Restlessness
I have been blessed
With five senses-
To hear, touch, see, smell and taste,
But words fall inadequate
To express all that I experience,
Even if I take all the right ingredients.
Just as I always do
When I sit down to cook.
I first decide what the family will like to eat,
And then go shopping for the best vegetables and meat
Paying attention to colour and flavours
And washing them in running water with patience
Then chop, puree or make juliennes,
To stir fry them in a pan
I don’t have to measure the spices,
As I let it simmer the aroma rises
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Some Relationships Defy Explanation
As I espy the moon peep from the palm fronds,
I can’t help but feel glad and with joy respond.
I remember, since the time I was just a little kid,
The sight of the full moon used to make me limpid.
It casts a spell and I just spellbound, stare and halt.
My heart kind of leaps and does a somersault.
In the Zen like stillness of the early winter night,
I just find myself gaze at its face silvery bright.
Whenever I visited my granny, she used to regale
Us, as we lay on her lap, with so many magical tales.
One was about an old woman spinning a wheel,
On the moon, oh, how wonderstruck I used to feel.
Although, science has tried to demystify
Yet, I somehow, still continue to identify
With it, and my sense of elation and relation
honestly, I admit defies any kind of explanation…
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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There is no Charge...
Generosity of the earth,
For whatever its worth.
There is no charge
The fragrance of flowers,
At any time and hour.
There is no charge
The shade of a beckoning tree,
Offering shelter to a refugee.
There is no charge
The birds early morning orchestra,
Uplifting like chanting a mantra.
There is no charge
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Sacred Bond
When two people
Profess their love
And decide to
Unite in a sacred bond,
I t is an unwritten contract;
We will be a witness
To one another’s lives,
It will not go unnoticed.
You will get your space
And I mine,
We will be together
But follow our hearts.
We may take off the mask,
That we wear before the world.
But we will have the trust,
We will not think less of each other.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Monsoon at peak! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Monsoon at peak
I hear a monologue-
Rain speaks…
Monsoon at peak,
Thatched roofs
Leak…
Monsoon at peak,
Corn on cob
Wins over coffee…
Monsoon at peak,
Can I go out, mother?
A child pleads…
Monsoon at peak,
A boy steals a look
At a girl soaked to skin…
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Spare just a moment....! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Spare just a moment for the bird
Who flew from bleak winter of her habitat,
In search of warmth, food wet lands
And green fields, instead only found silt.
Spare just a moment for the bird
Who uncertainly hovers in the sky,
A grey cloud drifting by, seemed to ask why
Alone, where is your flock and why do you cry.
Spare just a moment for the bird
Who oh, so despondently alights?
Looking askance for a sanctuary,
Perplexed, why barely a marsh, rest concrete.
Spare just a moment for the bird,
Who feels lost as it sits on an electric pole
Wondering whatever happened to Neem and Babool
Which spread out arms to welcome for rest and to nest?
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Old is Gold
Couplets of Kabir
The wandering fakir,
Full of spiritual fervour
and universal appeal.
What about Shakespeare?
Wisdom so rare,
With ingenuity, celebrates,
Universal truth and beauty
In his works and sonnets.
Have you read
Auguries of Innocence
By William Blake?
Just four opening lines…
Sum up life’s essence.
A short poem—epigram
What a clever twist at the end...
Coleridge rightly extolled:
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Spring stayed back for ever with gentle breeze! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
You knocked
At midnight,
How come you are awake;
Didn't you get your supplies?
No, thanks, I am well fed.
its just, am cramped
And restless.
May I come out
While its springtime?
It’s too dark inside.
Oh, wait a while,
But thanks for reminding me.
Before I knew
Room was full
Of bouquets of blooms
In every tint and hue.
As I inhaled the
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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A Soul Stirring Morning
Gingerly stepping out nicely wrapped, inhaled
Shivering watched the hot vapours as I exhaled,
Swallowed by the icy breeze that tingled my face,
Carrying with it the invigorating heady fragrance,
Of dainty whitish pink cherry blossoms
My gaze rests on daffodils and tulips—awesome:
One pale yellow and the other inviting attention,
With its vibrant colours, coming out of hibernation.
The Dal Lake is enveloped in fog and solitude.
Villagers, in Pherens are picking logs with fortitude.
The Sun is smiling taking in the whole scene,
Birds are having a sunbath perched atop the trees.
Hill tops some dark and some lit up with sunshine
Silent witness to the morning coming out alive.
It’s kind of slushy, as my feet sink in the melting snow
I raise a toast to spring, and watch winter make a graceful bow.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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November rain! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Cast a glance at the heap of crumpled wet face tissues.
No, no I had not finally succumbed to swine flu.
At last, gave myself permission to have a good cry.
But when the sobs died and eyes were swollen and dry,
Suddenly there was an unseasonal November rain.
Nature made its presence felt through the windowpane.
Just as dead leaves fall in autumn from the tree.
I had let go off my past to make way for spring.
One came aboard the breeze to land at my cold feet.
I picked it up and pressed it in newspaper sheets.
It symbolised my past, which though buried still lived.
One day I’ll be able to look at it without twinge.
Why beat myself with a stick, have paid my dues.
The fog had lifted and the sky was clear blue.
Not to blame it on flawed human state or ask why.
Have embarked on a journey to find who am I…
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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