I look up at the sky
Dark and grim
Threatening to pour
Over the vast black brim
It makes me wonder
Decide between friend and foe
For during my vacation
Rain’s always at my tow
A shield on my back
More pain than protection
For no place can I enjoy
With my family, out of station
Yet during my exams
It leaves my back
Giving the hopeful me
A very hard smack.
What my feelings are
Yet not very clear
To this popular FRENEMY
So far away, yet so near.
Do not be the Captain Marvy during Vacation
The unpleasant looking postman
Used to bring me letters
From a friendly elderly gentleman
Far, far away
Used to cycle across the street
His big bag clung close
A keeper of many secrets
Who delivered them from door to door
He was too tall, too lean
With a face rough and shabby
Hands which were never clean
From the dust of the roads
Now, my dear gentleman
I knew he was pleasant and neat
A punctual person too
He wrote to me each week
I used to see the postman each day
During his early rounds
But never once I saw, I would say
The man near our post box
He would slip by like a shadow
Or perhaps, like the wind, blow
Back in those days,
He kept his profile low
Then, a sudden forenoon
He rapped at our doorstep
Had come a few hours too soon
To give my old friend’s letter
From then on, the unpleasant postman
Hand delivered my letters
I think the old gentleman was aging
For his handwriting faltered
We continued writing to each other
Two writers separated by land
I wrote my wish to see that grandfather
Who lived in a distant town
So, one day, I packed up
Went to see him
But when I pounded on the door,
I was told
“That house has been empty for two months
The old gentleman is gone”
“A lazy winter Sunday”
I relished that thought all week
Finished off work – on time no less
All for today – the awaited day
I had it all planned
Would just sleep through the morning
And watch TV when woken up
Binge eating delicacies
I might exercise for a few minutes
In the tiny episode breaks, may be
I must not exert myself too much
So will keep the break to 5 minutes!
Or so I thought I would do
On this exclusive cool Sunday
But others had different plans for me
None of which I knew before
First came school with its homework
With an invalid excuse “It’s a Sunday”
Then came the chores – washing and cooking
And I was assigned much more home-work
Ah! How I wished this Sunday to be
Cool and lazy
But fate turned its back on me
Making it cold and busy
I thought I could never speak
To such a large crowd
Not even a single word, I thought
Would come out of my mouth.
I had not spoken much
Not even in class
To think of all the great people
The teacher would pick me for the task
I would have refused on the spot
Had I not seen the teacher’s look
A very stubborn expression, I read
Arguing would do no good
I didn’t know what made her pick me
Wouldn’t know in a hundred years
All I knew was I was anxious
My mind weighed heavily with fear
What if I mess up?
Blabber in front of everyone?
Or worse, trip on the way up
I knew for sure: I was done
Yet I decided
Might as well give it my all
After all, push had come to the shove
Sooner or later, I’d have to take up the call
I sat that night
Chewing my pencil out
And chanting each line hundred times
Till I knew it with no doubt
Up I marched to the stage
And stood in front of the crowd
Yet, that moment, I forgot
To panic
Words just flowed out of my mouth
And now that I look back
It wasn’t all that bad
In fact, it felt pretty good
I learnt, I could speak after all
Decades of effort need to be put
By the heat, rain and worms
To bite and gnash hard rocks
And make the soil on which we set foot.
Yet, it requires very little power
And some bulldozers and cranes
Within a simple hour’s slogging
The earth is denuded of its fertile cover.
How greedy and ungrateful and cruel
It is to hurt the ones who help us
Yet we destroy the ever-generous soil
All in the name of obtaining more land and fuel.
This fact better it home fast
That are delicious meals find roots from the soil
And if we want to destroy more and more fertile land
Eating food will become a fairytale from the past.
I saw her yet again today
In the golden fields, cutting hay
I smiled, the gesture returned back to me
Yet courage failed me; I could not speak.
We stood on the same brown sands
Yet unable to greet and shake hands
Separated not by mighty brick walls
But by a treaty which separated our countries.
Fear burned inside like an ignited stove That tomorrow when the push comes to shove
We would face off, guns in hand
And kill in the name of defending our lands.
