Christmas Day

Can you name this special day?
His Son was born today.
Rejoicing and with happiness,
I sing songs to celebrate.
Stockings on the mantelpiece,
Tinsel shining on the Trees,
Mistletoes with their red berries,
And striped canes of candy,
Silver bells ringing as they sway,
Dancing lights from lit candles,
Ask the angels, and they all say,
Yes! Yes! It’s Christmas Day!”

You Cannot Die

Your will is like the nishan of Ram
in the battle against the evil Ravan.
Your blood flows in your veins like
the Ganges roaring in full spate.
You are the tiger that Ma Durga rides –
it’s strength and power personified.
You can create, protect and destroy
just like Brahma, Vishnu and Shivay.
You secure your motherland with
the Lakshman-rekha of your life.
You bear the weight of each minute
of freedom like the mighty Anjaneya.
You are not just your parents’ child,
but Bharat Ma’s wish that came to life.
Your every breath keeps Her alive.
You are Her soldier; you cannot die.

My Mother, My Angel

In the small sunny balcony
that faces the western hills,
on one breezy, summer day
Mom kept some pots of clay.

In all those, she sowed seeds –
Carrom, mustard and chillies.
Then there were some more
with spinach and tomatoes.

A special pot held the Tulsi.
In two, red-rose bushes grew.
And in a few, with large leaves
grew the ornamental varieties.

That’s a lovely garden in a flat!
What more could one say to that?
But there are things more beautiful
that Mom cultivated in my soul.

The seeds of “Happiness” and “Hope”
have grown like great green oaks.
The “Never Give Up,” with strong roots
has spread deep into my attitude.

A special rambler called “Love”
yeilds buds redder than blood
on the spiraling stalk of “Prayer”
that shoots right up to the heavens.

While bunches of “Music” and “Wit”
speckle the hedge of “Do Your Best.”
As the keeper of this sacred garden,
she waters and prunes every day.

Wouldn’t it be correct to state, then
that she’s the Gateway between
the Mortal me and the Divine?
My Mother – my angel in disguise.

How can You Find Fault with Me?

How can you find fault with me?
You say that I keep changing my mind.
Have you ever seen the waves in the sea?

How can you find fault with me?
You say that I talk more than a lot.
Have you ever heard a river rolling over rocks?

How can you find fault with me?
You say that I cry over little things.
Have you ever seen the rain falling from the heavens?

How can you find fault with me?
You say that I seek too much attention.
Have you ever seen the sun rising over the horizon?

How can you find fault with me?
You say that I want all of your love.
Have you ever seen the earth after a thunderstorm?

How can you find fault with me?
Just open your heart and you will see
the perfection in an “imperfect” me.

Sounds of Summer

There is no day in the entire year
as melodious as a day in summer.
Listen to the breeze in the trees
rustling with the prancing leaves.
And in the distance, far, far away,
a koel calls out to its dear mate.
The blue sky without any spots
provides the perfect backdrop.
The sunlight spreads as if on cue
painting all things in a golden hue.
While boughs laden with mangoes
shout to be picked as they hang low.
But no one is as busy as the bees
as they buzz around making honey.
The evening brings some respite
to the birds as they dash about –
Tiny larks and colored pigeons,
mighty hawks and dark ravens.
And if you are keen-eyed, my dear,
you might even spot a kingfisher.
Their songs are heard everywhere –
A medley of tunes in the zephyrs.
Falling from this crescendo of light,
the day melts into the silent night.
I’m sure you’d agree when I say
there’s no comparison for this day.
Yes, I’d trade other days of the year
to listen to the sounds of summer.

So What do You Think is in a Name?

So what do you think is in a name?
The name that becomes an acquaintance
The acquaintance that leads to friendship
The friendship that grows into romance

The romance that creates vows
The vows that seal the wedding
The wedding that multiplies love
The love that begets children

The children that make a family
The family that branches like a tree
The tree that gives pieces of timber
The timber that forms a burning pyre

The pyre that leaves behind reflections
The reflections that dig up memories
The memories that are in an album
The album that holds some pictures

The pictures that have captions
The captions that include names
The names that live through you
So what do you think is in a name?

