Monday, 23 March 2015


I look at my kid...the innocence seems to spill over. The ethereal beauty of his face, his yearning of coming close and playing with me (till eternity).......ohh my, when he sleeps, his embrace - the magical touch of his says so many things; the sense of protection that he feels - anything and everything, demons, witches, and even his mama that come his way - baba is the sentry, who will build an impregnable wall around him, redirecting everything away.....I pocket HAPPINESS.

The other day, I asked him -  what do you like in me? He didn't even bat his eyelids to generate the impromptu answer: baba, I love everything of you. I hugged him tight, tears moistening my eyes.....I pocket HAPPINESS

He overhears, and could only distill that baba wants to get into some school by the name IIM. Every night, before dozing off, he would say -  baba, mark my words, your dream will come true. I would pat him gently, laughing to myself - Innocence is bliss. When I received the final admit, overjoyed I took him in my lap and spilled the news. He didn't show much excitement, and matter of factly said he knew it would happen. A bit wary, does this kid even know what and how much it takes to get into IIM? Smiling, I asked him, how could you be so sure? He with his casual promptness showed so much of assertion in responding to this: "Everyday, I told god, who resides in my heart, give my baba the thing which he wants because my baba is too good, and god if you don't, I will break my friendship and won't allow you to reside in my heart". I hugged him tight, tears trickling down....I pocket HAPPINESS.

Wednesday, 18 March 2015


Mom, I yen to utter
The deaf ear, the closed shutter
Papa, can you not hold 
The blind eye, the response in cold

Where did u all go
I sit, looking down the lane
Will you not come back
One two three....I count in vain

I didn't do any mischief
I wasn't at a fault
Why is God then so fumed
Why did he pick my vault?

Am I a slough, 
Which needs to be torn
Or, A case
That is just forlorn

Questions, trivial, spin round the morn
Why were I called the angel, when I was born?

My wails have lost its sound
The heavy grief, I have started to bear
A shadowy figure down the lane
The footsteps of mom, getting near....

I'm moved at the plight of the innocent bunch of tulips, the so-called orphans ( how can they ), at Liberia....

This poem is shared with : 
The Tuesday Platform
Mag 261

Saturday, 7 March 2015

The Painted Lady....

Veins pierced, the blood is drained
Colourless I, the heart is grained
The painted lady- I, an anathema to all
Turned into a flesh pot, a risque ball

The ghostly night sneaks, stalking as an owl
The little lily deflowered, no one picks the howl
Stare at the bed, in a fluffy weightless state
The ruckles on the sheet, my only soul mate

Sit by the granite table, looking through the pane
Empty I, name-identity all lost down the lane
Sucked in the vicious circle, I yen for the dawn
The dim auroral glow, the fear of darkness gone

The hex will be broken, all will stop to leer
Women empowered, I hear the growing cheer!!!

This poem is shared with :
Poets United
Wordle 201
The Tuesday Platform