Sandcastles

The stick broke again, as he

carved out a ridge in the mound of sand.

She walked in and stood near by,

He smiled, and she waved a shy hand.

A casual nod was invitation enough,

She daintily ambled across the beach.

Her eyes spoke of stories many,

Her cheeks reflected a ruddy peach.

The boy extended a muddy hand,

Few words, and the acquaintance grew.

She saw he was busy building a sand castle,

And asked if she could help too.

He gleefully handed her a shovel,

They set to work with unusual zeal.

As they carefully moulded shapes aplenty,

The unsaid bond they both could feel.

Their castle, as they called it, was taking shape,

All the hard work was bearing fruit.

She had gone to fetch some more water,

But, on her way back, took a longer route.

An hour and a quarter later, she returned,

Wearing an expression yet unseen.

She spoke of other castles around, and how theirs

Wasn't as perfect as some others had been.

A little effort will make it so, the boy beseeched,

But something inside her heart had died.

She had wanted earnestly to take it to close,

But now nor time, nor effort she could bide.

The beach lured her no more, she walked away,

Before the boy could his dismay voice.

He tried hard to reason the turn of events,

Unperturbed by the sea’s rising noise.

He glanced at the castle, and all it could have been,

If only her thoughts had not been led astray.

Just then a wave rumbled right over the rampart,

Sand castles, he realized, are never meant to stay.

The Cruel Mistress

Knocking at the door was never her habit,
She would move around on a tip toe.
I still remember her first touch,
Even though, 'twas over two decades ago.

It was her nature to be playful,
Often in the corners she would hide.
And sometimes, as I lay snug on my bed,
She would sneak in and lay by my side.

She was a traveler, full of vim,
Her packed stroller only a yearly sight.
Our romance was always numbered in weeks,
The annual goodbyes now rather trite.

This season I waited with wistful eyes,
Staring into memory's abyss.
Her last visit, I recalled, had been rather dull,
Perhaps, I sensed, there was something amiss.

The bother soon turned to despair,
As my eyes met her cursive ink.
She won't be able to make it this year,
She said, she needed some time to think.

I lay there in utter silence,
As the biting truth I tried to bide.
But soon, I was wont to her absence,
And I mustered the courage to step outside.

Two dainty hands pressed against my eyes,
Her giggles obviated any guess.
She knew how to tease, she always will,
The Delhi winter is a cruel mistress.

When Nature came Knocking

Carefully he nudged it along with a little stick,
The tyre wobbled, but kept in its file.
Just then the first drop of rain kissed his cheek,
And quietly flowed into his heartfelt smile.

His pace quickened, his friend he beckoned,
Their run back home was a joyful caper.
The drizzle, however, wasn’t a call for indoors,
But the time to bring out little boats of paper.

The sky, soon enough, shed its azure,
The pitter-patter quickly turned to thunder.
Anything but gentle this shower was,
How much longer, the boy did wonder.

His friend went home, mother dragged him inside,
Their boats now sunk under a bed of water.
Their tin roof looked rather keen to give,
His mother’s forehead betrayed a hint of bother.

That night went by, so did another couple,
The relentless Indra refused to rest.
The crack of dawn was heard in their ceiling,
Time had come to abandon their nest.

Mother, in one hand, clutched a tiny bag,
And held his trembling fingers with the other.
Men, women, were all wading through the streets,
They weren’t alone, was all he could gather.

His aunt’s house was another storey, a refuge,
These desperate times had led them to seek.
Their path was tricky, marred by flood,
The rainwater, soon, of their sweat reek.

Blaring horns few days back, now calls for help,
All means to reach out rocked off the grid.
Shelter, food — all rendered too scarce,
The water failed to ebb, but some lives did.

T’was barely the city he knew, the young boy,
Even the old tea stall had been swept away.
They’d walked, nay swam, for hours on end,
“We’re almost there”, his mother did say.

The torrent raged on, only growing in fury,
The deluge threatening to engulf them two.
Some kind hearts with brave hands came forth,
Of their tired feet, now, they had a boat in lieu.

They made it to their aunt’s place, at last,
It’d taken a beating but, yet, in place.
The boy and his mother huddled with the others,
And prayed for the ever-so-elusive sun’s rays.

The storm did abate, but not before it had,
Brought down the city down on its knees.
Walls had come down, but the hearts were stronger,
A lot of good, and some bad, all come to cease.

