The Mosquito and Me – A War Story

Night-time.
During the great Indian summer.
With no respite
From the heat and sweat as folks slumber.

With a power cut in the neighborhood,
I flung open the window and curtains
Hoping for the breeze to do me some good,
But the warm gusts brought no changes.

As I drifted in and out of sleep,
I became conscious of a presence.
And, although I was so drowsy,
My senses were heightened.

It started with a humming
A stretched low mmmmmm.
Then, an ominous silence –
And my eyelids drooped again.

Suddenly, I felt a sharp “pritch!”
By pritch, I mean a prick and an itch,
And that jolted me out of my sleep.
Cursing loudly, I turned on the light switch.

It took me time to adjust my sight,
But there she was in all her glory –
A mosquito in her flight,
And that was the start of this war story.

In a rage, I leapt up towards her,
But missed squashing her narrowly.
As if taunting me, she buzzed slower
And inched closer towards me.

Not to be outdone, I dodged sideward
Trying to catch her with one hand.
Missed again! Oh yes! She was clever
As she mmmmed away unharmed.

I stared at her with focused intent.
Was that her laughter or just my mind?
Then, the chase commenced,
As I smacked my hands many times.

Of her death, I was so convinced,
But when I stopped, I wasn’t right.
Into my view, she flew with nonchalance,
As if mocking at my plight.

Furious, I folded a newspaper
“Never give up,” a caption read.
I jumped about whacking the air,
But she was indomitably still there.

In disbelief, I went towards the balcony
And opened the door to gasp the cool air.
Dawn was breaking across the sky slowly
As she finally cruised outside with flair.

The battle was won, though I lost the war,
But here is the lesson you should know –
Never underestimate the power
Of a common mosquito.

The Samosa and Me

I don’t clearly recall when I first tasted it.
It could’ve been at one of the parties
Or bought home by visiting relatives.
But, I do recall falling head over heels,
In that instant, when I ate it.
A deep-fried Indian pastry
Filled with spiced potato, onion, and peas,
Called a samosa, commonly,
Got my taste buds addicted, delightfully.
And, this is where the story begins.
When I was a child, I loved this treat,
And as I was a child, I got away with it.
When I grew older, it wasn’t a mystery –
The samosa had a hand in shaping me.
The scrumptiously delicious pastry
With its spicy potato filling and chutney
Was why my waist size had increased,
And my hormones were swinging wildly.
But, my taste buds were hooked on to it,
And it took me a hospital visit
To realize that I had to cut down on it.
With the years, I grew wiser, definitely –
And I ate one, ok, at times two, daily.
“But you have to stop,” they all tell me,
“For the samosa is your worst enemy!”
So now, it’s salads that are healthy,
And soups made of boiled veggies.
The samosa on my plate is history,
And that’s the end of my tragic story.

The Odyssey

The sailor set off on the ship,
A huge brown one with sails.
Cold and gusty were the winds.
White-crested were the waves.

Soon, they were in the high seas,
And the blue water turned white,
White as milk with blue frothy tips,
It rocked the ship from side to side.

The sailor rushed onto the deck,
But tripped on a barnacle and fell!
A pair of eyes peered back at him,
For he was standing on a black shell

Of a giant crab with giant red claws
That snapped at him as he gaped!
He dashed from side to side to dodge,
And tried very hard to escape!

Just as he thought his end was nigh,
There formed a twister in the sea.
It pulled him up into the sky so high
That the ocean’s edges he could see.

Then suddenly, he was free falling,
And a scream rose up to his throat.
He saw the white-blue waves rising,
And nothing on which he could float.

His screams did seem a bit familiar.
I thought I’d seen him somewhere.
Wait a minute! Is that me, oh dear,
Caught in the midst of a nightmare?!

Yes, I have never been happier
To have woken up in my warm bed –
A safe and sound landlubber
With an adventurous odyssey to pen.

O Stomach!

O stomach! The things I do for you
Couldn’t be any more stranger, too!

There’s no moment in the day
When I don’t heed what you say.
I give you ice cream, chocolates,
And puddings piled up in plates.

But you say these do not suffice,
So, I eat muffins, cakes, and pies,
Lemon tarts and cheesecakes,
Pancakes and bowls of souffles.

You then rumble and ask for more,
And I eat candies by the score,
Almond cookies and sweet buns,
And yet, you yell you aren’t done!

You want slices of bread and jam,
Custard with jelly and baked flan,
Sweet milkshakes with berries,
Caramelized and sugary toffees.

I just keep gobbling and gobbling
Till there’s no space left for filling.
Brownies, doughnuts, and fudge-
I chomp them all without a fuss!

And now tell me, why do you spasm
After I’ve filled your abysmal chasm?
I have to eat bland food that’s boiled
And spoon upon spoon of castor oil!

O stomach! The things I do for you
Couldn’t be any more stranger, too!

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.

The Silly Cat

There once was a silly black cat.
Who thought he could fly like a bat.
He jumped up so high
To soar in the sky,
But fell to the floor with a “splat!”

PS: This poem is a Limerick.

Alas!

There once was a witch on a broom.
Who took off in search of a groom.
She got lost in a blizzard.
And was caught by a wizard,
Who turned her into a mushroom!

PS: This poem is a Limerick

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.

To Be or Not to Be … Afraid!!!

Of all the things I fear the most,
This one tops the list.
No, it’s not thunder or ghosts
Or dark bottomless pits.

The very sight of it is menacing
And triggers me to wail,
Not to mention all the suffering
That afterwards prevails.

And it’s not like I can escape
When it is unleashed.
I know that I should be brave,
Yet I quiver like a leaf.

It takes less than a minute
For it to attack and leave,
And I’d rather run away from it,
Than face it tearfully.

It may be small and shimmery,
But it’s as painful as hell.
The singular cause of my misery
Is the doctor’s needle, my friends!

The Dictionary and the Thesaurus

The dictionary and thesaurus got married,
And their wedded life lasted exactly for a day.
Yes, theirs was a story fraught with tragedy,
When that morning started in the usual way.

The thesaurus asked the dictionary what she wanted,
As a gift, and a pink saree, was what she requested.
Now, the thesaurus went excitedly to the market,
And soon returned with a saree the color of peaches.

“I said pink,” the dictionary said, shaking her head.
And so, the thesaurus found himself in the shop again.
He selected a dress that was a shade like orchids,
And, came home, sure that the right decision, he’d made.

“Was I not clear?” The dictionary said incredulously.
“Pink,” she said as she pushed the silky dress away.
Flummoxed, the thesaurus drove to the merchant hurriedly,
And exchanged the purchase for another like champagne.

“Pink! I want pink!” The dictionary yelled furiously.
“Which one?” The thesaurus screamed back at her.
“Blush, coral, flamingo, magenta, salmon or candy?!”
“You should know, pink!” She shrieked in raging anger.

And, this was how their little love story ended abruptly
With the thesaurus racing outside to save himself,
As she picked up his “gift” and threw it at him violently.
Even now, they sit separately, sulking, on the library shelf.

Overthought

So I thought aloud a thought
That differed from your thoughts.
Then I thought some more thoughts
About what you would’ve thought.

This led to a pile-up of thoughts –
The what-ifs and whatnots thoughts,
And I ended up with more thoughts
That I should not have thought.

I know you may not have thought
Thoughts that I thought you’d thought,
Yet, my mind dreads the thought –
You may have thought those thoughts.

If anyone has any possible thoughts
Of how I can stop these thoughts,
Then tell me so without a thought
And to try them, I’ll give it a thought.