Holi – A Story

Spring arrives with a splash of colors
close on the heels of the cold winter
heralding the dawn of a special day
when everyone gathers to celebrate
the victory of the great Lord Vishnu
over the demon king, Hiranyakashipu,
who wanted to rule the three worlds
using the power from his five boons.
He couldn’t be killed during night or day,
in or out of the house, or in any place,
by weapon, man, God, demon or animal.
Yes, he thought he was all powerful.
And this evil king sent forth a decree
forcing people to pray to none but him.
Yet for his son, Prahalad, his ire grew
as he continued to worship Lord Vishnu.
So it was that the evil king conspired
and made arrangements for a huge pyre.
Into the flames, his sister, Holika, sat
holding her nephew Prahalad on her lap.
She, who flames could not destroy,
She, who tried to kill this little boy,
was burnt to ashes in that deadly fire
and Prahalad was the sole survivor.
At that auspicious moment of dusk,
a pillar shattered and from it emerged
Lord Vishnu in the form of Narsimha.
This half-man, half-lion celestial being
brought the end of the demon king.
Thus goes the legend of this day of Holi.
A day out of the pages of mythology.
So light the bonfires on the streets
and never forget what Holi means
The love of a God for his devotee
and the triumph of good over evil.

A New Year Message

Do you hear the hands of the clock
as they scurry tick tock tick tock
to the first second of the first minute
of the first hour of the first day
of a brand new year and decade?

As I reflect on the year gone by,
I reminisce about all the times
and the folks who made me smile.
And there is no doubt in my mind –
you’re one of that special kind.

So as a token of appreciation,
with a dash of warm affection,
I take this wonderful occasion
to say to you – thank you dear
and wish you a Happy New Year.

Ho ho ho!!!

Here he comes on the eve of Christmas
With a jolly ho ho ho!
Wearing red and white and a big, bright smile
With a jolly ho ho ho!

He has sparkles in his eyes like stars in the sky
With a jolly ho ho ho!
And a snowy beard that sways when he cheers
With a jolly ho ho ho!

He comes from far away in his magical sleigh
With a jolly ho ho ho!
Led by eight reindeer; he gave each one a name!
With a jolly ho ho ho!

Flying high and low from the icy North Pole,
With a jolly ho ho ho!
He brings gifts of joy for all good girls and boys
With a jolly ho ho ho!

Down the chimney spout, he enters the house
With a jolly ho ho ho!
And fills each stocking with treats and blessings
With a jolly ho ho ho!

Then up he goes through the chimney to the roof
With a jolly ho ho ho!
And if you’re awake, you will see him on his sleigh
With a jolly ho ho ho!

If you couldn’t guess – who’s that midnight guest?
With a jolly ho ho ho!
Give it a little thought – Yes! It is Santa Claus!
With a jolly ho ho ho!

So Say the Skies

A message from the skies
waits to be deciphered.
A voice like yours and mine
that floats in the zephyrs.

Would the heavens ever split
along the edges and borders
of all the hues and tints
spread on its vast canvas?

Would it stop giving way
to the things that can fly,
and would it discriminate
based on a certain type?

Then, why are we divided
by these very boundaries
that give rise to hatred,
and destroy all peace?

United – we stay together
and win against all odds.
The word is loud and clear
from the blue yonder to all.

To the Butterfly

O beautiful butterfly
flitting in the bower,
you shimmer vibrantly
in the bright sunlight
among all the flowers!

Do you ever notice
the myriad colors
splashed gleamingly
on your little wings
as you airily flutter?

Some say you’re blind
to your own beauty;
the shades that shine
as you fly and alight,
you’ll never know or see.

But I differently opine,
for if that were true
how could you ever find
another one of your kind,
just as beauteous as you?

Nothing Compares to You

Nothing is as beautiful
as the light that shines
in the eyes that behold You.

Nothing is as sweet
as the sound from the lips
that speak of Your glory.

Nothing is as powerful
as the beat of the heart
where You forever dwell.

Nothing is as effective
as the prayer of the mind
that meditates on Your name.

Nothing is as deft
as the hands and feet
that commit to Your will.

Nothing is as blissful
as that moment when
the soul awakens to You.

O Lord! I praise You!
For nothing, absolutely
nothing, compares to You.