Days later, the boy, the mother, started anew,
His evenings, he began to playfully spend.
The tyre kept company, so did the stick,
But silently, he missed his good old friend.

Of voices seldom heard

Brought forward, at times, by deep anguish,
Or well up I do in moments of joy.
I make my way in the most heartfelt hug,
And present myself in that aching goodbye.

Sheepishly do I surface at the brim,
Treacherously does my head dangle.
The heaviness within bears me down,
Briefly in the whiskered parapet I entangle.

Downwards I glide before I know,
Daintily meandering the gentle cheek.
With a moment's pause I fling myself,
My friend, I aren't a mark of the weak.

I look back up in the midst of my fall,
I see it, my coterie, come along.
We touch the ground before we know,
The downpour turns into an eerie song.

Motionless, I sit here in silent consent,
As others of my kind join me.
Our heads bowed in gloom, and backs bent,
Under the weight of silent melancholy.

At times heartless feet trample me,
Sometimes I splutter on the earth's rusty face.
Frequently, I am met with a remorseless shrug,
At times, spurned with pitiless disgrace.

Yet, on occasion, there's a palm outstretched,
That ensconces me in its soothing grip.
Those hands, I tell you, are for the keeps,
Hark! Hold on, and let them not slip.

The Shape-shifter

It is the wakefulness of the night,

Also the deep recess of slumber.
It jives in drunken revelry,
Reclines in a mood utterly sombre.

It gallops amidst endless chatter,
Then rests beneath sheets of silence.
Twinkles through conversing eyes,
As they rebel against the shyness.

It is in the tolling of the temple bell,
In the cry drowning the death knell.
Remains ensconced in that warm hug,
And in her cheeky, playful tug.

It's in the sounds of the sea,
And the gentle touch of breeze.
In the shade of flowing hair,
In her unwitting elbow squeeze.

It's the flower basking in the sun,
And in the grin behind the veil.
It is the heart’s most ardent wish,
But more often, its greatest ordeal.

Love, it be told, is a boggart.

Poring over pouring

A tinge of grey mars the heaven’s azure,
Ushers in soon a merry pitter-patter.
A moment apt for hot coffee or tea,
I am inclined to prefer the latter.

As drizzling clouds lazily drift away,
Awash is the city with colours bright.
A few colourful umbrellas dot the black canopy,
From my window, ’tis a remarkable sight.

Yet as the puddles start to brim up
Some, more busy, begin to resent.
As annoyed traffic clogs the streets,
Blaring horns echo the peacock’s lament.

Choosing footwear is a daunting puzzle,
Shoes soak, and slippers get sticky.
Most plans end up with staying indoors,
‘Coz raincoat or umbrella - that’s a problem tricky.

Yet for the momentary relief from blazing heat,
We await the first drop every year.
For the little joys it brings forth with it,
The discomfort one must bear.

Sounds of the Sea

Yesterday, the sea spoke to me,

It’s murmur, though, was faint.

Came to the ear but in the eye of the mind,

A picture it did paint.

Seated on a concrete ledge was I,

My feet hanging much above the tide.

The waves were crashing gently beneath,

On countless memories they did ride.

Friendly voices chirped beside me,

An unending expanse lay ahead.

In that instant, the buzzing streets behind,

Were muffled to the silence of the dead.

Filling the moment with boundless joy,

Was the magic floating through the draft.

My reverie went on till a playful drop,

Pulled me out with a tingling start.

I looked around at familiar faces,

Wishing I could hold the instant forever. 

Yet, like the waves, fleeting it shall remain,

Memories, to eternity, we shall savour.

Of Wisdom and Wings

At the break of dawn, between the flowers I did walk,
A butterfly’s hue silently beckoned me near.
“Li’l creature”, I called out, “are you free to talk?”,
She mouthed a yes, ’twas difficult to hear.

I asked her if she knew the vastness of the earth,
She rubbed her hands, dusted the sticky pollen. 
Her sullen expression quickly changed to mirth,
“Ye sure ’tis a comma there, innit a semicolon?”.

The ensuing laughter broke off the dialogue,
Launched my winged friend with a dainty flutter.
She flitted for a bit and sat on a fallen log, 
Then parted her lips, these words it did utter.