Painful, heart-breaking it is to watch people fight
Sometimes I wonder whether it is even right
To fight for the trees and fuel and land
For that land which is neither ours nor theirs.
It’s extremely intricate to make
Small things like toys and doll houses
Yet how menial to break
Just a kick, a punch or a tap from a hammer.
If you consider constructing difficult
The time and energy spent on it
You may as well as give up fixing
For it is yet more grueling.
You can, at no costs, use the glue
The edges will stay apart with a deep crack between
You’ll be back to square one with no clue
As to how to bridge the gap.
It takes undivided concentration
To scrutinize each and every jagged edge
It demands even more effort
For tinkering and joining them back.
Next time, before breaking your toy
Out of anger, spite or sorrow
Think, think and think again
Your toy will never be the same as before
As the exam season closes in
Golden promises fly out
“I’ll study this evening,
Shall manage my time- no doubt.”
Cautious minds warn themselves
‘Only for half an hour, not any longer’
Unconscious fingers reach the TV remote
Unable to resist any further.
At first restrained, they switch on
Their rabbit- like ears noting each tick and chime
One by one, the muscles soothe down
Until their stomachs sound dinner time.
It then dawns upon them
Several hours have gone by
They scurry up and grab their books
Chanting, “Fifteen plus x equals y.”
Not one day, nor two
This is the drama everyday
For the sake of tempting entertainment
Precious time trickles away
With lofty goals left unaccomplished
Once, in a remote village
Lived Mr. Wise Fool in his hut
How very odd, he was for his age
For fire, once, his door he cut
Yesterday, he strolled by the marketplace
Carefully balancing a tray of eggs
In haste, tripping on his undone shoe lace
An egg fell, breaking right beside his legs
So, he bent with the tray in hand
The eggs in it quite forgotten
Down rained all the eggs on the sand
Making the sand smell quite rotten
Now, for the loss of one of the eggs
Foolishly, he lost a whole tray of eggs
Are we becoming wise fools?
Pennywise and Pound-foolish! Aren’t we all?
Lost under the layers of paint
Are minuscule scratches, now so faint
Patches reduced to tiny spots
The dark blotches of dirt fear being caught
Pause and re-collect – 10 years back
The canvas on the wall– an eclectic art
With squiggles and letters by avid learners
Or would-be authors, poets and teachers
Once a while, you might spot something brown
From remains of yesteryears’ tea splayed across
If you knock on the wall and say hello
You may find a place dangerously hollow
From rigorous practice by wannabe Bumhrahs
Or dancing artistes with the wall as the partner
Standing before me are four walls blank
more beautiful than any Da Vinci Art
A sight to behold, an experience to treasure
If only you would listen to the voice of the wall
People huddled under colorful umbrellas
To save themselves from the pitter-patter
The fragrance of fresh earth
Exhilaration; wafting through the air
Angry skies took a break
Mighty showers shrank to sparse drizzles
As I strolled along the wet park
Tiny rays of light peeking out from the dark
A shrill call from an anxious mother
Warning her naughty child of the weather
Muddy water came flying at my face
As the child capered joyously in the puddle
Looking beside me, a toddler I saw
Staring, examining the tiny ripples in awe
Paper boats twirled left and right, and slowly capsized
Receiving boos and groans from dismayed school boys
A cheery rainbow adorned the skies
Hands flung to the sides, eyes lifted to the skies
I smell, I hear, I see, I feel!
The wholesome beauty after the rains.
Aching to write a poem
Unsettled on the topic,
Sought help from my mother, did I
Her eyes twinkling, she said,
“Write about anything under the sun”
Anything under the sun?
What does that mean?
Can I write about space,
The astronauts, aliens and asteroids?
Not below or under, but above the sun they are
Is the sun itself solution to the problem
Would my poem be accepted?
If the sun itself is my poem’s topic
The stint so short, topic cryptic
Ah! My head is pounding with pain
I am a trifle too certain
Not writing about plants or animals
If it would be a safe play
They definitely aren’t under the sun
If so what exactly are?
I pass the baton to you
Shall let you ponder and plunder your brains
I pass on my good wishes and thanks in advance
To answer this riddle
What is under the sun?
