I am a rain drop flopped down from the clouds
I could have landed in a river or the sea
Then merging with the rising and receding waves
I would have been washed down into oblivion

Or could have fallen from the heights
Into a desolate dreary desert
Amid the blistering granules of sand
To be absorbed into nothingness

Chances are there to have fallen on a rock
Lying scorched in the heat of the mid day sun
Then I would have vanished into thin air
Evaporating into non existence

I could have fallen into a muddy puddle
Or perhaps into a filthy drainage
To be contaminated with the sewage
Or be the breeding ground of worms and bugs

But fortunately for me
I happened to fall into fecund soil
Where there lay in wait a few seeds
Hankering for the cool touch of moisture

Arid souls desperately thirsting for water,
They ****** the molecules within me.
As their dry kernel got soaked and puffed,
Slowly they sprouted and grew into life.

Absorbing again the drops that came after me
They, into towering trees eventually grew
Some touching heaven’s azure heights
And giving shade and shelter to many

Now as I see them crested with flowers
And bearing clusters of luscious fruits
I feel I am there in each leaf and bud
And my essence flows through every vein!

As a teacher, what more is needed for me
To feel contented in life?

Growing out from childish pranks,
With the storm and stress of turbulent teens,
I locked within my mind’s cupboard,
A portrait vaguely sketched, but never finished.

Rough it was, though fancifully done,
The silhouette of a masculine figure,
The Gallant who would reach one day,
To hold my hand and own me his.

I had no inkling who he would,
Yet had fallen in love with that phantasmal figure,
He had dazzling eyes and sturdy limbs,
With striking features, ravishing to view,

Elusive ever to sight and touch,
He remained an enigma, abstract to grasp.
At times his contours grew distinct,
But soon blanched out into hazy lines,

When at times a covert devouring look,
Or a pair of intent adoring eyes,
Sent a thrill down my fickle heart,
I forced open my chest nut draw,

And took out stealthily that half done sketch,
Hidden out from world’s staring glance,
To alter the features one by one,
And make it resemble the man I met,

Either within a moving train,
Or sometimes in an elite gang,
Who derailed my thoughts in pensive mood,
And tickled my fancy to heave and sigh.

He made me turn and toss in bed,
And left me, many a sleepless night,
He stroked my heart with gladdening ache,
And made me lose in sweet reverie.

In the nick of time, he solemnly came,
To hold my hand and tie the knot,
With pounding heart and quivering breath,
I found him differ from the man I dreamt.

The fabulous fabric in my loom,
Looked at variance from the one unfurled,
Transfixed between fact and fallacy,
I struggled to hide a falling tear.

Time marched on in silent haste,
And I learnt to outgrow my childish whims,
Sagacity dawned with passing age,
Making me discern the real from the sham.

It made me admire his sanguine self.
On fathomed deep beyond external mien,
I saw him unveiled in taint less worth,
That made my heart ever pine in love.

Piecing together our halved selves,
With the glue of love, our identities merged,
Now he is with me in my blues,
Consoling me with his balmy touch,

He is with me in my joy,
Making it resonant with a hearty laugh,
He is there when storms rage,
Whispering in my ear, not to fear,

He taught me how to savour life,
To meet the slings with radiant cheer,
Now the image is clearly etched deep,
Never to erase, nor to revise!

And the old portrait locked within,
Grew so musty, bereft of use,
In its place, I keep within,
His solid figure in indelible print.

Dreams shattered on the floor
she dances on the broken glass
trying to restore her reflection.
She looks in the mirror and sees nothing more
...but a broken girl
Dreams shattered on the floor
He laughs when he sees his reflection.
...he sees a joke of life and nothing more
A girl who lost herself
due to the world...
The world that she loved
and thought loved her
But now when she looks in the mirror
she sees a a lost little girl
with broken dreams...
And wonders will she ever be found

The old man gazed at the sun about to set
And its molten core soon to dissolve in the sea
Scratching his head with tremulous hands
And running his fingers on the stubble of his unshaven face
He held once more tight to his wheel chair

Casually he had a glance at his hands
Those dry, weak and shriveled hands
Gone wrinkled with passing years!
His hands once so busy are now limp
His days once so brisk are now long and dull

He noticed the discolored patches on his skin
Under them the lattice of tortuous veins on the dorsum
They run down to join with the bigger ones
Like small rivulets flowing towards larger rivers

      He remembered how the streams from summits
So vigorously come down with a gush
Also the noisy cataracts somersaulting down,
Leaving reverberating echoes all around
But they produce only a soft musical sound
As they join with the rivers and pass through plains
And finally end in a kind of hushed stillness
Just before merging with the sea!

The old man philosophized;
Life too, is like a river
Fierce and ferocious when one is young
Gentler and sedate after middle age
And slow and sloppy in old age
With this calm acceptance of the need to de accelerate
Wrapping himself in the shawl against the growing cold
He turned away from the window.

Pushing his wheel chair,
He moved forward,
Knowing no haste…..
Towards his bed for another night’s tired sleep!