Not so Bizarre Corner

MY POETRY

INVITING DEATH

For my knowledge is much based on movies and books,

For I have never seen his mother cry a tear,

Yet I still pen down my feelings,

Because my heart says I can bear it no more.

What was it that drove him to those ugly lands,

Or to those merciless chilly mountains,

What was the reason which forced him to welcome a bullet piercing his chest,

And still he died with a leer on his face.

How will his wife consolidate his son,

Who still refuses to learn that papa is no more,

“He will lay aside god” she might say,

But who will sympathize with her at the end of day.

How peaceful the death was the wife would see,

When she would turn the pages of his life,

For each page she turns she become weaker and prouder,

His memories, his impressions would be now louder.

‘Oh my love, countrymen’ he used to sing,

When he marched through the battlefields,

Audacity and ammunition were his only companions,

But now could only lay in peace.

What made him skip his diet for days,

Never cared enough for where he stays,

Why did he die for the people he had never met,

The ones who had done him no good,

They could only light up candles and mourn for a minute or two,

“Oh lord” his existence was only realized when had paid his adieu.

Sacrifice will be the word old men would use,

But why not meet his old dying mother,

Who had never wished to die after her son,

Coughing, crying, clamouring she would stay,

Now could only admire a picture of her only hope of ray.

 

Make life hard, the philosophers would insist

But why did he choose a life where even hardest would be embarrassed,

Still dressed in khaki his body would lie,

For the scavengers won’t even dare to roam by,

Why did he chose such a life,

Full of pain, full of demise, full of strife.

THAT DAY WHEN THE SUN CRIED

That day when sun rose above the nebulous clouds,

He saw Mother Earth clamouring aloud.

What used to be one was two and two were four,

Same number of people but the countries were more.

Miss Blithe who refused to pay heed to these rumours came up early that day,

With clothes in one hand and powder in other she strolled through the way.

Down to the river in which she washed clothes every morning,

Not on this nefarious day but she adavnced without any prior warning.

As soon as she touched the serene river came shouting two men of millitary,

‘Go home poor lady,this ain’t your water anymore’ said one peremptorily.

‘Why’ Mrs. Blithe cried who was blithe no more,

‘This is west and you are east’ the other one roared.

How can you divide such precious resource the poor soul thought,

Never let them spill as words for the guns they brought.

‘Who has Christ now’ she could just say.

The new contigous world blighted her everyday.

The rumours which were tiny miscles moments ago were now sharp pins,

What would she do if not be the carrier of the despondent news for her kins.

Should she cry for her kismet or her man’s fate,

Who used to work at the other side of the border till date.

Something even gruesome occurred on that dirt track,

When she realized that her son might never come back.

The son who might be stuck in the adversity of the new nation,

Then she wept and wept since the tears were her only possession.  

She returned to her home only to find her husband still not awake,

Free from any anxiety,free from the news of this sudden quake.

 And she made sure not to disturb him about the world’s new affair,

For the only comforts in their lives were their dreams and their solitary pair.

Some miles away where a family dined,

And they dined there for one last time.

Marched a couple of rutheless messengers with stick in their hands,

‘Abandon this house,this house is no more your piece of land’.

‘Be placid my dear friend’  pleaded the family head,

‘Why don’t you sit and enjoy a loaf of bread’.

 ‘Don’t fawn me with these pity words’ yelled one of them,

‘Leave this place and then feel free to condemn’.

‘Bestow clemency on this child’ bemoaned the debilitated old man,

‘Where will we go because we have lived here for our entire life span’.

‘Oh there is a palace behind the border’ giggled one messenger,

‘Now let us resume these drills on other passengers’.

And the sun came down deploring with a gesture of sneer,

Even the hot fire couldn’t exhaust his imperishable tears.

He had seen a bereaved family become peripatetic and a poor woman cry,

Could now just see the delinquent time passing by.

THE PRICELESS GIFT OF LIFE

Do they owe us anything or are they circumscribed by some bond?

Why don’t they give up at nascency or why don’t they abscond?

They do have their quotidian lives and errands to worry about,

But still they cater to our every single shout.

When we are seeds they are showers,

When we become flowers they are gardeners,

When we rise they rise, when we fall they edify us to stand,

When we laugh they laugh, when we mourn there is always a hand.

Such ravishing can only be the parent-enfant affiliation,

Preeminent than any religion, caste and creation.

They bestow us with little brothers and sisters,

Whose little fingers vanquish our chagrin and whose eyes show glisters.

It is the second most sublime gift of life,

First being their buttress in our every strife.

They must create some positive vibrations,

Around them we are free from any kind of fear or exasperation.

It is omnipresent, it is well built in every form of animaux,

Parenting is common to homosapiens, foxes, fireflies and flamingoes. 

  

We do lie at times with people like these,

But Its our love and not our sleaze.

How can we afford to hurt their innervations,

Hence be candid to friends to whom with we have tender relations.

A thug won’t be mischevious on the day his father might die,

For it was only with the father he couldn’t stand by.

And the guerilla will postpone his black work for further,

As he has to stay home for his bedridden mother.

 

The day this affinity stumbles is the day Mayans will ring the bells again,

The day of suffering, the day of holocaust, the day of pain.

The legend of prodigal son will reign forever,

In every town, In every tiny and big shelter.

And I have never visited much chaples and temples,

For I pray two other people who are such holy examples.