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

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”.