Ding-a-ling-a-ling

There’s a part in my heart

that sings ding-a-ling-a-ling

it says it misses everything

the joy, laughter & friendly baits

hushed conversations, impatient waits.

There’s a part of my heart

that’s forever an optimist

it draws suns, rainbows and endless bridges

this part goes rap-a-tap-tapa-a-tap-a-tap

how bad can it be?

another chance another dance

this is the only life I have you see

I am holding down this part

stifling it making sure its never free

some black holes swallow

the brightest suns

and unlike what  some wise men say

following ones heart doesn’t always pay.

Too many truths

There is my truth
And then there is yours
You believe in yours
Even though I know mine
Is the only one
That exists
Which one of us is lying
Maybe neither.
Finally
There is no one truth
Only what we believe
Or even
What we wish to believe
In this tussle
Of truth, beliefs and wishes
Wishes always win
Or maybe they always lose
Either ways
I feel defeated.

One of those days

There are days when everything seems wrong
There’s no solace in the sweetest songs
These days don’t come often
But when they do
Would you think me selfish god
If I come looking for you
You know me god
You know I am true
It’s just this
That I don’t often come to you
It’s not because I don’t believe
Infact it may be that
I believe too much in you
I believe you exist in everything
See everything I do
I hope today god
I hope my belief is true
Cause today is one of those days gods
One of the days I need you

My Age – My olympic medal

Age is just a number

just a number is age

when we come into this world

there is nothing in our hand

our bond is with just one person

and that too a bond of dependancy

for survival

Growth is beutiful

except in cancer cells maybe

as we grow

our circle expands

to include so many more

we learn

liveliness, humility, generosity

friendship, honesty, loyalty

hard-work, ambition, perseverance

kindness, responsibility

we develop relationships

and friendships

we nurture

we create.

Its a shame that modern man

has begun to look at age

as baggage.

The bent form

the wrinkled skin

the dullness of eyes

are trophies

speaking of our accomplishments

in Life.

All I say

is that when its time for me to go

I hope that I have

lived so fully

love so completely

laughed so heartily

cried so inconsolably

that the number I wear when I go

is no less to me

than an Olympic Gold!

This post is written in response to the prompt at the daily post “Age is just a number,” says the well-worn adage. But is it a number you care about, or one you tend (or try) to ignore?

 

 

 

 

 

 

A funny thing

A funny thing happened on my way to work

As I sat in my car rumbling and grumbling about the psycho boss

Who praised seldom and shouted a lot

I saw a neighbor dressed in khaki

Bidding goodbye to his young family

Will he come back one never knows

Where in comparison to him stand my ‘job woes’

 

A funny thing happened to me today

Just as I finished shouting at my little boy

He forgot his home work and scattered his toys

The news broadcaster spoke of a bus filled with boys

That slammed into a train fatally

I looked at the tear streaked faces of moms on TV

And wondered somewhat guiltily

Did they too shout on their little boys

About unfinished homework and scattered toys?

A funny thing happened when I went to bed

Complaining about how I never get any rest

How my back hurt from house work and my feet ached

The magazine I picked to read opened on a page

A paraplegic’s face stared out at me

My aches then seemed like a blessing to me

They showed what god had bestowed on me

A working body that ‘en’ abled me

A funny thing happened on my way to the mall

On a red light crossing my car came to a halt

A naked baby carried astride the waist

Of a little girl hardly nine years of age  

Looked imploringly into my face

I lingered, my car stalled

In my mind’s eye I recalled

The pegs of clothes that hung carelessly on my walls

Suddenly I didn’t need to shop at all

A funny thing happened as I went to eat

in a fancy restaurant on an upmarket street

Dressed in formals I stood waiting in queue

I saw a simple food cart roll through

Its bell tinkling, pleasant smells wafted by

Bringing alive memories not yet old enough to die

When food meant something hot and cheap

To be shared with a gang of friends and purchased by heaps

Suddenly the five starred restaurant lost it’s Appeal

I ran behind the cart for a  hearty meal.

 

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. The Write Over the Weekend inspiration for this time was

‘A funny thing happened on my way to….’

A Village woman cooking courtesy www.theguardian.com

To the Women of My World – On Women’s Day

Their veil of ‘protection’

forcibly keeps out ‘our’ light

darkening our worlds

Against all odds

we dream

The shackles of ‘tradition’

stifle us

authoritatively dictating our lives

Against all odds

we breathe

The menacing shroud of  ignorance

violently wrapped around us

entangles us

not allowing escape

Against all odds

we hope

The fear of reprimand

ties us down

intimidating us to  tow the line

Against all odds

we assert

The danger

of being mutilated, burned, violated, killed

scares us

smothering us to silence

Against all odds

we speak

The violence we face everyday

intimidates us

terrorizing us to tears

Against all odds

we smile

The world

we were born into

stands against us

up in arms to defeat us

Against all odds

we live.

