She looked at me
Like I was familiar
She smiled at me
Like I was familiar
Then
She waved goodbye
Like I was a stranger

Silence then followed

What do you do when you are very happy?
I.....jump, sing and dance with them heartily.
What makes you feel better when you are very sad?
I.....hug them and close my eyes for a moment stealthily.

They say that children are God sent angels.
And I am blessed with two precious jewels.

When the world doesn't acknowledge me with the tag of an average culinarian,
They say "you are a great chef"!
When my day is pale and grim
They brighten the day with their priceless grin.

When someone taunts me to be a lazy lady
They say....how hard you work mom for us and daddy.

They are my motivator and the lucky charms.
I find happiness in their pure arms.
Their smile, touch and care can only give solace when in dearth.
This is the best gift for a mom on earth.

How I wish this crystalline love for their mother stays with them forever....
Hope they do not get manipulated when they start chasing the materialistic pleasure.

They are my biased children and I am their selfish mother,
Who will always want her angel kids to remain pure as they are.

Bina Mukherjee

Let me die!
Death,
Why don't you like me?

So many time I've tried,
Death,
Why must hide your face?

I'm searching for a way out,
A way out of here
I thought maybe you could me escape
The horrors of life and all its fears

Every movement
No matter how benign
Has its own Judas
Who won’t fall in line
Almost as if they fight
An idea that repairs
What is wrong and then
They give themselves airs.

They abuse the words
Patriotism and traitors
Naming those who catch
And watch them closely;
The guys in black hats,
Ignore the soot on their own,
Point and jeer at the others
Their brothers and sisters.

No sanity exists with them.
It’s clear they can’t think,
Don’t smell their own stink
But jink and cavort about
Like louts at a picnic
Completely forgetting that
It is they themselves who picked
The crooks they so abhor.

Once more they eviscerate
The thefts by the delegates
They sent to office to rob us
And blame it on us not them.
They are the very phlegm
In the national throat.
A herd of goats corralled
By their own crooked pals.

Then on reflection, they see
Something has gone wrong
And along the way perdition
Has set in with their permission;
They need someone to blame
So, the game of ignorant blame
Starts and lasts for years
While they have more beer.