The Past’s Perfect Memories

“He was your great grandfather,”
My grandmother said matter-of-factly.
I took a second look at the photograph
Among the many scattered around me.

I looked at the dark-skinned old man
Dressed in a white turban and dhoti.
“He was a farmer,” my grandma went on,
“And he was an expert with the sarangi.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” my father added.
“As a child, I used to sit on his shoulders
And listen to the melodies he played.”
I was intrigued by the man in the picture.

The ancient photo was black and white.
Even then, I could see it was very sunny.
So many questions arose in my mind
About this stranger from my family.

What was he like? He seemed nice.
What was a sarangi? I wanted to listen.
What did he grow in the fields? Rice?
My curiosity piqued in that instant.

“Put it back carefully,” my grandma said,
As I returned it into the old red album.
But, just before she turned to a new page,
I looked at my great grandfather again.

And I noticed his eyes in that picture.
He was gazing straight at me, it seemed.
I saw the affinity that was in his nature,
And, to date, I can also see that in me.

Hope – A Story

The train started from a tiny village
Deep within the Indian hinterland.
And, in one red and black carriage
Sat Ami with a brown bag in her hand.

The train was bound for the big city.
The journey was of a night and day.
Soon, the whistle blew, and it slowly
Moved with a chug-chug on its way.

Along with Ami in the compartment
Were a bunch of old men and women.
She did not have to give any explanation.
They could see that she was pregnant.

The women smiled and gently asked
Her about her family and her baby.
In casual conversation, the time passed.
Then night fell, and they all went to sleep.

Sometime before dawn, Ami awakened.
The pain had started like ocean waves.
Her wails woke up the men and women.
They realized the baby was on its way.

The news spread throughout the cabins
As the women rallied around her to help.
Water, towels, bedsheets, and curtains
Were all arranged around her small bed.

After hours of the painful contractions,
Ami delivered a beautiful, pink baby girl.
Everyone wished her with congratulations
As she kept weeping with joyful tears.

Slowly, she revealed her life’s story.
Her husband was martyred recently.
All that was left of his love was the baby
Whom she named “Hope” in his memory.

My Notebook

My
Notebook.
My best pal.
My confidante.
Keeper of secrets.
It’s blank pages invite
Me to pour out my feelings.
As I write, words flow with the ink.
The abstract takes form and gets a life
Revealing something new about myself.
It is where a confluence takes place.
Where the real and unreal combine
To bring alive a new world
Where all is possible.
A realm made by me,
For me – to delve
Deep within
To find –
Me.

PS: This poem is a Syllable Pyramid.

With A Friend

When you’re lonely and down in the dumps,
And your spirit is in the doldrums.
When it seems that something has blocked out the Sun,
And Sadness weighs on you like a tonne.

What you need is a dose of laughter and fun
To make your grief come undone,
But no pill or syrup can give you that punch
Like your friend, your bestie, your chum!

With a friend, you know that you can take the plunge,
Venture into the deepest canyon.
With a friend, you don’t fear the things that go bump
In a night that would scare anyone.

With a friend, the worst days you can confront.
It don’t matter if you’ve lost or won.
All you need to believe is you have the gumption,
And, who helps? It’s your friend, your bestie, your chum!

Echoes of the Rain

The drizzling rain reminds me
Of the green grass laden with dew
When I strolled on it with you.

And when it pours
With a constant pitter patter, I remember
Our conversations over hot tea and fritters.

When a storm rages with raindrops like whiplashes,
And the forked lightning crackles and flashes,
Bringing to life scary monsters in the darkness,
I reminisce the comfort of your warm embrace.

There are other people I’ve come across, too.
But the rain forever reminds me of – you.

My Mother’s Heart

There’s a place that has no boundaries,
Where love blooms in eternal Spring,
Where my infinite wishes are fulfilled,
And I can see the sweetest dreams,

Where the grass is soft as I walk,
And there are no hard stones or rocks,
Where I can share my deepest secrets,
And listen to lullabies when I rest,

Where the voice of wisdom speaks to me,
And the air has the fragrance of divinity,
Where a superforce gives me protection,
And I can seek and find expression.

