I once met a beautiful Sentimental rose.
It sought no approvals from this world
as it blossomed on a fair summer day
in a sunny rose garden in New Zealand.

With splashes of red on white velvet
petals tucked around a yellow circle,
it garnered the rapt attention of
countless glittering, round dew drops.

Then that evening, dark clouds gathered.
With thunder and rain, the winds battered.
While curled up near the warm fireplace,
my thoughts turned to that rose’s fate.

I woke up to the gleaming morning sun,
walked solemnly to that little rose garden,
and there was that glorious Sentimental
poised gracefully with a few strewn petals!

While some were yet so neatly arranged
with silvery drops shining on their faces.
Our conversation took place in silence as
the rose didn’t speak any other language.

“Your beauty is perfect!” I exclaimed.
“Even though the stormy winds and rain
threatened your very existence last night,
why do you smile, so lovely and bright?”

The rose nodded its head in the breeze.
As if contemplating the answer silently.
Then said, “The storm was unexpected, aye!
But to be your best…always…now that’s life!”

The hands of the clock move to five,
It’s time for me to get out of the hive.
I rush downstairs to the parking lots
for a ride home in the autorickshaw

The meter’s down; we’re on our way.
And on the road, there’s a lot of traffic.
With a loud honk, a red bus passes by:
the auto swerves – missing a motorbike.

It bumpity bumps over all the potholes
like the little cars at a car-racing show.
Now on the highway, it picks up speed
and I wobble like jelly on the back seat.

Up and down the bridges, we roller coast,
moving in a sea of loud beeps and honks.
O what a ride! What a thrilling ride it is!
In the little auto on the city’s big streets.

Here comes the house and then it ends.
The meter stops and the fare is paid.
Butterflies and prayers are laid to rest as
I look forward to the ride on another day.

The tracks were set.
The runners in place
while people watched
with bated breaths.

At the loud gunshot,
the racers were off
with fast strides to
beat the ticking clock.

As they reached the
last lap, all of them
rushed ahead and sped
with all their strength.

And then it happened –
The first racer’s fall –
A stumble – it seemed
like he had lost it all.

As he hit the ground,
he felt a hand on his
shoulder, and looked up
to see another racer

who helped him stand
and didn’t leave his side
till they both had crossed
the white finishing line.

Yes, the race was lost,
but he had found a friend.
And later, that day, he asked
him, “Why did you help?”

To which his new comrade
said, “it may seem crazy, yet
I believe – life’s about helping,
And winning isn’t everything.”

A long, long time ago,
at the bottom of the sea,
there lived a little oyster
as blue as he could be.

He hardly ever spoke
and rarely ever smiled
at all the sea folks who
used to pass him by.

“Why are you so glum?”
Said the sea anemone
“Cheer up my little one!”
As she waved gleefully

The oyster didn’t smile
and one could not see
his tears as he sighed
and spoke on ruefully.

“You are so colourful
and look very pretty
with your many arms
moving with the sea.

And the fishes there,
just look at them go
with their bright tails
like twirling rainbows.

While here I am all day
in my drab little shell –
nothing to do and say
and no stories to tell.”

And so the oyster spent
it’s whole life in the sea.
And on one fine, sunny day,
it washed up on the beach.

The girl shouted happily
as she held it in her hands
and showed it to everybody
who had gathered around.

Joy lit up her blue eyes
as they found the pearls.
They said she was lucky
to find such a big oyster-

Who was by now thinking and
smiling at them from Heaven
“I wish I’d known all this time –
my worth- happy I’d have been.”

And so it is dear friends
as plain as truth can be.
Why fret over the reasons?
Trust in Him is all you need.

Walk the tightrope to the end.
Don’t look down. Not yet, my friend.
Swim across the ocean wide.
Against the currents and the tides.
Fly across the great blue sky,
overcoming all worries and strife.
Run along the winding road for
at its end lies the true abode.
And when you come to that door,
The crown of victory will be yours.

Piper, piper, play me a song
so I can dance
and sing along.

Piper, piper, I hear you now
and I’ll follow you
beyond the clouds.

Piper, piper, stop playing your pipe
for I’ll stay awhile
in this place o’ light.

I asked if she
would help me
to cross the street.

My vision’s a blur;
I don’t even hear
my bones as they creak.

The street’s so wide;
I cannot decide
where to point my feet.

She took my hand
and like a lamb
I followed silently.

