Be it no more than just a glass of water,
A walking-stick alive rendered by daughter,
Care and concern, warm smile, none far too hotter;
If you follow my poem's flight,
Pray, hold it under no search light,
Worse, under prying microscope,
Nor keen discreet ears, I do hope.
Comes autumn, follows fall,
Brown leaves begin to fall,
And when it snows in winter,
Trees look like skeletons that can't stir.
Let me not play tuneless in today's time,
Some purists sure get praised as Gandhian,
Yet, crass nevertheless is no more crime,
Old values are hailed may be in heaven.
A man on grey side of his long green age,
With wiser ways and values he preserves,
Can scarce claim still to be wisdom-filled sage;
And oft wears a face he seldom deserves.
Childhood, no more a time ‘tis to chill,
What a way, child's very child to kill!
It's time to draw a line,
Every child's no Einstein,
Yon there, the charioteer of Sun
Heralds the arrival of dawn,
Seen dawning her demur more smiles
That spread on to far spatial miles.
For his fair conduct, goodly grade,
The killer was out on parole.
Easy, for justice to give dole,
Parting cuckoo where her calls go?
Cut off from coast where sea would go?
Unfolding time dies duly blurred,
Ah to wait and wait!
The thrill in an anxious wait,
Where's when she's at gate?