Tuesday, August 1, 2017




Their feet buried,
In gripping earth,
The tombstones spell,
The death of birth:
The utopian field,
Of divine pasture;
Coming and going,
The return to dust,
The journey which,
For everyone is ‘must’!
Tell-tales of many,
Whom many hadn’t seen,
But, who for loved ones,
Possessed enviable sheen;
When alive and kicking,
Were by many used,
When sick and dead,
Were ungratefully abused;
For someone still in love,
The forget-met-not,
For others just another body,
Interred to rot;
With ‘someone’ often coming,
A bouquet to place,
To light a candle,
With sincerity and grace;
Kneeling and praying,
In gratitude,
Then leaving, perhaps,
With beatitude;
Some tall, some short,
Sentinels in a row,
Tombstones whittle down,
While shrubs quietly grow;
Obituaries in newspapers:
Are read and forgotten,
The epitaphs too fade by,
Onslaughts, now and then.
Tombstones aren’t forever,
They have their own end,
Be they of parents, relatives,
Or a dearest friend;
Tombstones stand upright,
With admirable grace,
Only to fall with Time,
Buried on their face!


Umbrellas have mushroomed,
All over, here and there,
I don’t have one,
I roam bare!

I watch the tiny toad,
Hiding under the mushroom,
All creatures scurrying,
To their holes, nests and room.

I don’t know how,
It feels to be under one,
When water edges down,
Is it really fun?

Or when there is,
A hole in its roof,
Does holding it,
Become a spoof?

Or when the wind,
Upturns it in a sec,
Water gets in,
As the sea in a deck.

Or when the wet squall,
Blows it off the hold,
And it’s chased as if it’s,
A rolling ring of gold.

Oh! umbrella oh!
What has it done?
It has exposed the couple,
Locked in fervent fun.

Alone I sit, all drenched,
On a walkway fence,
Without an umbrella,
For my defense.

Nay, I shall not lie,
Mine is the biggest one,
The blue sky bedecked,
With stars, moon and sun.

God’s color-changing gift,
Which doesn’t ever fold,
Whether it rains pearls of boon,
Or rays of 24 carat gold.


I am a love-letter,
Read me with your heart,
Only then you’ll know,
Why I hate to part.

I am a love-letter,
Open me in moonlight,
Inhale my fragrance,
Hide me from sight.

I am a love-letter,
Sealed with caress;
Written in blood,
Patience and stress.

Don't ever hide me,
Inside the pillow,
Or you'll become
The weeping willow!

I dislike being tightly,
Embraced by pages,
Lest I’m lost
In a bookshelf for ages.


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