Making Memories
Come I will teach you a new recipe’
Said a friend visiting from overseas.
Give me apples, cinnamon and a pie dish
Long ago you asked me you wish
To learn how to make an Apple Pie
So here we are both going to try
Her face intent, was smeared with the flour
She looked funny; what fun we had for one hour
Mixing the dough vigorously, with her hands
You will always remember this day, she said
Eyes twinkling and joining me uttered, silly
It’s not just a pie, we are making memories.
we talked, as we waited in the kitchen,
the aroma told us when it was done
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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As Mother Ganges spoke to me...! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Sitting one starlit night on the terrace,
On hill above river in my cottage,
On a chilly December, cosy in a blanket
Around my head, hugging it close to my chest.
Deliriously happy like a child
Perhaps, was that moment truly alive?
River roared and rose to dizzying heights;
Kicked by paeans and hymns sung at twilight.
My heart did a somersault with delight.
In the periphery, saw soft temple lights.
It told me some of her secrets aloud.
And bounced on journey, northward bound.
Today there is a nip in September air;
Somehow overcome with acute despair.
Suddenly heard the secrets and the hymns,
And tears haven’t stopped falling since.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Monsoon Magic
Monsoon is a blessing in disguise.
It’s hard to describe emotions it brings to life.
I find rainfall at night
Stirs feelings of romance, love and ecstasy.
You snuggle and hold each other tight,
As the rain pours with all its might.
Cosy in the crook of his arm
I feel nice and warm.
When I wake, the storm is spent,
I feel a wave of contentment,
As I find him lying next to me
On the crumpled sheets.
I look at his face,
My heart is filled with tenderness.
Oh, I love these showers,
Specially in the midnight hours.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Law of Karma
A skinny six years old,
Stood shivering on that cold
Foggy January afternoon,
Selling colourful balloons
At the traffic light
It was quite a tragic sight.
Matted hair, barely clad,
Looking forlorn and sad.
In her bleak eyes a desperate plea
I couldn’t ignore but see.
I bought a balloon for my grand child,
My eyes with tears blind.
I was overcome with guilt,
Warm in my car custom built.
This rich poor divide is
Is just getting wide.
Earning a living, lost childhood
I found myself brood.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Do you lie
My, you look gorgeous.
Ha, that dress is hideous…
Why, you look so cool
Whom are you trying to fool?
She stood with a broad smile
Let her in, cursing all the while.
How are you, couldn’t be better,
Why ask, does it really matter.
What a pleasant surprise, welcome…
How do I give her a hint not to come?
Your debut in the film was really awesome.
My, how regressive and tiresome…
Our lives are a sham and a lie.
Can we give honesty a try…?
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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As the Monsoon Recedes
Besides the heady fragrance
Of the wet earth,
Freashly bathed green trees,
(Evoking images of a damsel
stroking her wet tresses)
Garden weeds,
And the sound of the rain
Music to my ears, after
Scorching summer,
Dust storms and hot winds.
I loved the
Croaking of the frogs.
After dusk fall
Twinkling fireflies.
The call of the Cicadas,
Although a bit
Eerie at night.
I would exclaim
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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A Golden Shower! ! ! ! !
Scattered by the broken string, bent to pick the beads.
You stood with some in cupped hands, did you my thoughts read?
Led me gently to balcony, to show Laburnum bloom.
Clusters of bright yellow flowers watch them with awe, droop.
Yellow petals formed a carpet, underneath the tree
You said its called golden shower, from far one can see.
The breeze carries the flowers, away from the loose bunch,
Just like my beads got separated, and I sat hunched.
I forgot about my rosary, as we stepped in the avenue.
Your nearness and fragrant air, tears blurred the view.
Careful not to crush the blossoms, lying on the grass
We strolled hand in hand, exchanging a glance…
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Poems and Poetry
I sat staring
At my blank writing pad,
With pen in my hand.
It was a poetry workshop,
We were told
To try different structural forms:
Epigram, Sonnets, Limericks,
Lyrics, which could be set to music.
But I admit, I just
Can’t write on demand.
Is it a mental block
Which I can’t unlock?
It becomes difficult
For me to make a start.
As I just write from the heart.
But I don’t argue
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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A gift for every occasion! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
The bracelet of fresh and fragile white fragrant
Jasmine buds, its soft feel and sensuous scent,
That you so tenderly slipped on my wrist
And the look in your eyes, and your tight grip.
I still remember, as I fondly look
At the string I had dried, in my scrapbook.
Sitting by bay window, watching twilight
Smiled to myself, reminisce about that night.
Today to make up after a bad fight,
Cold vibes; we both felt wee bit contrite.
You tied jasmine in my hair; and I lay
Wondering, how flowers quietly convey
What somehow, we all feel uneasy to say
At times words limit us, ego comes in way.
There are flowers for every occasion;
Act as bridge with little persuasion.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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A Tribute to Motherhood-2
From the time
Of conception,
A mother
Nurtures like a gardener,
Who plants a seed
And tenderly
Watches it
Growing from a sapling to tree.
Her heart
Has the width of the sky.
She can’t hold anything
Against her children for long,
Even if she tries.
Her generosity,
Like that of the Sun
Which gives,
Life and light
To everyone
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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