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.

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.

My Box of Crayons

You are my box of crayons.
The red to my passion;
The orange to my enthusiasm;
The yellow to my optimism;

The green to my peace;
The blue to my stability;
The purple to my creativity;
The black to my mystery;

The white to my innocence;
The brown to my strength.
Every shade and every tint
That I am is what you paint.

With you, I am smaragdine,
And viridian and aquamarine,
And argent and apricot,
And indigo and gamboge,

And ash and amethyst,
And skobellof and mulberry.
You are every color I’ll ever be,
And only with you, I’ll play Holi.

It’s Holi

Red and yellow make orange.
Smeared with it, our faces look strange.

Blue and red make purple.
In the water balloons that, towards us, hurtle.

Yellow and blue make green.
When sprayed from a pichkari, we run and scream.

Red and white make pink.
The splashes come faster than we can dodge or think.

Green and red make brown.
There are colors for every person in the town.

Brown and yellow make gold.
The gulaal in the air falls on the young and the old.

The dholak’s beats, the Thandai and sweets,
With them, the celebrations are complete.

Come one, come all – join in the playful revelry.
After all, it’s the festival of colors – it’s Holi.