Am putting in my papers!
While filling the form for credit card
Against occupation I wrote am a bard.
The clerk said Madam, your real occupation.
I blurted, work in a small organization.
Very challenging, have to multi task
It’s actually, I think, too much to ask.
Am in charge of child development,
Accounts, house keeping and management.
Mouth open and ball pen frozen in mid air,
He gaped at me from his ergonomic chair.
Wow, you must so much power wield.
It’s a 24/ 7 job in lab and the fields.
Have to juggle like a clown in a circus,
Many hats…one thing, it’s not monotonous.
You know a real challenge to my ingenuity.
He looked at me with awe and incredulity.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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A Lingering Fragrance...
Tiny little hands clasped my eyes
And a soft voice chirped guess who am I,
Who are you, sound familiar, let me see…
I won’t tell, how could you have forgotten me
I know she enjoys these games we play.
Oh dear, you have to give me a hint today.
She was happy and was trying hard not to laugh
And I went along pretending to be a little daft…
Soon the mystery resolved and she was on my lap
My daughter looking amused tried to take a snap.
Come on Anika, say cheese and give a nice smile,
Like a pro she posed, acting coy with those big eyes.
What took you so long my little angel?
Its school, ballet and homework she prattled…
Now I have vacation, so can I stay here?
I have packed and come, you know I care.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Grass stands tall! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
How do raindrops balance on grass blades?
It seemed like stars had descended on glade.
Startled, I watched standing by a lamppost.
Undeterred by clouds, and earth played host.
Overnight the grass had gained inches in height.
I sat and looked despite mosquito bites.
You would have said if you were by my side,
They have tears of joy glistening in eyes.
Does grass have feelings, eyes and ears?
Could it be… music of rain it can hear?
Raindrops, tears or stars… whatever you name,
All I know is we have talked and shared.
For on that moonless, still, cloudy night,
I simply forgot whatever was on my mind.
I bent down, and am sure heard it whisper,
Oh yes, I have no doubt grass can speak and hear.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Song of snow ranges
Song of snow ranges
Far from home, towering peaks and white slopes,
I gaped as sun rays quietly danced on snow;
Folded hands piously as mountains prayed.
Some clouds glowing, in bluest sky did sail.
Sun had traced patterns, myriad shape and size.
Shaded my eyes, with my hand, feeling a bit blind.
The rays diffused as the sun slowly climbed;
A glimpse of folks, perhaps of an ancient tribe…
A raven perched on far off hallowed peak;
It didn't seem to move or open its beak.
Heavens must have opened up while I slept,
In white satin sheets was draped rough terrain.
It was still, till I heard temple bell ring,
Resonate through the contemplating hills.
Despite layers of clothes my skin felt cold,
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Throw Caution to Wind
When I was down with a stomach ailment,
And was asked to abstain
From my favourite foods and condiments,
I didn’t complain.
When my blood pressure became too high,
And the doctor asked me to lose weight
So I could live long,
I thought money on the gym was well spent.
When I injured my back
I was asked to take bed rest,
It didn’t help
So I felt quite upset.
But now they tell me it could be cancer,
Because some abnormal cells they found during a routine test.
And have warned me I could be in danger,
But we will do our best.
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A tryst with fate! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
A ten year old with chilled water bottles in hand
Runs as cars halt, and traffic signal turns red.
On a hot sultry day, says to the lady, it’s a good brand.
Wipes his nose with his torn shirt sleeve, as it bled.
A kind man gently took him under the shade,
Uncapped and poured the chilled water on his head.
Drop by dropp fed him with spoon some lemonade.
But for the Good Samaritan, would he be dead?
In a short while, the boy came round, a lot flushed.
Looked at the elderly man, gratitude writ large on his face.
Son, rest a while, don’t go in Sun to sell water in a rush.
The boy lifted his hands and said, you came, its God’s grace.
Am the sole bread winner, as my father died in a cyclone.
Who can quarrel with what he ordains and wills…?
I don’t have the luxury or the time to sit and mourn,
Live in the past, or sit back and rest, when a wee bit ill.
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A Child's Instinct...
Whenever I think of my grand daughter,
And the memories I have built with her.
I draw on them for sustenance,
When my lips are curled in grimace.
The innocent expression on her face
Helps to dispel the weariness of my days.
When I talk to her on the phone,
She queries when I am coming home.
I ask her why you don’t come to spend a day.
She promptly says well I am on my way…
Once in a while when she comes to the house,
She sits on my bed and gives a tug to my blouse.
And asks me to show all my pressed flowers.
I don’t know how the moments slip into hours…
As I take out each flower from my scrape book,
Sense of wonder on her face is worth a look.
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In a languid mood! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Chill crawled up my spine like a slithering reptile.
Hugged my patchwork quilt and just lay supine.
Drifted into fitful sleep, and woke with a start.
Bit disoriented, dawn or dusk, it was dark.
I think I was caught in a sort of time warp.
It took a while to shake off and grasp,
Dusk was singing a dirge, felt appalled.
Alarmed got up, before my thoughts snowballed.
Picked up some logs, as the mercury falls.
Fever had taken its toll, so picked up a shawl.
Glanced out of window, lawn draped in smog.
Home was wrapped in silence, loneliness stalked.
Strange, always craved for some quiet time, space
Just catch up with myself, till small arms embraced.
And trill, do I smell my favourite pasta and bread.
Please, after dinner you tuck me in bed.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Mothers' Forever Stay
When the storm raged
Fell the trees,
Lightening struck
And cloud burst,
Rain lashed on the roof
And tiny white balls
Gathered at our door;
I remember how I would run
With a pounding heart
And hide my face in your sari folds
Until the storm spent… left.
You took me to the courtyard
And pointed at the mango tree;
See, the trunk, didn’t yield to wilful storm.
It’s grounded with roots deep into the earth.
The top shook like you.
I nodded as if I understood.
All I cared for was her nearness
And familiar fragrance.
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A Split and a Heart Break! ! ! !
Playing on the flute, gently holding the instrument
Eyes half closed, in a trance or a kind of enchantment.
Oblivious to the presence of all loved ones around
Perhaps in conversation with someone lost, not found.
A precious soul mate, who without giving reason, forsake,
Could one turn so cruel, pay no heed to the heart break.
Love is meant to nourish and nurture and bring rapture
Here sat my cousin, with a soul in torment, fractured.
It’s in the genes, or an imbalance of hormones,
To be split in two, pronounced the neuro surgeon.
Knowledge has limitations… why does the spirit
Hover between moments of coherence, I wonder as I sit.
No one heard any sound of a cry, as tears had dried.
But is it humanly possible to forever hide behind a lie.
At times it seems there is a smile and a light on the face.
Giving a glimpse of what once was… illusion, no trace.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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