Anantnag, Kashmir, India

Children

My dear child,

You have grown much more than I presume.

Perhaps rightly so,

You must grow a bit slower.

Than our destined old age,

Of feeble sensibilities.

And blunt realities,

I must be happy now.

And rub my nose against wooden window frames,

Off the concerns pertaining your life.

Your sneeze sent shivers to my spine,

Left me on canker hooks in the depth of night.

When the whole world couched itself in warmth.

Lulled to the sleep of neglect.

I loved to see you struggling to crawl,

Then your hesitant attempts to stand.

You failed but clung to my both legs,

Looking intently at my face for solution.

Instantly i offered simple smile and hand,

With fore finger pointed towards your fluffy fist.

You clutched firmly and didn't let it go,

Till you were running in streets,

Swimming in the depths of ocean.

Gliding and hanging on trees,

To catch little birdies.

Though you were a neonate in turn,

It was a meaningful pleasure to nourish you

Your upbringing gave me a dreamlike joy,

A consistent painless relief.

From jolting and hammering of life.

I was ecstatic with the glimpse,

Of four sprouting millk teeth in your mouth,

While you were learning how to hold nipple.

The pain of shedding teeth,

Led me to fits of anxiety and restlessness.

Now wisdom tooth has loaded your mouth,

And so has reason engrained your mind.

I must recline in the arm chair and be happy,

With your old mother,

A bit feverish with my reckless behaviour.

Though her hand is shaking,

Yet I am not going to leave her alone.

We both know how to share our platter,

A mixie of good and bad.

And how to bow in ambience,

Steadily keep our burning foreheads

On cold prayer mat of marble.

Night

The dog has been biting dust throughout the night,

And the owl howled, afraid of its own shadow.

The moon proudly peeping out,

At a rodent feeding its neonate.

Within the burrow of black magic,

Delved deep into the lust infested hollow skull.

Buried long ago under the whirlwind of exhausted,

Tic-tac-toe of time.

Earthen vase with an eye as big as a root of hair,

Unable to hold tears.

Sprawling over the sharp blades of grass,

Grown on a carved mound of earth.

Housing a crafty bewitching beauty,

With signs of agonising life.

Like a caterpillar,

Yearning and struggling.

Undergoing painful metamorphosis,

To cast off it's lifeless crest.

The loathsome full bellied clergyman,

Swallowed by disdainful sloth.

Enjoys siesta beneath a weeping willow,

On a riverside asleep, unaware.

That Mother earth is taking measurements,

To swallow him in one gobbet.

Like a hungry snake,

While beatles sing on high notes.