Is it always too late! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Cold wind knocking on the door,
Old shrivelled man on the floor.
Ashamed, lost control over bladder.
Broken, fell from the ladder.
Who knows its pain or melancholy
Over the absence of progeny.
Overcome with impotent rage
Who said its golden age?
Trembles with loud paroxysms
Why I could have kept a nurse.
With the hard earned money spent
On raising kids; late to repent.
Spent, looked up shocked
Spouse watching with a stoic look
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Oh Where, Oh Where is the Family Physician
Whatever happened
To the family physician?
His genial compassionate
Demeanour had a placebo effect,
And you felt at ease
In his presence.
You were half cured
By his kind words.
He could diagnose
By studying your pulse.
He really had the
Touch of a magician.
Now there is
A specialist for every part
Of your anatomy.
When unwell
You go to see him.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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First Time I Missed a Heart beat...
At fourteen I was just too ill at ease,
Tall for my age, boys would constantly tease…
They would snigger, and say here comes giraffe
I wished like Alice, I could shrink, as they laughed.
At a distance I saw a handsome new comer,
Glance at those boys with kind of displeasure.
Briefly our eyes met, and I felt he said,
I am here you really need not be afraid…
To my surprise, in the chemistry lab,
I discovered we had been paired.
Clumsily we tried to study our salts
There was some commotion in my heart…
Gradually we started to walk to school,
At times go for a swim to the near by pool.
One day he showed up at my door,
And self consciously asked for a favour.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Magic of Monsoons
Monsoons have finally arrived.
Childhood memories flash across my mind:
Those walks to the school in the raincoat
And running home to make paper boats,
And watch them float in the muddy water
Charging home, on hearing the sound of thunder.
Eating ripe mangoes out of a bucket,
And sitting in a circle in our vests,
Sucking one after another to our fill
With the juice running down our chin.
Oh, the taste of raw mangoes with salt
Unmindful of being caught.
The delicious taste of cherries, plums.
Pears, apricots, sweet lime gave awesome
Joy, that lingered for long
And in the background koel’s song.
Mother’s threats I won’t take care,
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Are we misfits- feel intrigued! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Grey pigeon flutters on ledge of concrete.
Wonder, how it survives on urban streets.
Seen them flock in city squares as folks throw seeds.
Unlike hawks don’t swoop down and snatch with greed.
Dusk falls gets draped in a pall of thick smog.
A few sparks rise as I add some new logs.
Glance at fireplace, feeling somewhat woeful.
Reminisce about my city beautiful.
Childhood, open spaces, song of Bulbul.
Cycling to school in fog, feel bit wistful.
Now cooped up on seventh floor in a high rise.
Eavesdropp at my avian mate and realise
With surprise, we are misfits and loners.
Why it shuns trees and prefers asphalt floors?
Its eyes look sort of haunted, rarely speaks.
Don’t recall lately with anything in its beak.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Mother to Son
My son has belled the CAT,
But he wants to study at Rotterdam.
I quizzed why you want to go away
, When you have got into top MBA programme,
Right here so near home.
Please don’t leave us alone.
He said, ' Mom the global exposure
I will get there won’t be possible in Indore.
I will be studying with an international community,
With Nobel laureates on the faculty.
It will give an enriching experience.'
But son we will be poorer by several lakhs.
He looked at me with concern in his eyes,
And said I don’t want to stress you guys.
Maybe then I should study here,
I felt happy just to hear,
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Cycle OF Life
When you hold your new born
In your arms for the first time,
You forget how much pain you have borne
And nurtured in your womb to give it life.
As you watch her grow
And cross each milestone,
You are filled with pride and glow
You can’t believe how fast she has grown.
Soon she starts school
And is gone for the morn,
In her car pool.
You wonder how time has flown.
Before you know she is in her teens,
And has dreams and secrets of her own.
She is less often seen
And when home she wants to be alone.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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While Going On A Highway
We were going on a holiday,
And as we came on the highway.
I quietly prayed
For one nagging fact
Was weighing on my mind-
The state of the highway and the bumpy ride.
I shifted my glance to the wayside farms,
And tried to remain calm.
Though my nerves were taut
I took out my pen and pad and wrote.
Soon my mind got distracted,
And the sights of the road attracted
And aroused my sense of humour.
I was overcome with fervour.
A herd of donkeys and a truck overloaded with sugarcane
Caught my eye from the windowpane,
There were pedestrians and cyclists
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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A sneak preview...! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
A sneak preview
As winter makes
Its debut…
Eateries launch
Steaming
Soup week.
Hawker sets up shop
Under Asoka tree;
Spice up the noon.
Young couples
Snuggle
Behind shrubs.
Stoles and sweaters;
Colours
Galore.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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In Despair
What is the world coming to?
Though carrying weapons is taboo
Children are happy totting the gun,
Whether to settle scores or just for fun.
When did innocence get lost and things changed?
It some how seems shocking and strange.
Too much T V, films is the reason
Reason elders for this violence and aggression.
Isn’t there lack of communication?
This has had deeper ramifications.
The young yearn for someone to share
Their confusion, but no one has time to spare.
If you are not there when your child needs you,
You will be the last to know what he brews
When he turns to his peers
To share his angst and fears.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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