Every day a yellow bird perched under my nose,
Yet I failed to notice presence of a friend close.
So smoothly in dullness how daily lives spiral
How mundane and commonplace; how banal.

The selfish soul of mine
Often sullen, wonders,
“What would I get
By toiling hard under
Scorching heat
For endless time
When the smell of success
May not be mine?”


The selfless soul replies
With a patient smile,
“Embarking on
Walking those miles,
One must forget,
Progress or regress;
The journey in itself
Is a hallmark of success.”

Somewhere in the wild woods
Once grew a tree tall and wide,
It stood above the smaller trees
And mounds that lay aside.


The branches offered to others
Shade that was cool and calm
They cared for those they sheltered
From the wildness of a storm.


When the branches learnt that the tree was known
For the care that they provide
Swollen was their self esteem
Mighty became their pride.


The branches then neglected the trunk,
The leaves and the root,
As they thought that they were the only
Reason for the tree’s repute.

As the branches ignored
Their own roots over time
Gradually they waned away
And lost the shade sublime.

Little did the branches know,
The importance of a stable base
Losing which one falls always
In the abyss of disgrace.

Walk not my little dear
on the land so muddy
lest your clothes smear
by the soil smudgy.

You are not born
for the lowly task, like me,
your life is adorn,
instead,
with mirth and glee.

I feel so ashamed
of my sully hands ***** of mud,
how can I wish to touch your cheek
and cuddle it if I could.

But my little princess royale,
my sweetheart, you should know,
that the sapling I sow today
if yours when you grow,

The most precious rose
for my most precious dear
and I care little if remembered
as a mere gardener.

I don’t know why
But sometimes I just want to cry
When I am bored, with no one to talk to
When I am busy, working with sleeping hours few
Or when I am with my full house family
Or a thousand miles away, tired and lonely.

I just feel sad
Something makes my day go bad
What is it? I don’t quite know
But it makes me feel low,
I feel hollow and empty,
And wanting in plenty.

What is it that I miss?
That takes away my bliss?
What is it that I need?
Does something arouse my greed?
Is it money, love, or pleasure?
Fame, name, or leisure?

I don’t get the answer
Why I lose my laughter,
Why I miss my fun
Why my songs go unsung.
As hard as I try, I can never know the reason
So I finally resort to just being human.



Shailesh Otari
Hyderabad
March 13th, 2013

Reflections on own timeline
are neither easy nor fast
as one needs a special mirror
to look back in the past.

A river flowed
for a decade long
as it careened through
the jungle land.

For long it forgot
its own beautiful song
its own little joy
that it had carried along.

And it never looked back
for the past was gone
as it looked ahead
to the sea that beckoned.

And then it saw
a brook run by
a little young stream
singing high.

The brook knew not
to where it went
neither did it worry
through ascent or descent.

But the brook had speed
which made the river see
what the brook’s future
would one day to be.

The river knew the brook
would with time grow
and be its own river
with depth it would flow.

And then the river realized
that it was once the same brook
alive, singing, flowing carefree
unlike today’s look.

Always busy running
the river never knew why
all the joy evaporated
as time flew by.

So the river beholds the brook
as it passes away
and wishes before it grows ahead
the brook enjoys every day.


- Dedicated to Tanvi Jadwani, my mentee (http://hellopoetry.com/tanvi-jadwani/)

There is a jungle of rooms
in which we live,
breathe, eat, sleep,
see, observe, and feel.

Some rooms are clean
and many are *****,
some are filled,
while others are empty.

In some you find people,
warm and friendly,
In others you are alone,
Bored and lonely.

In a few, you make friends
have fun and make merry,
in others you toil
drudge and weary.

And to connect two rooms
there is a door,
through which you pass
from one place to another.

When you leave a room
you can’t but help,
taking memories you gathered
and your older self.

But you cannot go back to a room
once you leave, it is for good,
yet you take some people along
as long as they are in the mood.

This is how you spend your time
every so often opening a new door,
changing rooms and moving around
gathering experiences in store.

The jungle is called life
both start and end are yours,
all you have is your own journey,
and freedom to choose the doors.