The Portrait

‘Twas the portrait that did him in.
The night was cloudy and stormy.
And, darkness shrouded the cottage
Where he worked as a servant.

But, his heart was even darker,
For, in reality, he was a burglar.
As he stuffed his bag with silver,
Lightning flashed with thunder.

It was at that moment he saw it!
Her portrait above the mantelpiece.
She seemed to stare straight at him
With the piercing eyes of the living.

As the light crackled in the window,
He saw her smile with an “I know.”
Across the skies, the thunder rolled,
As he started sweating in that cold.

His bag grew heavier with treasure,
And he tried to escape from her.
“I know! I know!” Her shrieks echoed,
As he made a mad dash for the door!

The next morning, the police arrived.
Near the door steps, a man had died.
The medical report said, “Cardiac Arrest.”
‘Twas the fourth, in the haunted cottage.

Seven Sisters

Seven sisters in a box,
Handed down over generations,
They can cook up a storm
In every Indian kitchen.

Be it a daily meal
Or grand, festive celebrations,
They are always ready
To create magic on any occasion.

Just a pinch or a teaspoonful
Brings great satisfaction,
And all the items on the menu
Become artistic creations.

Experts they are
At instant gratification –
Blending aromas and flavors
To turn foods into delections.

They are my friends for life
Melding me with traditions –
The box with seven spices
In my little Indian kitchen.

Flowers

When I was a little girl
I loved plucking the flowers
Growing on the side of the road.
Drawn by their fragrance and colors,
And their soft petals and buds,
I loved crushing them with my fingers.

When I became a teenager,
I was enamored by the flowers
That I received as gifts in bouquets.
I would put them in books and papers
Leaving them to dry between the pages
And marvel at how beautiful they were.

When I grew into a woman,
I was mesmerized by the flowers
That were woven into garlands.
I would wear them in my hair.
The air would bear their fragrance.
I felt it enhanced my beauty for hours.

In the autumn of my life,
I am reminded by the flowers
Of the moments of bygone times.
Yet, I don’t pluck, crush, dry them in papers
Or for beauty, yearn for their sacrifice.
I’m just happy when they bloom…in bowers.

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.