poetry

Waiting

Why is mamma late?

I am tired of waiting

It’s long since I ate

Eyes tired and hurting

Will she get me pizza?

Today just for once ?

I know it’s not a good idea

She is without a job for months.

Why is life so unfair?

Some rich and some poor

While I have nothing to spare

You have your life secure

Mamma says, I am her dream

I must follow a course and succeed

Fight my way upstream

And to failure never concede

I may be a little boy now

But that’s what I will do

Through life’s field I will plough

Penury and hunger subdue

Ah, I see my mamma afar

She don’t have pizza I know

Will be happy with what she bears

And flow with life’s high and low.

poetry · Thoughts

World Through Her Eyes

Once again in my dream

I saw you in your balcony

In the glow of the early evening sun

You had your paisley print dress

And you were leaning against the railings

Lost somewhere faraway, in thoughts.

I watched your abrupt smile

Eyes closed to the gentle cool breeze

Your twilight tresses coming loose

You lazily tucked it behind your ears.

There was something about you

That drew me in and tethered to you.

I wished I could live in your reveries

And see the world through your eyes

You stood still, unperturbed by the life below

Your gaze somewhere at the distant horizon.

You didn’t see the children playing

Or the road side vendors bargaining.

People walking their dogs,

Or the pensioners talking,

Seated on the benches along the side-walks.

My eyes trailed you from my open window

And my soul imbued with the image of you.

For my eyes were surrendering their vision,

Losing their sight to Fuch’s Endothelial Dystrophy.

Never did I know then, that you would give up.

And leap down from the same balcony.

Finally looking down, only to summon death.

Your eyes donated, restoring someone’s sight

And that someone would be me.

My wish granted,

Now seeing the world through your eyes.

poetry · Thoughts

The Road I Dared To Take

This was a picture for poetry challenge.

It reminded me of the risk I took, and the road I finally decided to set on.

As I sleep walked
Through the day’s mundane tasks.
Again it beckoned to me
The road I never took.

It haunted me,
The road I am scared to take
With its dense spectral trees
And a patch of diffused light

It enchanted me,
This road I want to take
With its ominous incalculable darkness,
A promise of mystery and thrill.

So with the sophistry of courage,
I took my first measured steps.
And walked to the edge of light
On this road I was scared to take.

There may be times I fall
Dangers and road- blocks  meet
But I will sure know my strength
On this road that I dared to take.

Life isn’t lived without its risks
Conquering fears to walk to the end,
A dream that noone can see but you.
On this road that is worth the take

poetry · Thoughts

My Mamma Has a Mask

I got the below picture for a poetry challenge and I found my ideas completely dried out.

My first thoughts were on masked emotions by mothers’ hidden from their children and also maybe mother’s devotion. Then I thought of a narrative from the child’s point of view .

I wanted the child to say, what did she do under the mask to make him smile.

Finally this is what I could come up with. My secret wish is for all adults who read this to smile thinking about those moments you had with your mother. And those which you had as a mother.

I have an affinity for free verse as I cannot maintain rhyme and meter, and still say what I want to say.

My Mamma has a Mask

I heard noise in the kitchen
Mamma and dad fighting.
Something fell and crashed
I think it is my cereal bowl.
I was still brushing teeth
When she came and took me
Saying, “Let’s go for a walk baby,
Mamma wants some fresh air.”
And out to the garden we came.

My Momma took a mask
And put it on her face
I couldn’t see her eyes
Or her lovely face.
“What are you wearing mamma?’
I asked her, touching her mask
“Pstbsftsgagaagaagoogoo” ..says she.
“What you said, mamma’?
I didn’t understand a word !!!”
She made more funny sounds,
Making me laugh again
Then she took off her mask.


Smiling and giggling she said
“That wasn’t me, baby
But my inner Buddha speaking”
“But what did he say?, Mamma
Was it something funny”?
She said, ” Buddha told me
To come out here with you
And to say Pstbsftsgagagaaagooogooo..
So that my anger can fade away.”
“Then I too shall do the same, Mamma
When you don’t let me watch TV”
She laughed again
“You learn real fast baby
Now let’s go home.
Our breakfast is waiting”

poetry · Thoughts

Jeremiads of a Pmsaurus

Hey Uterus,

This is not fair

The way you hitch yourself to my emotions.

I am not being ungrateful, you know.

But you become the portal to my emotional centre.

 We should feel powerful, you and me

Being the vessel that contains “Shakti”,

Instead you send me to hormone hell.

I feel depressed for no reason.

And cry an ocean over nothing.

I feel that my hair is extra greasy

And I will those pimples to break through

I can’t find things which should be there

Then I find things which shouldn’t have been there.

When you start shedding tears of blood,

For a child that was not given

You gnaw my innards

And pin needles through my brain,

With stomach cramps and migraine.

My moods brachiate and vacillate

Until your tears are cried out and drained.

Then we pirouette back to sanity lane

Till we do the same dance again.

Image credit :boredpanda.com
poetry

Scars Are Mine To Flaunt

We were getting ready for a party

And I came out wearing my sleeveless red gown

My arms were bare

Except for the bracelet nuzzling my left wrist .

Then the fight started.

He said, “Cover up your arms .

Your burn marks are in view.

You are never careful while cooking

No other women I know have scars like yours”

I said, ” Let me tell you once again

How I came by my scars.

While you slept late into the morning

I was making our meals.

Breakfast, box lunch for office

The role I was assigned to do.

I didn’t burn myself .

Happened in the morning rush.

These aren’t my scars

But my medals of honour,

For every dish I mastered .

Which you called delicious and incredible.

So it is okay .

It is mine to flaunt.

As each came with a learning”.

poetry

What I am taught to feel Sorry About

image courtesy -dreamstime.com

I didn’t hear the alarm again, overslept, third time this week

Missed making pancakes and served just cornflakes and milk

Lunch box and midday snack had fruits and bread with jam .

“Mama, again we have to eat this …” quipped my son.

My partner was in the bath, getting ready for work.

I wanted to say, “Eat if you like, or give it to someone who needs it”

But as I rushed to change for work, I felt sorry,

For not preparing their favourite banana pancakes.

Children were ready to be dropped to school, waiting for me.

And I told my partner, “I have a presentation, need to reach office early,

So honey, please drop off kids at school today.”

He swooped down for a kiss as I struggled with my pumps

Wished me luck and herded them out.

I felt guilty, for prioritizing work and not my family.

Things went great at work, late working nights paying the dividend.

“Superb”, congratulated my Boss.

“But, your kids are still young,

Will you be able to balance the expectations that come with the promotion?”

“Yes, I can” said I, ignoring the guilt shoehorning its way into my conscience.

Yelling at me “Home work”, PTA meetings, doctor’s appointments, hobby classes

Play dates, Friday movie nights, Saturday baking, Sunday outings

What will you comprise?

“My partner will help and things don’t need to change “

Assured my unwavering self, as I took up the offer.

I will unlearn what I have been taught to feel sorry about

And relearn and reteach the people around me.

My life is not meant to serve others just because I am a woman

Men and women must learn the same things and do the same work.

I will not feel sorry for not keeping up your expectations.

No apologies if I didn’t conform to your gender rules.

It’s me and my place in the world.

So you need to unlearn along with me

To not guilt trip me with your looks , sighs and unspoken words.

When I unlearn what I am taught to be sorry about.