“Spend I my life immersed in nature’s dance,
Weigh it I do in charm, ay’ not in expanse.”

मधुशाला में एक शाम

जब उस दिन बैठे हम मधुशाला में,

तो बगल में बैठे थे नवयुग के बच्चन |

नशे में धुत, थे एक युवती पर टकटकी लगाये,

कुछ ठीक ना थे उनके लच्छन ||

दोस्त उनके केहकहे लगा रहे थे,

"भाभी, भाभी", फुसफुसा रहे थे |

करना तो चाहते थे जगज़ाहिर इश्क़ अपना,

पर जनाब थोड़ा हिचकिचा रहे थे ||

ठहाको की आवाज़ अब कुछ बढ़ने लगी थी,

पहुंच गयी थी तैरती युवती के कानो में |

यहाँ इस आशिक़ के दिल के तार बज रहे थे,

जैसे अमूमन बजते हैं फिल्मी गानो में ||

हम बैठे तो कुछ दूरी पर थे,

पर गौर से सारा माजरा देख रहे थे |

तभी बैरे ने आवाज़ देके सावधान किया,

बेध्याने हम चने का छिल्का ज़मीन पर ही फेंक रहे थे ||

अब युवती के कॅंप में भी गेहमा गेहमी चली,

सहेलियाँ अब उसे चिढ़ा रही थी |

उसके सब्र का बाँध जाने कब टूटा,

यकायक देखा तो वो पूर्व परिचित युवक की तरफ ही आ रही थी ||

मेज़ पर हाथ रख कुछ अदा, कुछ गुस्से से वो कही,

"लड़के, घूरके के देखो ना मूझे तुम यूं!" |

उड़े होश तब युवक बुदबुदाया,

"स्वेर छोटी ड्रेस में बॉम्ब लगदी मैनू" ||

उसके बाद जो तमाचे की आवाज़ हुई,

उससे चरमरा गया था पूरा माहौल |

ये छोटी से प्रेम गाथा बस यहीं समाप्त हुई,

थॅंक यौ फोल्क्स, दैट विल बी औल ||

Knock! Knock! Hue's there...

With daunting swagger his horse he rode,

“Holi kab hai.. kab hai holi?”, he mightily bellowed.

Splat! A water balloon struck his swaying belly,

Ramgarh it ain’t, my friend, welcome to Delhi.

Totally sure of the exact date nobody ain’t,

So in advance, bought the colours and grease paint.

A single day cannot be enough for all the fun,

Un-holi be their intent; gosh! I nearly forgot to make that pun.

Clouds of gulaal have livened up the morning sunny,

Aaj hai paani, paani, paani.

The vibrant clothes present a picture sublime,

Singer Big B gets a massive boost in air-time.

The festival brings with an assortment of sweets,

Also some tomfoolery, and lots of jiving to beats.

Sadly, some err on the tasteless side of merriment,

That their number is on the rise is my only lament.

So, with a prayer for a more colourful world,

I must put an end to this piece of poetry.

And like a father whose son is off to his prom,

I must tell you, “Have fun, but safe you must be!”

A Job Half Done

Their first conversation had few words,

But seasoned it was with measured laughter.

They agreed the tea was good, and the weather pleasant,

And decided to meet the weekend after.

He worked his beard a tad carefully that morning,

And bought her a chocolate on the way.

The laughter was louder, the exchanges friendlier,

They both chimed it had been a lovely day.

He loved her big eyes, and the twinkle in them,

She giggled at his occasional flirt.

Their phones had little time to breathe,

Of things to share, there was never any dearth.

With relentless passion, he went about his days,

She confessed she really liked that too.

He talked ardently of music, but little did she know,

His affections were clinging to a subject new.

Months passed, and their lives went by,

Frequent, they remained, their meetings.

He listened to her, and searched for hints,

But, well, one is never sure of these things.

His patience gave way, and on a casual walk,

He bravely laid bare his aching heart.

All the feelings lay strewn, awash with dismay,

For Cupid had but played half his part.

Diwali nahi, woh wali

Here again is the festival of lights,

Of sweet somethings, and sparkling nights.

Of walls repainted with gleaming whites,

Not to forget, the annoying cacophony and drunken fights.

It starts with maddening crowds,

And ends with it too.

“I merely want a lamp, sir”,

“Duh! Get back in the queue.”

