Every second, every minute, every hour every day
Seems like an eternity due to this cruel wait.
It’s like being against a blank wall as we all pray
For the clouds in the skies to shower some rain.

The great Indian summer has long overstayed
With more than fifty shades of brown in the hills and plains.
The angry, hot Sun makes every living thing sweat,
And in an angry, hot breeze do all things sway.

What evil karma has brought about these days?
What will shake off the spell and cast it far away?
The king and his countrymen are all so helpless
As the heatwave causes fields to crack and break.

O Gods in Heaven, I have heard and it is said
That you can see even an ant as it takes a breath,
And hear its little sighs as it rummages and forays.
O why then are you treating us all as castaways?

Bless us with the vision so we may mend our ways
Lest the swelter outside, in our minds too, deserts create.
Open up the skies, and let your love pour down again.
Bring us back into your fold and end this neverending wait.

High up the plains at the bottom of the hill,
There’s a quaint little village that lies hidden.
And, in that village running right in the middle
Is an old village road used by animals and
people.

On it walks the cowherd with his staff and whistle,
And the bells on the necks of his small herd tinkle.
At times, it is crossed by geese in a gaggle
Making all the big carts come to a stand still.

The road is cobbled and has tiny, loose pebbles
And in the trees lining it, the north wind swishes.
But, that doesn’t stop the children as they dash and giggle
With the village dogs whose tails wag and wiggle.

O the old village road holds a lot many secrets
Of the generations that in the quaint village live.
O how I long for those times when all was so simple
When I skipped down the old village road without any reason.

Rocky, windy cliff
The little eaglets take flight —
Cold, empty eyrie.

PS: This poem is a Haiku.

Mother Earth, you are truly divine.
Without you, there would be no life.
I could fill infinite books and pages
With words in your honor and praises.

Of the millions of species you bore,
We humans have taken so much more.
Even with the billions of neurons gifted,
We have from our purposes far drifted.

You gave us eyes, but we lack the vision
To see the equality in all your creations.
You gave us ears, but we choose to hear
All that pleases us from all that is dear.

We feel so proud of all our inventions
Oblivious of the impact of our intentions.
Not realizing you still hold the controls
To the wheel of fate as it turns and rolls.

When will we know for better or worse
That you are our sole link to the Universe?
That the answers we seek lie within you,
And the reasons for our existence, too.

Summer butterflies
Emerge from little cocoons —
My dream manifests.

PS: This poem is a Haiku.

Yellow and red leaves
Let go and fall silently —
Hark! Winter arrives.

PS: This poem is a Haiku.

As I lay on my bed and close my eyes to sleep,
The night comes alive and whispers to me.
I hear the rustle of the trees in the cool breeze
As magical little pixies prance on their leaves.

The air is fragrant with the queen of the night
As the iridiscent fairies softly hum a lullaby.
The moonbeams spread just enough light
For me to see a dream with my droopy eyes.

And then there are the insolent crickets
Who chirp away excitedly in the grassy thickets.
Their chorus stays constant with every minute
As they spy on the dance of the garden spirits.

The nocturnal merrymaking then slowly cease
As the rosy light steals across from the east.
The world rubs its eyes and stirs up on its feet
And I wait for another night to whisper to me.

It’s a story as old as time itself.
The grass that grows in the velds
is eaten by the buffaloes and deer.
They, in turn, are the lion’s meal,
and when the mighty king dies,
his body returns to the plain’s soil.
On that, the lush green grass grows.
Thus, the circle of life does flow.
Such is the law of the universe.
It’s a cycle that is never reversed.
So don’t be sad when it seems to end,
for something new will soon begin.

One fine day, Water and Stone
got into a heated argument
about who was more powerful
and couldn’t reach a consensus.

So they asked all the little birds
flocking at the side of the river.
The birds got into a conference,
but couldn’t arrive at a decision.

Then, Water suggested they ask
the sunshine in which all bask,
but Stone said the rays were biased –
They often shone on Water’s surface.

With no answer yet to the question,
they went to the wise old woman,
who lived at the edge of the village.
Yes, she was known to be like a sage.

The evening sun was almost setting
while she put down her cup of tea.
She was busy weaving flower jewelry
to be sold in the market for pennies.

Just as she put on her shoes to leave,
the two approached her, still fighting.
After hearing both of them speak,
she shook her head and said wisely,

“There are times when I have seen
water breaking stones into pieces.
and times when water has been held
by stone dams and embankments.

So, here’s the answer to your question –
The most powerful is Circumstance.
Be gone, for there’s work to be done!”
With that, she left, singing a folk song.

It would seem that she had finally lit
a candle in the dark for the two misfits.
And so it was that with no argument,
the two enemies became best friends.

This is the story of little Louie.
A story that tells the truth truly.
One fine day, he was on a tree
doing his bit chomping leaves.

And suddenly, what did he spy?
His own image in a pond nearby.
A lumpy green thing with eyes,
and short legs; he was surprised.

He shook his head with dejection.
Unhappy with his pudgy reflection.
In shock, disbelief, and depression,
he was dismayed at his situation.

And when the tears had been cried,
he went back to what he did in life.
Munching leaves with all his might.
Eating, eating without knowing why.

And there were times he did stray
towards the pond and see his image.
Repulsed he was with his ugliness.
Reviled, disgusted and so helpless.

And all he did was eat the leaves.
He did not smile, nor did he speak.
Rounder and greener became he.
Gobbling and nibbling on the tree.

Then came a moment on one day
when everything came to change.
Around himself, he spun a thread
spinning it till he covered himself.

Alone, he stayed in the darkness.
Not knowing what days lay ahead.
Memories reshaping in his head.
His body evolving in the little bed.

Hours ticked by, followed by days.
On the branch, his cocoon swayed.
The leaves he no longer craved.
The pond forgot he ever existed.

Till an invisible force shot through
his body, and all he did was push,
breaking the walls of the cocoon,
emerging in the dark like the moon.

Exhausted he was, a little confused,
suddenly aware of his form anew.
Wings on both his sides so colorful.
Spreading into a flight so beautiful.

The pride of the garden and bowers,
sipping only on nectar from flowers,
little Louie had come a lot farther
from his days as a pudgy caterpillar.

Oh, happiness and happiest of times
come to those who patiently abide
and believe in all the powers divine
to reveal the true wings of their lives.

The last flower of spring
had a sweet song to sing.
Swaying in the cool wind,
to the past, it didn’t cling.

It sang of snows melting
and the chill relenting,
of buds awakening –
a new spring approaching.

It sang with tones lilting
of the sunrays kissing,
the fragrant air drifting,
of butterflies flitting.

Of hope, its words did ring,
spreading the good tidings.
Even the summer growing
in silence was tiptoeing.

The last flower of spring
sang of hard times ending
and the best times coming –
A song everlasting.

Dewdrops
like pearls fallen from a string.
Dewdrops
like diamonds in a wedding ring.

Dewdrops
shine bright in the sunlight.
Dewdrops
twinkle like bits of starlight.

Dewdrops –
children of the morning mist.
Dewdrops –
they are happy just to exist.

Dewdrops of every shape and size –
each one dazzles with its own light.
Dewdrops delight with their smiles.
May these dewdrops be our guides.