Shankaran Kutty Poems

Long years ago, hundreds in fact
In the beautiful city of Baghdad
Lived a poor man, porter by job
And the name he had, was Hindbad
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It is not without reason
That I think it is close to treason
To have at home
And it is almost the norm
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A touch of cold, a dash of fever
I have fallen sick on Diwali day
To celebrate today I was so eager
But go out and have fun I see no way
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I woke up this morning to see the early rays
Peep into my room through the Diwali haze
“Suprabhatham” through the temple speakers did blare
The smell of crackers was still in the air
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From the snow-capped peaks of Himalayas
To the Great Arabian sea
From the hot deserts of Thar
To rainy Cherapunji
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If you don’t like being called a buffalo
I will happily call you a jolly good fellow
And you Madam, my dear holy cow
Please do get off my streets some how
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Yesterday I saw a dream
Where I was a small boy
In front of my grandmother
I was playing with a toy
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You are the pretty flowers that bloomed
On my life’s romantic vine
The most precious possessions I have
What is truly mine
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The putrid smell of smoke and sweat
Pervaded the dim lit room
And alone I sat in eager wait
No time to drown in gloom
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When I was a teenager
It was indeed a must
That like everyone I fall in love
If not, I won no trust
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