Busy in my bout
of fast life
Mother's day celebrations
I heard around.
Impulsively,
I connected
silently by myself,
my inner soul
with hers in heaven away...

And she firmed the connection
last night
in my dream
taking me back
to the same
terrains and fields,
across the small dried brook,
where she had worked
and I tried to escape
to join the team
of my friends
as a teenager would do;
and..
the same earthen hearth
where she had cooked
the corn chapatis
on those red coal pieces
this motherly bond more firmed
never to break
Of course, it never breaks.

Narinder Bhangu

The night
calls her for sleep
whatever way,
in a hut of dried ,
twigs and leaves collected,
randomly from the woods nearby.
tiring body movements,
the mechanics of mind,
emotional shakes,
blushing faces,
the begging hands,
never plaintive,
quite satisfied with
the fractional mercy
of well attired,
who drives a car to
a mammoth
glass house,
where in
dancing continues
and a game of cockles
till late,
in disguise
to sensual tunes,
on a cosy bed
in a bedroom
festooned
with select tapestry,
readying
for next day's rat race,
away
unknown to
the life
in that hut of twigs
where
the meagre alms conceal
body aches
****** and abusive words
the sunken bellies
and lean skeleton
of a father
guarding the chastity
of a daughter
resting on a
loose stringed charpoy
yet, the next day
calls her to leave
that hut of twigs..

( Chorpoy is four wooden post bed woven with raw strings, and these strings become loose with time )

A petal
sticks to its peduncle,
glossy and turgid
a proud connection
dipping  a dew drops
on a thorn
on the branch
of a rose plant.

the thorn
sharp
yet vigilant
protects petal's
pristine glory
of marmoreal smoothness.
yet
the dried peduncle
breaks
plaintively
the next fall
and the desiccated branch
gives a prickly touch
in a thorny hedge
in my backyard

The early morning chill
of this month
a thin layer of snow
beside the beady dew drops
on the grass
challenged the Sun
rising in the east
from night's rest
and the birds flew across
in flocks
for their mouthful fill
people of my city
cissed and crossed
some in hurry
others relaxed
in a rhythm
as it is a day
of perpetual routine
for all run of the mill.