Lost flowers

Flowers decorate our gardens

Alleys, abandoned lands

On the ten glorious days starting with Atham

It’s the jewel on the courtyards of our homes

I remember the buzz in the mornings

To pluck the mist filled flowers

To create floral layouts of joy

Striving to create something different

Every day, with whatever flowers available

I’ve seen kids visiting homes

Collecting flowers with exuberance

Now , they get it from market

Preserved flowers at exorbitant prices

Grown and cared just for us somewhere else

Far away from our culture and our lives

This makes me wonder!

Where did we bury our flowering plants?

To stop it from blooming in our little spaces

It takes a few minutes to water

But, its more easy to buy colorful flowers

These aren’t our flowers which decorated our lives

There are more residential associations than residents itself

Yet nobody got time to raise flowers for the kids

When they got time to organize all kind of silly events

Acres of farmlands are laying barren

Yet nobody wish to grow flowers for ourselves

We have outsourced that right to our neighboring states

Youth have time to squeeze money from people on streets

In the name of non-existent arts associations for onam celebrations

Yeah, they don’t have time to raise silly flowers bearing our culture

People have time to queue up infront of liquor outlets

They have creativity to create layouts with empty bottles of liquor

But, raising flowers is waste of time, as it gives fragrance

So fresh and exotic than the much priced rums, brandies, beers and more

We create new limca records for floral arrangements every year
To show how much we care about our onam
An event of glits and glamour for flowers for media 

But, I wish they could see use the colors and flowers of our lives

The big floral layouts on the street, sprouted by the active youth

It was part of our lives, now it’s on the wane

As salt filled , artificial colored layouts smiles at us

I wonder, even they have abandoned our flowers

When these tv channels shower our eyes with the floral extravaganza

Even they forgot our roots and our flowers

They can sell ads for showing prices of flowers

Just like, they do with any other sensational news

Government pays huge bills to organize events

To show the world our onam celebrations

But even they don’t realize we celebrate onam at the mercy of others

Our king is welcomed with dead flowers from afar

It speaks the language of another culture to him

What if he stops visiting us one day?

Disillusioned with his welcome!

Anybody care!

Sorry, we are busy, shopping flowers at trade fairs!

images: thanks to rightful owners!

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Latecomer

Running briskly

With perspiring senses

Wildly beating heart

Checking the watch every other moment

To see how much time lost already

To calculate possible reaching time

To raise the speed
And to prepare for an abrupt entrance

There is a big price to pay

For getting late

A risk

Unworthy

As you stand to lose out

The savory moments upfront

Amongst the settled audience

Engaged fluidly up to the occasion

Then the door cracks up

Breaking the silence of even the noise

Making heads to turn around for a glimpse

To see the distracting latecomer

With countless eyes sprinkling spotlights

Walking past the aisle

Becomes nervy like on a ramp

Nodding the sorry with the eyes

And the bowing head

Whispering the excuse

From the shell of a sorry figure

Without any idea about the scenario

That persisted there

A messy catch up work remains

To be done, to get on level terms

With all those present there

With short enquiries for briefings

Fighting against the time  

To make up for the lost time

Before gelling into the zone

With the ease in breathe 

Scary, if there is scolding

Embarrassing

Funny, if there is mocking

Light hearted banter for folks

There is always an awkward moment

Awaiting the late comer

Images: Thanks to rightful owners

The Fiddle Player

On the corner of a bustling city centre

He stood,

Another tough day to conquer

At the mercy of strangers

Walking past the street

He played his fiddle

Emitting the heavenly aura

With the sweetness of his music

Some people stood there to listen

Some sat on the benches and engaged

In the rhythm of his solemn creativity

He played song after song

Changing the mood with each beat

A talented musician plying his art

On the street, to earn bread

Some acknowledged his efforts

And threw some pence in his fiddle cover

He wasn’t looking at the money

He just played the music

Until he got tired

I hope, one day his luck may turn golden

As his music has a soul of honesty and hope

May be, one well-wisher will give him a big break

To play his fiddle amidst the symphony than on street

There are so many talented musicians who play their music on streets just for pennies.They play simple but heartening music, without any show offs.  Images : Thanks to rightful owners

Rose

‎" every rose blooms,

 spreads fragrance, 

spreads smile, 

carries the love,

 dazzles in mist, 

becomes mystic in drizzle,

 then dulls down with the sun,

 bidding adieu to the world, 

but rose still catches imagination,

 making us love its successors,

 just as it,

 with the charm"

Images : Thanks to the rightful owners

Erratic luminous omen

Life was erratic

Disillusioned with the greed

Disoriented with the purpose

Of living, when I failed to buy time

To save my dearest soul

To catch the precious breath

To survive in this world

Though, I ran like a sprinter

On that fateful night

I might never run like that again

For anything, no matter what at stake

Though, my heart pounds harder still

With nerves wrangling tighter

When I face those deadlines

That I always shied away

Still a luminous angel

Drives me to walk again

To climb the mountains

Of tasks left to achieve

To survive

And thrive again

Like the trees growing green

Again in spring, after the fall

By raining a gritty omen

With actions of courage

Outwitting the fears

To achieve the things beyond

With an ease

Making me wonder!

Why I can’t do the same !