Author: rupali66

The Candle and The Wind

Once upon a long time ago,
A candle burned alone.
Its tiny flame spread the light
In the pitch black moonless night.

Soon, the wind picked up speed
Tossing away the fallen leaves.
Towards the candle, it rushed
Eager to swipe it with its gusts.

The little flame clung helplessly
Flickering wildly in the breeze.
But, with a sudden cold gush,
The solitary candle was snuffed.

The wanderer saw everything –
The battle of the candle and the wind.
But, in his mind, a light had been lit,
And he scribbled in his manuscript.

“A little candle; A little wind
Is what’s needed for the flame to be lit.
Too much candle or too much wind
Will unleash a power that’s destructing.

If both of them are just right,
The path would light up at night.
And just so, that mind is enlightened
In which the candle and wind are balanced.”

I Wish

I wish I could wish for a wish
And wish for that wish to manifest.
O wouldn’t it be splendidly lovely
If I stumbled upon a wish tree!

I would sit in its shade in the glade
And watch my wishes come true all day.
If I was hungry, I’d wish for a pie,
And the tree would bake for me a slice.

If I was thirsty, I’d wish for lemonade,
And voila! I’d get it in a glass on a tray.
If I was sleepy, I’d wish for a bed,
And on a soft mattress, I’d lay my head.

If I was bored, I’d wish for a story,
And the tree would narrate one to me.
If I was lonely, I’d wish for my friends,
And on the leaves, they’d all descend.

But here I am, in this war-torn city!
With screams and sirens all around me!
I’m frightened, and all I wish for is peace.
But I’m just a child without a wish tree.

The Light In My Head

I have a light in my head.
It turns on when I go to bed.
And in this light I can see
Everything that’s not meant to be.
I see things that didn’t go right
Except that they are magnified.
Things I said or didn’t say
Or did or didn’t do during the day
And the possible repercussions
Are all blown out of proportions.
One thing leads to another,
And all these are such a bother!
At a time when I should be sleeping,
I lie awake, brooding and thinking.
Oh! what a nervous wreck am I!
Mulling over all the ifs and whys.
Then, the morning sees me awake
With a pumpkin-like strange face.
No book, no talk, no spell, no potion
Has cured me of this condition.
I could be wrong, and I could be right,
But this adds to my deplorable plight!
And so, the night fills me with dread,
For I have a light in my head.

Autumn’s First Breath

Autumn’s first breath is Summer’s last.
It’s warmth giving way to nippy drafts.
With Winter waiting on the far horizon,
Autumn is Nature’s final celebration.

The trees in the glades glow vibrantly
As their leaves let go the usual green,
To wear yellow, orange, red and brown,
And gracefully twirl towards the ground.

The pregnant fields yield their harvests –
Plumpy pumpkins and crunchy carrots,
Sweet apples and tangy cranberries,
Beets and more, all ripe for the picking.

As the people of the world celebrate
With Halloween and Thanksgiving Day,
Nature prepares Herself for Her sleep,
To dive into the depths of dormancy.

The chilly air is the harbinger of change.
The trees stand bare, looking so strange.
The applause for their show slowly fades.
With Autumn’s last breath, Winter awakes.

The Night of Kanha

The endless expanse of the sky,
Dark blue, like Kanha,
Glitters with stars on a clear night,
Each one, a bedecked Gopika.

While alone, I sit in my room
Staring outside the window.
Darkness casts a pall of gloom.
What do I seek? I don’t know!

Suddenly, I hear something!
Muted sounds of laughter,
Notes of a flute, enchanting,
And tinkles of anklets fall on my ears.

I glance around, but the street’s quiet.
The house is still and dark, too.
Yet, the night, with music, is alive,
And wraps me in midnight blue.

I see then within myself a light
That chases away the darkness.
My soul rejoices like the starry night.
My hope renews in Kanha’s embrace.

A Plea from Lord Ganesha

O Sculptor!
You shape Me from a lump of clay
Giving Me the smoothest texture.
Can you also polish away
Differences that mar this world?

O Artist!
You paint Me with vibrant colors
Making Me glow instantly.
Can you also concur,
Red is the blood of all humanity?