I am waiting…………….
On a stormy December evening
Looking out through my bedroom window
My eye beheld an unusual sight
Something simple but so bright!
Two Mango trees holding roots
Supporting each other through the storm
Not an inch did they budge
Holding on! In the grove, so steadfast!
The Creepers bowed to the Great Wind
Accepting his power they did
Profound thoughts swirled in me
How different they coped but still they stood
In stark contrast, A fir tree stood with a haughty look
Neither bending nor seeking support,
The Great wind blew harder still !
Testing, and winning as the fir tree fell
We are repeating today
What we did back in that day
Only due to corona virus
Our good habits are restored
Washing our hands thoroughly
Before and after a meal
Today, we spent time with family
What once in this busy world had become history
We eat healthy food
Not ordered through Swiggy or Zomato
Nor is it pizza, chocolate or burger
But traditional meals that satisfy our hunger
Had we followed these simple habits
Corona would have been fantasy today.
Many a time I have wondered
Who is the true owner?
Of the lands, fertile or otherwise
The land we rent and buy
Who owns the water we use?
Who owns the bread we eat?
Do rivers and lakes belong to politicians?
For they frequently promise to change their course
Who owns the gold and silver?
That is considered as a privilege
Is it not nature who owns them all?
And to whom should we be grateful
Surely to nature, we are in debt
Let’s pay our debts- not through GPAY or cash
Let’s return the favour
Let’s protect and sustain the nature.
Oh! How I wish I could
Climb up a sturdy tree of sandalwood
And brave, on the branches, stand
And swing on them with just one hand
Oh! How I wish I could make
A tree house for my own sake
With wooden walls and thatched roof
Hanging on the tree with a metal hook
Oh! How I wish I could sling
Big, green guavas that were to me calling
And have pretty butterflies flutter around me
How exquisite and heavenly would that be!
Oh! How I wish I could
Order the sun to stay put
And wait to be let
Wait for my nod to rise and set
Oh! How I wish I could say,
“The seas, the oceans and each bay
Are mine, each and every one of them”
And claim confidently that I own them
Oh! How I wish I could dig
An underground tunnel, deep and big
And one fine day, hit upon a treasure
Of endless joy and love, without measure
And share it with every living soul
Let it be a billionaire, pauper or a tiny mole
In the end of this dreamy little day
Curl into a hammock and there I want to stay
Shh! Please don’t wake me up
There was in one village, a rich farmer
Seven years of heavy usage, and he discarded his tractor
Worn-out it was with the red paint turned brown
With so deep a rust, the farmer had a perennial frown
A sharp business man, a vehicle dealer took it in
And spent five good hours remodeling it
And sold it to wealthy Mr. Good Goon
At a price that fetched him a fortune
He next discarded wrongly printed papers
Picked up by the paper recycler, this prized addition of hers
As she strolled to pour away excess flour into the bin
Oh! To waste so much was a sin!
Had it been in the hands of the baker next door
She would have baked a cake, cream in its core
But she threw away, on that very day
A huge, pink, wrongly baked cake
A poor man, a tramp picked it up
And drooled over it. Oh! It wouldn’t fit his wooden begging cup
He threw way the cup, blinded by his lucky moment
Unaware that another cup would he have to rent
The cup broke down and mixed with the soil
It formed the farmer’s treasure, the nutrient rich soil.
Oh! Now where is my treasure hiding?
Outside my house, on the wet ground
Was a tiny seed, brown and round
And in the seed shaking to and fro
Emerging eagerly was a baby embryo
In a few weeks the embryo became a sapling
From the regular monsoon showers, sparkling
In years the sapling grew up to a tree
Spreading its thick, rich boughs free
On it sprouted many blue flowers
They blanketed the tree like many covers
Their petals fell off to form a fruit
So gold that thieves tried to loot
When I slit the golden flesh
I found a young seed, brown and fresh
From what another day would sprout a tree
And like its predecessors, set its boughs free
From which will come a seed, brown and round
And the cycle will go round and round
I can’t imagine how great are these tiny seeds
Which contain, packed in them humongous trees with infinity other seeds
Let me tell you about the ‘potion of success’
And to make it, the tedious process
Mixing the ingredients is not the trouble
But I dare you to get them (if you are able)
Three drops of fresh honey from a hive
For which you must (smartly) thrive
A handful of hair from a man, bald
(Preferably in shade of green like emerald)
Next in line, are three pieces of pure silk
T’is as easy as stealing from a baby, its milk
A pail of freshly hand pumped water you’d need
To find a working pump is the actual deed
From a tardy man a drop of sweat
Who’s not even got out of bed
From such a person you should take
Who lives near the Arctic lake
Now, mix it to get it done
Mix it such that it becomes one
Drink it and it will be in your bone
A potion of success of your own
Think back what gave you this
This success and permanent bliss
Is it just the potion on its own,
Or is it the effort, wit and patience that you bore ?
