Renovation, restoration, reconstruction and remodeling...

There is a revised drawing on my table
Of an ancestral house unstable;
Nicely done, with colorful legend to indicate
The changes for its most modern fate-
“To be dismantled’, ‘to remain same”
And “new walls” to play the latest game!

And at site, I pulled aside a near-rotten frame
But something else fell apart and down it came;
Opps! The older walls were crumbling down
To be redone and to be finished brown;
Renovation we say but to reconstruction everything sums up
Or restoration is the need but remodeling is what it becomes of!

And, there was also a house on the hill
Partially gutted by fire and in ruins still;
We wanted to rebuild souls with its story
By restoring it to its former form and glory;
Ruins speak aloud to tell the past,
May be we are inviting nostalgia to last;
Generations of memories are cast again and again
That reign forever in every brain

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It is past midnight...

It is past midnight so soon;
From between the hills rises the moon;
I didn't keep awake to watch it though,
I am enjoying its lustrous glow!

The halfmoon looks like my teaspoon,
It stirs my mind out of a cocoon,
While its luminous glow seems to propose
My stay deeper into the night, I suppose!

With the clouds, the moon turns maroon,
The color of demand these days in the saloon;
And there, the moon is only a half balloon
But at unkindest times, a pleasantest boon!

Now, it's dawn so soon,
Half the journey, travels the moon,
It is still a teaspoon though not maroon
With brightly lit blue sky as its cocoon!

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A tree stood at an edge...

A tree stood at an edge of our farm land
As a landmark; firm though not too grand
For a flash of memories of relationship love-hate
And a splash, that was, of bittersweet fate!

The tree is called gante, a local name
And there was another one with the species same
At a water source where I bathed and washed
At dawns, joyfully, with hopes high but soon smashed!

Flowers yellow, attractive and bright;
Big little wild bees searching nectar in dizzy light!
I was wrong to assume that the bees would die;
Poison filled, I suppose, and yet the bees could fly!

Then, as the flower fruited to coconut size,
A langur white dashed in for nature’s prize;
I again assumed that he would die
And, again, I was wrong and I knew not why!

Later, my cattle fed on fallen young leaves;
The poison then did not deceive!
And, yet again, I knew not why the hell broke loose
Till I understood gante and its use and misuse!

For ages, the seeds have been a source of edible oil;
Poison evaporates as we put the raw oil to boil;
As for the landmark, it is indeed a memorable one
With bittersweet taste of love-hate relations bygone!

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The so-called tenders...

The so-called tenders and quotation calls
Have always been of certain shortfalls;
Lowest bidder in terms of price is selected
All others, no matter how best, are rejected

Whether it’s for works, services or supply of goods,
Rule books, latest, may appear to spur the moods
But, at a closer look, it’s old wine in a new bottle
And, for reasons best known to none, systems throttle!

There's my rate passed in time through the gate,
One in envelope marked original, the other marked duplicate,
Both contained in one more called the outer cover
With no bidder identified and sealed with burning rubber

Speaks the chairman about transparency and accountability;
Bid rejected without assigning reasons is no responsibility;
New committee with new members on corridors of power;
The brands of items, however, are not mentioned at this hour!

Page by page, each member signs the documents
As it’s just an opening committee without arguments;
With no one for assessment and award and no fixed date
Each bidder shall be waiting to hear his fate!

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