O Tailor!
You stitch royal robes for Me
With brocade and embellishments.
Can you also mend
Relationships torn by materialism?

O Florist!
You put flowers at My feet,
Freshly picked from the bowers.
Can you also see
Fragrance isn’t limited by borders?

O Chef!
You offer Me naivedya
Like laddoos and modaks.
Can you also add,
In the hearts of people, some kindness?

O Believer!
You revere Me on Ganesh Chaturthi
With puja, mantras, and hymns.
Can you also notice
Education is the path to enlightenment?

O Devotee!
Year after year, you celebrate
My advent, stay, and departure,
And yet…

The world is marred by petty differences!
Unity eludes humanity!
Materialism destroys relationships!
Everywhere, borders exist!
There’s a shortage of kindness!
And illiteracy still persists!

When will you look
Beyond My shape, color, clothes, flowers, naivedya, puja, mantras, and hymns?
When will you truly understand Me?
When will I get to celebrate on Ganesh Chaturthi?

Happiness

Happiness is only for a chosen few.
So don’t try to argue that
I can be happy just as I am.
Although you may think otherwise,
I can’t afford luxuries.
And it would not be false to admit –
Only the rich own palaces, cars, and gold.
As I ponder further, I see –
One can never be happy without money.
It’s also hard to accept that
Happiness is in the little things.
And, it is a fact –
I can’t really be happy just as I am.
So, I refuse to believe –
Happiness isn’t about being wealthy.
For every day really gets me wondering –
Is happiness only for a chosen few?

PS: This is a Reverse poem. Please read the poem from top to bottom first, and then from bottom to the top.

The Story of a Dewdrop

‘Twas in a special moment,
In the stillness of the cool dawn,
The white veil of mist condensed
And a tiny dewdrop took form.

Perched on the edge of a green leaf,
It caught the wee light from the East,
And then, immediately releasing it,
Dazzled like a little liquid diamond bit.

A thirsty ant stopped to drink from it
Some teeny, cool, refreshing sips
And soon went on its way happily
With a song of thanks on its lips.

The leaf reveled in its newfound beauty
Prancing in the summer breeze.
And then, the dewdrop rolled free
Landing on a spider’s empty net of silk.

There, it hung with other droplets
Glinting on the gossamer string
Like a delicate gemstone bracelet,
Reflecting the colors of the morning.

It caught the eye of a passing poet,
And some children as they walked by.
Then, a photographer and an artist
Also saw it and were left inspired.

But oh! A soft zephyr did sway
That daintily woven silky web.
The eensy dewdrop then fell away
To the Earth who hid it in Her embrace.

The Red Coat

The red coat hung in the display.
It caught her attention at once.
It was a deep yet bright red,
With shiny, black, round buttons.

On one side was the price tag.
The figure was her year’s salary!
Now, her interest really piqued
And she quizzed the shop lady.

The coat was made in a village
In a faraway and foreign land.
It was created by craftsmen,
Over many days, with their hands.

As she went to bed that night,
She thought about that coat.
Yes, she loved and wanted it.
It looked every bit its worth.

As she pondered further on,
A question arose in her mind –
What was it about that coat
That made it one of its kind?

Was it the warmth and softness?
Was it the color and buttons?
Was it that it was all handmade
In a faraway village by artisans?

But, wasn’t it just like… her quilt?!
The thought came so suddenly,
She turned on the light to see it –
It was her old grandmother’s gift.

Years ago, her grandmother
Had hand-sewn this cozy quilt
With cloth pieces in varied colors,
And patterns, and a cottony fill.

It had warmth and softness!
It had colors and buttons!
It was definitely all handmade
By her grandmother, like an artisan!

The coat was then just a dream
That looked perfect in the display.
Even if she bought it, it seemed,
She’d never wear it every day.

She turned the lights out to sleep,
And yet, her mind was clear as day.
For the thing she desired so deeply
Was something she already possessed.

The Day

An ordinary day.
Busy with countless chores to do.
Cooking, washing, folding, rearranging,
Dusting, and in all this, you overlook
Everything that’s extraordinary, like
Flowers, sunshine and … being alive.

PS: This poem is an Abecedarian.