Brevity of 4

This blog is a collection of 4 line poems that I wrote.

I watched the sunset,

casting its rays on a shimmery surface

of water and moss

As she took a gulp from the frothy mass

I watched the dawn, 

babies cry and yawn

cradled in arms of a mother

whose rags were torn

I watched the noon,

sun in an angry swoon

as fumes of dust and chemicals rise

he gasps and coughs for a rupee 

I watched the night,

as moon dazzled on sea with all its might,

Plentiful, Serene and Bountiful

`cept for the sad eyes of a mogra seller.

#harsh #grim #urbanexperiences

Hyderabad chronicles-Post 1

I look at you. Dark and dingy,  even on a bright warm sunny day. You reek of death.  You smell of gore, Of violence and blood.

You scare me to no extent. There was a time,  a point of time when I used to look at you,  shiny yellow and blue. I found your presence bliss.

I found you to be a regular companion. Steady and unmoving. But then,  obviously,  like me,  you too enjoy a change,  in dress and style.

Unfortunately, you don't really get to choose what style  you may like, do you? They decide to deck you up when we have visitors in town. Sometimes bubblegum pink,  and other times a dash of white,  saffron and green,  with dirty red streaks here and there.
There are those days,  when it's just years of dust piling up on you, making you look older.
But today, you aren't old,  you aren't young.  You are just hideous. I don't perceive the old emotions,  the pleasant days,  when I found your presence to calm me and remind me that I am halfway through the journey.
Today,  I want to run away from you.  I want to go as far as I can from the echoing screams that have marred your presence, from the blood that is so gorily staining the prim blue seats.
I would rather not wait for a bus near you. I would rather not recollect the pleasant memories of school kids, stopping by with their heavy bags, heads tilting  with smiles and laughter after a regular day of bickering on books,  maybe some exams. I would rather not think of lovely old Sitamma who's no longer selling jasmine and chrysanthemums.

I hope you disappear.  I hope the new development schemes HUDA comes up with,  may push you off into thin air,  transforming you into rubble and concrete dust.  Dilsukhnagar bus stop, I hope you don't exist. 

Ides of March

So here goes my first poem on the blog


'twas the Ides of March,
As we study the verses of the Bard,
Learning English with an appetite large,
While Few said  theatre was absurd.

' twas the Ides of March,
As we watch our teacher enact,
Caesar saying, Et tu Brute?
We students loved to take charge,
Pretend to be on stage like fools with skulls cracked.

'twas the Ides of March,
When I fell in love with the bard,
No soothsayer around,
We were jumping up and down,
Friends in the backyard,.
All of us free of negative charge.

It's the Ides of March,
Tonight I recount,
Memories of school afresh,
A student devout,
Dedicated beyond measure,
was there any greater treasure?

Thinking back of the sweet days,
When all you had to do was feign to act,
Miss the days,
Of ignorance and lack of tact,
When 'twas on the Ides of March.