Come in summer
Taste "Rabri"sweet n sour
Enjoy daytime sleeps for sure
Lunch with green sangri,
fofliya and rayata cups
with amazing bajra cakes
Dinner with dish of
" Moth-Bajra kheech"
with a lot of cheese
See how "Rohida" flowers rocks
amidst hot air strokes

Come in rain
Sketch on beautiful brown sand
by your fingers using as pen
engrave your foot prints for fun
and smell heart touching scent
of this warriors mother-land
Eat" gurrhvani churma" with
Ker-sangri, fofliya taste of
this  wonderland
And see camel ploughing fields
Walking in their full speeds

Come in "shishir"
Taste Matira, Kakar
And ber seasonal fruits
Chew roasted bajra grains
for checking teeth roots

Come in winter
Eat buffalo milk curd full of bowls
Taste "Kachar - Fali "veggies
Dal- Baati- Churma sweet dishes
Have  fair n festival funfares
and traditional marriages cheers
wearing colouful wears
singing folk songs
n lots of chances
of rocking in ghumar dances

Come in spring
Rock and roll in" Holi"fest airs
and visit  lovely" Gangour" fairs
Eat " kheer-dhokla "layers
Visit black buck sanctuary
to see animal cares.

Eid
That's what we need
Now More than ever
To show
That we are together

Enough of "holier than thou"
And clamour over the cow
We couldn't have fought
Had we put a thought
That all our customs and faith
Are to gather and celebrate
And embrace all

So More than ever it's now
Necessary to take a vow
That together we grow
And let them know
Who toss us into fire
Of instigated ire


We all had a choice
And we all have a choice


This time
Let's savor the kheer
And a hug a little tighter
Let the crescent moon glow
On us all a little brighter

Eid Mubarak
Let's be better.

she said:
don’t forget!
milk, oil, flowers
our offerings, our worship.
my hands are broken
but still you kiss each finger.
I remember
milk for kheer,
oil for the lamp,
flowers for Shiva.
to me these are nothing.
in your eyes the world sleeps
can I sleep in them, too?

Hindi:

वह कही:
मत भूलना!
दूध, तेल, फूल
हमारा प्रसाद, हमारी पूजा
मेरे हाथ टूट गए हैं
लेकिन अभी भी तुम एक एक उंगली चुंबन।
मुझे याद है
खीर के लिए दूध,
दीपक के लिए तेल,
शिव के लिए फूल।
मेरे लिए ये कुछ भी नहीं हैं।
तुम्हारी आँखों में दुनिया सो रही
मैं उन में सो सकते हैं भी ?


Bangla:

ও বলল:
ভুলে যাবেন না!
দুধ, তেল, ফুল
আমাদের নৈবেদ্য, আমাদের পূজা।
আমার হাত ভেঙে গেছে
তবুও আপনি প্রতিটি আঙুল চুমু।
মনে আছে
খিরের জন্য দুধ,
বাতি জন্য তেল,
শিবের জন্য ফুল।
আমার কাছে এগুলি কিছুই নয়।
তোমার চোখে পৃথিবী ঘুমায়
আমি কি তাদের মধ্যে ঘুমাতে পারি?

Teen mahine pehle ek dastak hui,
603-604 asha appt mein hulchul hui,

Mein Corona hoon, sab mujhse darte hai...usne jataya..
Kuch darre hum, kuch sehme hum,
Phir usko bataya...
Saalo pehle BP aur Sugar aaye the,
Hum goli khaye, phir kheer pakori ka mazza uthaya...
Aur unko niptaaya....
Uff Caronao, humein daraona....

Kuch hum darre hai,
Ghar par baithe hai,
Sab jagah curfew hai,
Sadak par "few" hai,
Woh Corona Warriors hai...
Uff Coronao, humein daraona...

Kuch study ki, analysis kiya,
Immunity ko strong kiya,
Anlom-vilom par command kiya,
Saas aise powerful kiya,
Corona ne bhi social distancing kiya,
Uff Coronao, humein daraona....

Hummare pair mein bhi sanichar hai,
Ghar se nikalna humari fitrat hai,
Kuch na sahi corona hai,
Ussi ka discussion hai,
Uff coronao, humein daraona

Tum senior citizen na bano,
Youngster ki gali mein raho,
Hum party aur dinner ko tarse,
Tum pre-Corona bash manao,
Uff coronao, humein daraona

Maana badlaav mushkil hai,
Par safar toh karna hai,
Nokia namaskar se phone tak,
Soap se sanitizer tak,
College life se family life tak,
Ghoomne se ghar par thaherne tak,
Uff Corona, humein daraona...

Forlorn puppies hunt through the trash in search of food
Incessant honking pounds my eardrums
Putrid hints of smoke and diesel followed by the overwhelming stench of rotting trash scorches my nostrils
Uncontrollable spice followed by sour lassi irritate my tastebuds
Dirt rests in the barrier between my feet and the floor

Bejeweled saris radiate from neon lights
Quiet mantras echo off the walls of the yoga studio
Aroma of fresh baked dosa weaves up and down streets
The wetness of one pomegranate kernel refreshes my mouth
Slippery canary yellow kheer oozes out of my fingertips

I want to leave but also to stay

THIS IS LIFE

When you die, people many will tears shed, some may cry n yet a few may even shriek

This for days few will go on; people generally good about you also speak

Then this sentiment slowly dies, it becomes very feeble, absolutely weak

Even your own kids will away give your treasured things, in the coming months or weeks

Once every year offer food to a crow they may, who dips in the "kheer" his beak

You may be garlanded, with a sandal wood garland, after being captured in a frame sleek

Your grandchildren remember you may vaguely, a memory blurred n weak

Perhaps some inquisitive one,  may questions ask; and your details seek.

THAT'S THE END OF YOUR STORY.

Armin Dutia Motashaw