She left me standing
at the gate, wond’ring,
of this castle by the street.

“This is where you’ll be.”
She said to me
and turned away to leave.

I asked her name
and why she came
and where she had brought me.

“Your angel,” she said.
“And Heaven’s this place
Where you’ll rest in peace.”

‘Twas on a glowing autumn evening,
there came at Stan’s door a knocking.
Two guests sat near the hearth
The angel of life and the angel of death.

One wore robes of the finest silk
like the sun rising over the hills.
The other was adorned in shades
of changing leaves in the glades.

Each put forth his argument
bidding Stan to take a decision,
For whomever he chose to be with
would stay and the other would leave.

“Life is like a stroll through
a corridor with many doors
behind each of which lies
a sea of possibilities.”

“Death is the end
of all suffering.
It is the place where
one rests in peace.”

“Life is like a race
through a puzzling maze
with twists and turns
of highs and lows.”

“In death lies the final
truth that makes people
equal for it sees no
barriers and no emotions.”

“Life is like a river flowing
through deep valleys finding
its way through stones and
changing them into sand.”

“Death seeks no deeds or
accomplishments for
it will eventually come
to everything in turn.”

Having heard them both,
it was Stan’s turn to speak.
He said, “Death is inevitable
and will certainly overtake.

But life holds experiences
in each and every moment.
The pain and the glory
together make the story.”

So, as day came to end the night,
he held the hand of the angel of life.
And, the angel of death who said no more
was shown out through the door.

Listening to the leaves whispering in the breeze,
I wait for answers before they can be revealed.
Hoping for the best while bearing the hard fall,
I try to reason; it’s like talking to stone walls.
Searching within the puzzle that’s the Universe,
I come up with nothing like a mirror in the darkness.
Who knows? Even as the skies change colors everyday,
patiently … even as the earth spins madly … I wait.

Sometimes I
walk on roads
I’ve traveled
to meet
a memory.

Sometimes I
walk the path
less beaten
to meet
an experience.

Sometimes I
walk in the
day’s glow
to see
a shadow.

Sometimes I
walk in the
moon’s light
to see
so clearly.

’tis myself
I seek by
night and day
and I fail
everyday.

Then I look
at your face,
at your smile,
in your eyes
and see – me.

“More! More! I want some more!”
The tiny voice would’ve gone unheard.
I turned to meet an outstretched hand,
a scruffy face and a head full of sand.

I stared down at the beggar child.
His eyes danced, his lips smiled.
His little fingers lined with dirt
held lightly the folds of my shirt.

‘Be gone!” said I, “So unsatisfied.”
The amount I’d given was justified!
Not one extra coin would I disburse
to this depraved lad, this curse!

I glared into his eyes again.
I hoped to see fear, even shame.
But my outburst had been in vain.
His beaming smile did not change.

Instead, in a voice crystal clear,
he spoke to me and I did hear.
“I’m all alone – Oh! Please, please!”
The winds and cold do not cease.

There was a time when I had known
warm caresses – my mother’s own.
And long past the twilight hours,
she’d tell me all about the stars.

She left me all alone one day,
and as she was going – did say,
““Let not the hunger and the cold
make you beg, or sell your soul.

Look for work and you will find
in the fields – something to bind,
or in the big, busy marketplace-
if you work hard, it will pay.

Do not fear for me, my son!
Not far from you will I be gone.
When people tell you I have died,
look for the new star in the sky.””

And so, it’s not alms that I want,
Just a little fare for the “2 Down.”
No more moments I must waste
if I want a job at the marketplace.

Not more than a 2 rupee coin
for the new job I have to join!
But this you will not do for free,
your heavy basket I shall carry.”

I looked down at him again.
His eyes now held only pain.
His proud chin, turned up high,
so full of hope – this little boy.

And every word he said was true.
He was his own living proof.
Undefeated by life’s miseries yet,
he was just like the black cygnet.

And, along with me he did hurry.
My blue basket, for me did carry.
“Here’s the coin! Now rest a while!”
And I saw again – that beautiful smile.

Waiting
for you to return
after you say goodbye.

Waiting
for a smile to come
after the tears have dried.

Waiting
to hear “I love you” again
after we end the fight.

Waiting
for the darkness
after turning off the lights.

Waiting
for the dust to settle
after the storm has passed.

Waiting
for time itself
for this too will not last.

They say that life’s
a game and I agree it is –
one – of waiting.