“Say, what a waste
These careless fellows I hate
Could’ve use for drawing or making a list”
Says desolately the environmentalist
“How spectacular! Fantabulous it is!
What a delicate piece it is
Dimensionless dot, yet so circle”
Says the artist adjusting her spectacle
“A very realistic depiction I say
Of life and it’s balanced way
In every piece of white there is a portion darker..”
Proclaims in his priestly voice, the philosopher
“Look mummy! It is winking at me
Its one black eye is glaring at me
The paper monster is going wild!”
Shrieks the innocent young child
“That I am sure represents me!
That one lone, sad one is me
Of my life it is a gist”
Wails the very upset pessimist
Now, assuming all saw the same piece
Try conjuring the looks of the piece
Don’t laugh at me when I say it’s a dot
It means many things, this tiny black dot.
Outside the classroom
Scholar One bumped into Scholar Two
Each to prove the worth of his
Challenges the other to a quiz
(Scholar1) I am certain ‘j’ is next to ‘d’
(Scholare2) Hardly! ‘z’ comes after ‘d’
You definitely can’t deny me
I read it in Alphabets Chapter Three
(Scholar2) Now, I say fish lives on land
And wriggles on the coarse sand
(Scholar1) In your sweet dreams!
Fishes fly with fins and live on trees
(Scholar1) If thee doesn’t know this,
I am sure you don’t know lions eat fish
(Scholar 2) Now, that I’ve never heard
Lions eat only nuts, just like every bird
(Scholar2) Ha! Should you I teach that dosa,
Is made by dissolving Maggi in water
(Scholar1) Certainly you are trying to fool me
I know dosa is made by mixing Maggi with oil.
What would you do?
With such learned fools?
Who learn for the sake of exams
And forget them on the morrow.
Have you heard of this tale?
Of a boy who would tell only stories
And how slyly he was defeated
In his very own stories by his mother
Rahul, where is the money I gave you?
The Rs 30 balance got used in buying 5 Rs 5 peas
Rahul, where then, are the peas?
The peas fell down and grew into trees.
Where is the coconut I asked for?
On the way, I ate it
Where are the chilies?
A caged parrot took them and flew away.
Then where is the bag I gave?
A hungry dog came and ate it full.
Where is the bill, son?
The bill went with the bag.
His eyes reflecting zeal, Rahul asked
“Mummy, where is my cake?”
“Oh! The neighbor’s fish gulped it whole!
This is your reward for telling stories.”
Wouldn’t it be interesting to bake
With loads of care and icing a cake
Imagine the very detailed process
How long, I will let you guess
First, take a sheet of paper and pen
Design your desired cake then
Fill it with a rainbow of colours
After all this is yours.
Throw in the eggs and beat till fluffy
Add in the sugared flour, stir till puffy
Pour in the batter, but don’t fill the mould
Place in the oven, bake till its gold.
Mix the colours with the cream
Of the various shades that you can dream
Next, take the base and level your cake
To what you speculate to be the perfect shape
Then, place the base on a cake bowl
On a turn table place this bowl
Slather the rich cream generously
Spread it with a spatula evenly
With piping tips and couplers
Sit decorating it for maybe…hours
Draw a fountain or a glade
Then look back and edit what you made
But don’t eat it when it is done
Share it with those who have none
Whose joys will know no bounds
And this will warm your heart
With the joy of helping, sharing and caring
Young Poem World 