no life is wasted here,
no flowers will decay
no sound will be muted here
every body will get his say
will you stop this mayhem
will you listen for a while
will you walk along a few steps
will allow bad memories only to pile
curiosity, concern, compassion and collaboration
no life is wasted here,
no flowers will decay
no sound will be muted here
every body will get his say
will you stop this mayhem
will you listen for a while
will you walk along a few steps
will allow bad memories only to pile
will you laugh the same way again, o little boy
will you listen to the provocative advice
to turn your face away
when we are not so loud
and thus may not hear the feeble voices
or will you rebel and assert
the right you have to partake
in the bubbles of joy that emerge in the drying pond
in the back of our house
will you sow the seeds of fruits
eaten by you on the road side
who knows, travellers who are hungry
years after we are gone
may eat them
remeber blessings count for more
always
even now and so in future
i must start talking to you every day
my dear little one
you might complain, some day, afterall
how could a day turn into night
without metmophosis of our fondness
into some flowers
whose fragrance reached the shores of the island
on which you had been allowed to play
and walk
but i will not build a bridge across,
lest your garden loses its sanctity
swim this side some day
when you wish to partake
the manure which made these flowers bloom
whose fragrance you like so much
i hope
A river has no choice
If she has to flow,
She must accept two banks
How else can she flow,
Even the time needs the banks of past and the future
To flow in present
But there is one difference
You will not
Ask me again and again
If I need to flow still
I am the glow
Of a firefly, now on and now off
But then when it is dawn
I am not there,
Will you take care
Not to let silt settle too much
Like meaningless memories,
Drain them away,
Flow and go
To the shore yet unexplored,
Without a history to show
When you grow up
You will ask some time,
Why did I take so long
To come and dine
With you and watch your tantrums
And some unanswered jabs
At me, for not remembering
So many of your stories
At the moment you demanded
But no, I will not do that,
I will not come
My little boy
Lest the garden planted by your elders
Gets spoiled
I am standing here, on the other
Bank of time
Cross over whenever you want to partake
Some joys of nothingness, some
Fun out of the cup of irreverence
I had never admitted
All the lies I told
You, my son for so long
That it did not matter, what
You said, or did
It actually mattered a lot,
Always did. So deeply it did
That I now keep a diary of
All the days and nights
I hid
My tears from you
But not from your mother
Who still wonders why things
Small and big
Make me cry,
Just does not know, still
Why
when you took to walking on a path untreaded
i had not known
the trail will be so long
i tried and then abandoned,
it took me always away from wherever i wanted to go,
can paths turn on their own
differently for different travellers
it seems so
silences sprouted in my garden yesterday
i had not sown the seeds
but then i did nuture spaces
in which the seeds of silence could grwo
now that they are here, i might as well
nourish them
who knows when there is long interlude
between the rain spells
the flowers of forgetfulness on these plants
might spread their fragrance
and enable me to forget that
i was waiting for such a long time for
a sound that has now gone underground
do not ask me to slow down, o boatman, now
let me sink in the river
why are you asking me to stop
and return
lest i sink
when you were seeing me pleading with you
to give me a boat with a hole
i could then have sunk slowly,
now, let me go my way
in the middle of the stream
where she loses a concern
for any thing that does not follow her commands
the rain this time could not wash all the stains
that had stuck to the walls of my home
i scrubbed all of them
and hoped that lashes of rain
will do the rest
but it seems
these stains dont dissolve in water,
which is so pure
how do i tell the sky
to sprinkle acidic rain
on my house
so that my walls could be clean
may be i have to live with these stains
as a gift of time
when i did not belong here, or there