloping downhill with grace,
It’s the middle of the entire trek.
The hours show lights in the distance
And prod the feet to keep trudging.

Dear Time!
Friday is your fifth child.
Like a boulevard with colors that blaze,
Promising fun in the sunset’s haze.
The day starts picking up pace
And whizzes by as the weekend is ahead.

Dear Time!
Saturday is your sixth child.
Like a piazza to party and celebrate,
To rejoice, make merry and just revel.
The minutes shrink as they rush away,
And the day ends even before it begins.

Dear Time!
Sunday is your seventh child.
Like a bed that with a soft mattress is laid
To rest and just recuperate.
The seconds slow down with elegance
As it’s time to meditate and give thanks.

Dear Time!
No one can decide
How you would ever behave!
Only fools think you can be caged
In seconds, minutes, hours, and days!