Umbrella

Protect me all during sun or rain,
Drenched or scorched, be over me time and again!
The folds do unfold for your dominant show,
You are as colourful as the brightest rainbow

I stand the bitumen melt or the flooded footpath
And, if I fall, we both shall feel the heavy aftermath;
Remember that we both are collapsible in and out,
I hold your handle tight as the winds regularly tout

Wet or dry: torrential rains or the baking sun
I value you most as I dare not make the fun;
You stand high above and I remain below:
An umbrella is much more than what the colours show!

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A Gardener and Pumpkin: A Story re-written

When Dorji was short and fat and Penjore tall and thin,
There was a moral story that is causing my head to spin

A gardener after having toiled hard, relaxed under a shady tree
"It isn't right!", he commented on God's creative spree;
"Pumpkin on a small creeper, tiny fruit on a large tree; that, God does keep!"
And the gardener as he thought deep, drowsed to sleep!

The breeze blew; a fruit detached itself from the tree and flew down and down
Until its thorn pricked the gardener at his nose tip; he jumped and screamed in pain like a frantic clown!
The thorn - a sharply pointed pin - on the fruit had pierced the gardener's skin!
As he realised, he thought of his fate had it been a pumpkin!
Then the moral follows as the gardener regains his mood,
"Whatever God does, He does it for good!"


My Story Begins Here
I happen to see a large jackfruit tree,
Its fruits are big too, some larger than pumkin!
Have I understood the moral vis-a-vis "Gardener and pumkin" story, poor me?
If so, why is jackfruit with the size of pumpkin on a large tree?

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The Restless Soul

Heartbeats are the loudest sounds,
Silence all around surrounds;
Eyebrows dance with music in the ears,
Sight is blurred and mouth fed with salty tears,
Restless I am; restlessness for too long prolongs
As, restlessly, I move on to dance to many songs
And there stood none to watch and see,
Only rotten tomatoes and eggs flying at me;
The hall was moonless dark: no lights,
A semblance to resemble my plights;
I keep dancing awfully to music never heard
Feeling odd, awkward and so much absurd,
Then, cries of hell reverberate and echo several times
As my soul cries too; it’s been tried severely for no crimes;
A knock wakes me up; it’s Chhotu, the ‘canteen-boy’,
“Tonight’s Freshers’ Night, be full of joy!”

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Age of Innocience

Right in the womb, my journey begins
With my cries, a wish is what my mom wins!
I chuckle and get the best suckle
One and all, for my needs, buckles!

Soon I crawl with my dolls sprawled;
I am lapped, kissed, smudged, bawled,
Oiled and powdered with warmth of sunshine
And best of everything sublime!

Hand in hand with elders, I learn to walk
My voice no more a noise; I can now talk!
I love rhymes, letters, all colours of joy,
Bicycle, ice cream, and my favorite toy!

I haven’t yet visited a zoo
Nor in time ever reached the loo;
I carry a Mickey Mouse to my school
While at my house, we both swim in a pool!

Onto my teens, there are many talks of the town;
This, that, why, how, here, there, up and down!
My toys gather dust; school is tougher by the year;
My dreams are being shaped by people near and dear!

I get to mid-teens to be a little ignored
And at times, without my friends, even bored!
My age of innocence is getting over
A challenge as many things about my life hover!

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