“Knock! Knock!”, “Who’s there?”,

Friends with a gift of little use.

No time to talk, we’ll see you next year, 

“Gee! Thanks for the exceedingly tacky hues”.

Buy new vessels today and vehicles tomorrow,

Makes sense to follow the customs staunch.

Carefully pop one laddoo in your mouth,

While you rest the other four on your paunch.

You say the festival brings joy to everyone,

Have you seen your shivering Dog?

Cared about the harried traffic policeman,

Or the sweeper clearing the litter, amid the settling smog.

Back came this year the festival of light,

Of half-understood rituals and customs trite.

Let not the festive spirit rot away with blight,

Fill it while you can with kind deeds, and faces bright.

Of love... (and some rhyming words)

Countless poets and songwriters have been born,
Of men and women with hearts lovelorn.
Playing with a pen the chords of their heart,
Mightier than the sword, say some, and vicious as a poisoned dart.

'Tis the beauty of true love, it fails to die,
It lingers in the morning drizzle, and the mournful sigh.
Not till then you realize, how the heart can ache,
It does, and literally so, till that is all one can take.

Pain brings out the creative in you, they say,
The judge, of what's good, in the audience does lay.
They applaud, for, sometime, they have felt the anguish,
The others, they never in love's cove did languish.

सपनों की दुनिया

वक़्त की माला में कुछ लम्हे हमने पिरोये थे |

यादों के तौलिये आंसुओं में भिगोये थे |

गुज़रे इन सालों में, सपने कुछ हमने भी संझोए थे ||

सपनों की कहानी ही कुछ अजब है,

रात छोडिये, ये दिन में भी हमें सताते हैं ||

कुछ पूरे होते हैं, लाते हैं खुशी,

बाकी बंद आँखों के पीछे छुप जाते हैं ||

You, yes you!

H'dare you mock my poetry,

I shall see you in court.

Nay, I am not that forgiving,

I shall you to hell deport!


Alright! I know it's naive,

But I love to rhyme.

Guess that's what verses do,

Is it that huge a crime?


Abstract feelings, moving moments,

I write not of,

To life's untalked of banalities,

Do I my poetic hat doff.

To the Frosts and Coleridges,

I sincerely apologize,

Writing gives me a much-needed kick,

That, for the moment, shall suffice!


Poetry needs fresh flavours,

I shall cook up something new.

Tell then sit back and keep mum,

Don't make me... KILL YOU!

Limerick!

Thanks to my friend and fellow "Vox Populi" editor Rashmitha, I have been inspired to write limericks too. The following is my first attempt. I hope I am not punished for plagiarizing the rhyme scheme (and yeah well somewhat the pattern too)...

There was once a guy called Luke,
He was heir to the throne of Duke.
One day he breached the Royal line,
And gulped three bottle-fulls of wine,
All he could do that night was puke.
And if you are reading this you know that it's really time you wished me luck for my mid-semester exams starting on Monday! :D

Just another 'PoU'm

This semester, there was a choice of course,
I chose, alas, The Physics of Universe.

The earth (for all intents and purposes) was a sphere,
So were the marks, and that gave me the scare.

The class, it seemed, begun at dawn,
The prof's eyes met mine, and I stifled a yawn.

Crammed up 'astronomical' figures, I wonder why?
Galileo was confusing, so was Tycho Brahe!

I swept the azimuth, and climbed up the pole,
Burst in a 'nova, and became a black hole.

The mids, the end-sem sped by like light,
The magical 25 percent was still out of sight.

"You'll fail only if you deserve to", the professor proclaimed,
The hopes and dreams of hundreds was drained.

He'll fail me, He'll fail me not, there were rumours galore,
I'd had so much of it, I wanted no more.

Sprang up in no time, the placements and CAT,
The fear of an 'F' pinned us to the mat.

We could whine, we could explain, we could cuss,
But there seemed no way we could "Ask the Pankaz!".

But God hears our prayers, he's surely not deaf,
I now have a 'Z' and an 'S', but, it seems, no 'F'.

If you can't beat them, Po'em

Aloha! My friends, I guess it's time,

I always knew I had a knack to rhyme.

Naive, one may say, my verses are,

Give me time I say, I shall raise the bar.


Humor, love - I know my theme not,

A penchant for words is all I've got.

People, places, I'll let my wit jog,

And here goes the first post in my poetry blog!