‘Women’ of the world and specially the women of my country, whose woes I know more intimately. Everyday in our lives is a struggle. one day for us is not enough. Lets pledge to claim the year!

Murderous Dream

I had a dream

It shimmered and shone

beckoning me

to touch it.

As I reached out

It embraced me

so hard

my ribs hurt.

I strained to be free

but the grip tightened

the more I tried to get away

the tighter it clutched me

crushing me.

Till I could breathe no more.

Pushing, screaming

I scrambled to disentangle myself

begging to be liberated.

But the dream clung on.

I wanted to let go.

To run.

So far that it would never grasp me again.

Never entice me with its false gleam again.

With all my strength

I pushed it.

And somehow

managed to escape.

Only to realize

too late.

In my struggle to be released

I had left behind

my soul.

Held fast in the dreary dream’s deathly grip.

I existed but I lived no more

talked but  spoke no more

touched but felt no more.

Now I wait

with breathless anticipation and gloomy dread.

For my soul to come back to me

For the murderous dream

to clasp me  again…

The prompt on Daily Post was Dreams… There are dreams that nurture us . There are dreams that soothe us. There are dreams that motivate us and then there are dreams that kill us. This is my interpretation of a dream that break!. Prose or poetry, I do not really know. I have taken liberties with the punctuation too. Apologies to the grammar police!

visiting the past

visiting the past

A reader reminded me of this post I had written last year in July. I don’t have a very good memory and sometimes when I look back at my own writing I do so with a sense of deja vu. Does this happen to you? How do you feel when you look back at pieces you wrote a while back?

Learning from Britain

If I could learn anything

from Britain

anything at all.

I would like to learn

from it – confidence and the power of resolve.

A tiny little country

smaller than the state of Oregon

dared to dream big

and conquer the world

one-fourth of the Earth surrendered

and as more colonies were formed

Britain’s power evolved.

For over a century

the ‘Brits’ ruled the world.

Though there is no denying

the loot and violence they unleashed

but it is also true

that they heralded a new era of being.

Judicial systems, railways and education institutes were born

civil services, postal systems and  armies were built.

And when the time to withdraw came

in their wake they left.

The league of Commonwealth nations

that spoke English, played Cricket and drove left!!!

When I checked my mail early in the morning today, I was greeted with a reminder for the Knowledge is Great contest. Now I do not do contests! Not because I am above them but just because…Well I don’t know!  I guess because I don’t like to feel shackled when writing. And contests by their very nature (Time limits and subject specifications) bind! Anyway, I saw this mail and wrote the above. Surely, not the kind of post the organizers had in mind. But what the heck ;)

On a more serious note. Knowledge truly is great. It ‘un-binds’ people. Setting them free. Giving them  imagination and dreams and also  the skills and power to achieve those dreams. Knowledge is not always acquired while pursuing ‘formal education’. Many great minds have acquired their knowledge outside the traditional systems of learning. In India it is our failing that we often neglect to acknowledge forms of knowledge that are gained outside the traditional ‘school’ and ‘college’ systems. The intimate knowledge that a farmer has of his land. The in-depth knowledge that a village woman has of her customs. The knowledge that a carpenter has of his tools or a potter has of his wheel! Each type of knowledge is to be cherished and valued.  All forms of knowledge deserve to be respected, enshrined and passed on to the future generations. But this can not be done till we learn to respect and value the carriers of this knowledge today. Dignity of labor, is a principle that many western countries observe and implement including Britain. And we should too.  I believe that while most educational courses offered in countries like UK are also available in India today. Studying  abroad can teach a sensitive student much more important stuff – How to do ones own work, respect workers and support staff like cleaners/ drivers/ guards, value money, follow civic rules, stand in queues etc.

What do you think is the biggest gain of an education abroad?

The Mirror Beast

The mirror on the wall

Reflects

Tired eyes

Wrinkled skin

That crinkles and folds

A weak body

Slightly bent

Grey hair

Thinned at ends

Frail limbs

With little strength

But fails to behold

The soul within

Lively

strong

Vivacious

Youthful

Still

Filled with hopes

Aspirations and dreams

Oh mirror!

You heartless beast

You only see

The senility

But fail to

Reveal

 The memories

That bring

Pride, joy,

Hurt, laughter

Love, sadness

Glorious snapshots

Of a life well lived

The prompt at The Daily Post was “Mirror Mirror” . It had caught my attention immediately but ‘stuff’ kept me away from my desktop! So here it is my take on the “mirror”. Late but Present!!! Isn’t that what counts?