To the Indian Woman on the Stage

 

O Indian woman!

Ye familiarise world now,

Beauty, brain, grace bravo!

Jewel amongst jewels,

Diamond outside, or inside dwells,

Alone and aloof thou adorn the crown!

 

Ramp they call it there,

Thou walk thy rise;

Bodies theirs as man’s prize,

Thine becomes our pride,

Answers theirs only worldwide,

Vow! Thine art from where?

 

Reveal they physique outside,

Thou bringst the unseen,

Invisible; O smiling queen!

The Indian fairy on the stage,

Million dreams brightly gaze

At the dreamy pair where the crowns ride.

 

Salute thee O conqueror!

Ye breakst bondage physical:

Realise the man historical,–

Beauty not only in curves,

Oozes also through deep nerves,

Thank thee O smiling mirror!

 

O solace to the billions

Amongst poverty, toil without rest,

Aastha thou come at last;–

The new daughter of India,

Burning as the only diya;

As if moon brighter by a trillion!

 

World now at thy feet,

Proud anklets jingle,

While the noise around mingle

In thy success cry;

Eyes thy never too dry,

And so many defeated; more to beat!

Oh! I am in love again!

 

Ye people, who speak of love,

Long after the first one is done,

Ye only fool some dove:

Numerical love is but a fun.

 

Fun from the side one, or both,

Befooling for marriage or lust,

Justified by taking an oath,

Alas! First one was the pure most.

 

Cometh which by itself,

Others are but dragged,

First one fools itself,

Others befool to be begged.

 

The former one nothing knowst,

Later ones almost spy the host.

Sand Grain and a Water Drop

 

O thou cattle herder,

What forces thy migration?

‘Save life’ instigate

And thou become a wanderer:

Exiled like a sandy grain,

Flew which too high

And far with an ‘aye’!

Found not, but, rain!

Where ist thy family?

Sandy message they groan,

And thou quench thirst daily.

 

God made cattle for graze:

Easily, without haste,

Battered them, but, with dusty chaste,

Now, harvested stumps they erase,

Outsiders they feel,

Thus the hurried pace

In the land distant,

Abhors which, even, hot western brace,

Helpless, thou ponder over the emigrant's rent,–

Waterbodies too small;

Only the dried crofts for all.

 

How far have ye trodden?

Weight on thy feet

Looks if hoofs beat;

Heavy, wearied; seem broken,

Chin thou support on

The lathi standing faithfully along:

Cool companion thine,

Its fearful strike blown,

And they needn’t its shine,

For the animal energy gone,–

Weakly they swing horn.

 

Urge the rains!

With thy lips more parched;

Personify thy cattle’s soul nerd!

Pray which can’t, only feel the pains;

Join thy family chorus!

O herder, leave them not,

Needy cry can make Him porous,

Sand grains forming 'need dot',

'Rain here or there,'

We also await it like thee,

Single drop falling makest glee.

Where shall I make a home for you?

 

That little paradise in a small vale,

Where a joint family flowers,

Brightest buds open for the elders pale,

Where green sloppy pastures

Hold upper rocky chin firmly,

And big neighbouring trees give lease;–

Terrace only for the family,

Whiles they from theirs sloppily appease.

 

Paradise where a small brooklet

Sneaks childishly from the parent’s flow,

And sky’s paradise all set

To do anything for the terrestrial child’s glow.

 

Dear, let only thou accompany me there,

Disturb as thou not the heavenly air.

Whom should I ask about her?

 

Shall I tell thee reality about a woman,–

It is exact opposite of what others of her species

Narrate to the hopeful man;

No other query gets such misses.

 

O thou woman,

Why ye misperceive thyself

Before the true heart of men?

It is, but, mischievous wink about the self.

 

Why thy court can’t find judgement fair?

That statue claim not to see,

Why then cheat by thy eyes unfair?

Why only the lie makest thee glee.

 

Thus, let every man find his own answer,

Listen upside-down to the self teaser.

Musicity from Lips, Fingers

 

Humans bray so many voices:

Hard talks and linguistic vocal chords,

Music but is His voice,

The sound organised

In melody, harmony, rhythm,

Fingers when touch string,

Banjo, violin, viola, harp,

Vibrate all with tones sequenced,

Lips when protrude and puff,

Clarinet, cornet, horn, tuba,

Wind changes to divine pitch,

Or be it thumping fingers

Upon cymbals, drums,

Or harmony from harmonium,

Music speaks language one,

Cultural relativity binds it not,

Thus folk and music classical,

Music gets itself done,

Involuntarily they sway to it,

The aborigines and the civilized,

Pious, pure, lyricisd moments those,

Leave they tension theirs’

In divine one of the strings;

Blow their passions inside

The Godly air escaping;

And beat out fists, fingers

Upon those surfaces musical.

Hearty Flights over Our Heads

O birds! Thine world is fantastic,

Feathered tails, plumes ornamental,

Thine forelimbs modified as feathers,

Bones hollow, jaws elongated to bills,

Keel shaped breast bones make fliers strong,

Thou colonize different habitats:

Terrestrial, freshwater, marine.

Humanity’s flying colours thou are,

Be it the cooing call from the dove,

Plumage soft, small headed female;

The lark singing through its bill slender,

Making flying clarinet; singing,

Or the strong magpie fighting crows,

Female strong; the exotica winning.

Be it the swift sparrow, high speeded,

Scimitar shaped wings and thrusts;

Human’s urge to fly high and high,

Robs eggs when intelligent jackdaw,

Shows it our nasty snatching moods,

Or heron seizing fish from the water’s edge,

With body slim and legs longish,

Proves it our artificiality for the survival.

Wood pecker prising off bark, probing crevices,

Shows the labour sense trunked around,

Or the wren, small and swift,

Feeding on small insect flocks beneath bushes,

Realises it millions bushing for bread,

Kookaburra pouncing upon snakes, lizards,

Or birds of prey; hunters nocturnal,

Their strong hooked bills, clawed talons,

Airs high speed dives on targets.

Perform acrobatic display for females,

Feathers thine drop over our ladies’ hats,

And of course game birds for hunting;

Plumes, pillow and duvet stuffings.

Birds! What if we emerge the winners?

Innocence thine is still greater;

Damage crops or foul buildings,

Thou air humanity’s flying colours,

Birds! Thine world is fantastic.