Kabir a great Indian saint Weaver by occupation Weaved a fine turban Worth two takkas Dawn to dusk He sat Sell it worth the price No buyer ready Unless half price Unsold he returned When it grew dark 🌑 His neighbour saw him There was a dialogue Took charge of the turban Next morning 🌅 Neighbour sat selling Turban priced Eight takkas A customer bargained Settled for five takkas Within an hour He returned Filled Kabir's palm Five takkas The saint thus wrote: "No buyer of righteous World 🌍 believes Rogues"
Husband and wife They loved each other Nine children were born The couple often fought with each other One accusing the other For producing so many children Things became bad to worse Case filed for divorce Honb'le Court with all the compassion and wisdom At its command Tried to bring rapproachment in couple's life But failed in its efforts Now perforce divorce it had to decide All other things were settled Custody of children remained a ticklish issue Neither of the parents Was ready for custody of all nine children Nor children could decide Who to be with whom Both the parents were adamant for equal division The odd figure of nine was a big hindrance Cutting a child into two pieces wasn't feasible For it would have died The couple prayed The Honb'le Court Defer the divorce petition for a year They would produce one more To make the number even It would solve the problem Make equal division of children possible They made love Everyday dreamt of happy divorce Lo and behold The day of new arrival arrived Twins born to the noble guys Nine plus two again an odd figure Making equal division impossible The couple realised Whole excercise was futile They decided to stay together for life
Inspired by a joke, this piece written in a lighter vein.
Once upon a time There was a passion, Like burning fire, Boiling water, Saturated with desire. The thirst of needing to be seen, To be heard, To be free as a soaring bird Was unquenchable and Unquestionable.
It was so clear It ruled out the anxiety And the fear Of being judged Being wrong And being crushed.
Now that passion has burned out, Drained, Pale; What is left is the anxiety The possibility To fail.