This place is where I was moulded.
It is the bedrock of my existence.
It is where I can always get a start,
This place is in my mother’s heart.

Gratitude

As I commission my pen to write about my inspiration,
I wonder how I can describe you in these limited lines.
In my life, you have made innumerable contributions.
Whatever I am is because of your meticulous designs.

I may not even be aware of them anymore these days.
But you were the reason for my morals and good habits.
The learnings I forgot, the learnings that, with me, stayed,
For everything I define and interpret, you get the credit.

Like the rising Sun at dawn dispels the night’s darkness,
You lit my paths as I journeyed towards knowledge.
At times with encouragement; at times with harshness,
You helped me shine and succeed like a diamond polished.

So I say this to you, my teachers, as you taught me, too,
For being my inspiration, the little magic words – “Thank you!!!”

PS: This poem is a Sonnet.

Love Lost and Never Found

Love..sprouting like a seed planted in the fresh moist earth,
Unsure of the world around it, drawn towards the sunlight.
Reaching deep within with roots, leaf upon leaf unfurl,
Growing, growing and growing in the showers of desire.

Blooming with fragrant deep red petals like soft velvet,
Blossoming in the neverending, eternal, etheral Springtime,
Yearning every second, every minute, every hour, every day,
Longing to be known, acknowledged, realized and alive.

But what’s this? There’s something new and undiscovered
Sharp, dry, prickly, they can cut and draw blood outside.
Thorns… yes thorns of Ego, hidden among the red buds.
Hurtful thorns…with the passing moments, they too thrive.

Unrestrained, they grow faster, weaving a net of bramble,
Piercing through all, even the petals, not heeding to their cries.
Till all that’s left is a woody, dry underbrush that’s dead
With buried memories of a love that was lost…and happy times.

Incomplete

I have wings
But without the flowing winds,
I am incomplete.

I have eyes
But without the glowing light,
I am incomplete.

I have a mind
But without the Divine guide,
I am incomplete.

I have a heart
But without a true-blue confidant,
I am incomplete.

I have words
But without a quill and paper,
I am incomplete.

It would seem
That I am incomplete
Without the world around me.

Could it also be that the world
Is a bazillion-piece puzzle
That’s incomplete without me?

Social Media – An Unreality

As the city wakes up to a new dawn,
And the sun peeps over the horizon,
He excitedly reaches out for his phone
To check the “likes” on his latest post.

Not far away, in the same city’s corner,
She takes a selfie with some flowers,
And to make herself look even “better”,
She uploads it after applying a filter.

While in another house down the alley,
He shares a video that fascinates him.
A video that’s completely fake and false
With contorted facts and no truth at all.

Yes, there’s a new epidemic in town.
One that spreads all the year around.
Drawing us into a world of “instants” –
Instant fame, love and gratification.

We were different without social media.
We were more “social” with each other.
Emotions weren’t equal to emoticons.
Networks did not limit our connections.

Where are the heart-felt conversations?
Why do we crave the clicks of buttons?
Let the smog disperse to reveal the light
Social media can never replace real life.

The Pledge

I may feel I need my own space,
And you may think you’re better off alone.
But the law of human nature says
I am because you are; we all share a bond.
So, let us all take this pledge today
To always share our thoughts, come what may.

Peace

It takes just one spark of anger
To set hearts ablaze with hatred
Leading to bloodshed and war,
Mindless destruction and death.

The dead cannot love or hate.
That’s the prerogative of the living.
Of what use are the dead anyway?
Life is only for the alive and kicking.

The need of the hour is peace
To save Humanity from extinction.
Let peace reside in every heartbeat,
Every family, every city, every nation.

Let it fall like raindrops from the skies
Dousing the flames of bitterness.
Let’s give up all resentment and unite
To create a happy world for generations.