"rupees" poems
The new Ugadi brings in many a dream
But this year it is the time for electioneering team
Instead of the tender mango buds and the melodious song
Man political campaigners do throng
We hear the opportunistic , affectionate political call
Despite hiding their possible fall
Not heeding to the election code
Money flows on the busy road
For every precious vote
There is at least a thousand Rupees note
Wine one can drink
Until one does sink
We offer corruption as diet for Mother Goddess without shame
We have become a part of this vicious game
For votes and seats Andhra Pradesh has met with unilateral division
The Italian and the saffron aunt have the devilish unison
In fact, ther is no scope for any party to get our vote
But in democracy not to vote is like cutting our own throat
As long as breadth is there, there will be life
As long as life is there , there will be hope and strife
I hope this new year Jaya usher in many a success to the common man
The youth shall have creativity, social justice and bright future, for which I yearn
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 7:48 AM UTC
"Lost love spell caster voodoo spells"
The spammy text-posts read
Let's write them off, as so much bunk
That nobody would heed.
"Love marriage specialist
in Ahmedabad" said another
Finally you could be betrothed
And satisfy your mother!
Voodoo spells and marriage vows
For only a few rupees,
The challenges of life, all quickly solved,
With very modest fees.
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 11:25 PM UTC
Saw a wretched man
living in shacks__
His beliefs were very
soft just like wax__
Bought his beliefs
with bundle of rupees__
Took it in sunlight and
molded with ease__
Saw a gullible man
standing on street__
Cheated his beliefs
with language sweet__
His beliefs resembled
some old wood__
Sawed and chiseled
it the best I could__
Saw a strong man
holding his beliefs tight__
Forcefully took his
beliefs with a fight__
His beliefs were
like some metal hard__
To bring it in shape I
hammered and charred__
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 9:37 PM UTC
My red wagon, in my youth,
Kept things some thought quite uncouth,
Like fishing line, crawdad bait,
A model boat, old door plate,
Copper rupees from Nepal,
Ancient skull, an old softball,
And I still wish I had them all,
Those fine treasures of my youth.
Though years have past since that day,
I, again, still lug that dray,
But I often can recall,
All the stuff I used to haul.
Though no longer filled with junk;
I don't use it like a trunk.
This lesson I didn't flunk.
It's filled with my kids at play.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 9:04 AM UTC
#Today I wouldn’t tell you about me
I would tell you about the green coconut
His eyes begged me a drink
*Good sir just ten rupees
Fountain of life
To quench your thirst
Feed your hunger
All these sir for so cheap
Have it one please
For just ten rupees*
His shriveled face
Shrunken eyes
Stretched palms
Offering heal of pain
Life’s fountain
For just ten rupees
His eyes begged me a drink
He knew my thirst
His healing remedy
Green coconut
Building between us
A bridge
For ten rupees
I’m sorry I failed
In what I said at the outset
For now standing here
I’m telling about me
An empty green coconut in my hand
In his eyes me
In this distant land!#
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 1:53 AM UTC
"You're ******* your life away Bobby," screamed Auntie Abhaya in her native tongue. Malayalam has many nuances and maybe a better translation is, "lightning currents from your privates and blast River Ganga, streaming your soul away." Dravidian poetics go as such and Auntie Abhaya seemed to have quite dramatic flare. In any case, cousin Bobby was once again, drunk. Auntie Ay, as we lovingly referred to her, in her fearless way, was having nothing of it. Worse yet, seems Bobby had funded his ****** with rupees stolen from Auntie Chhaya's purse. A storm of tears she was, in the corner of the humble hut they all resided in, in Kerala.
Kerala's backwaters wash in from the Arabian Sea. Tropical delicacies abound; markets filled with fish, pineapple and coconut groves, and an array of spice that keep the main agricultural commerce of India most enticing to the rest of the world. Yet, life earnings are hard and for some hard habits easy to pick up. This was truest in Bobby's case, though he did try and try to make his family proud.
As I was only a guest in this loving but burdened home, and recognizing a family crisis at hand, I and my traveling partner put forth finances lost to ensure our safe return to Mumbai north in Maharashtra and not embarrass our host family any longer. Though we had touched a Garden of Eden, the lesson of banishment was still at hand.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 9:13 AM UTC
Red, dark and light, apples,
They sell it for Rupees 80 a kg,
Available sans the ripples,
But sans bargaining not so easy.
Even the grapes, delicious,
They sell it for Rupees 80 a kg,
Appears to be so luscious,
There're many other fruits here.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 9:56 AM UTC
A costly privilege at rare times
Inquired my dad, "How much the onions?"
The seller, with a gasp,
Replied: "It's for 55 Rupees a kilo,
And you're holding almost two times."
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 1:34 PM UTC
31 | 31 Poems for August 2017
There’s something exquisite about your smile, your brown eyes have got me hypnotised, and your heart is a gold mine.
I’m addicted to everything you say and do, so be my poet and I’ll be your muse.
We’ll figure out everything else once we’ve found something to do between our sporadic bursts of laughter.
Let me comfort you with soulful conversations accompanied by several bottles of red wine.
We could vibe out and listen to James Blake, and you could tell me about the days when you couldn’t see the colour in anything.
I’m no stranger to the waves of the ocean, so I eventually want to get lost in the depths of you.
You are a picturesque South African city worth exploring even when tourists no longer come to visit.
Their dollars, euros, pounds, nairas and rupees may run dry but my love for you will keep overflowing.
I could write poetry and love letters on your skin but my handwriting is not as beautiful as my words are.
I’ll be your poet in a world that’s still acquainting itself with all the writers of exquisite African literature.
In the Supreme Court of your love, people have told you untruths while under oath – I think the law calls it perjury.
We could vibe out and listen to James Blake, and you could teach me how you see the colour in everything.
I want to get lost in an endless field of sunflowers while basking in the warmth of your presence.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 2:49 PM UTC
clay-baked women beat their clothes
clean on river rocks at dawn
cook rice and dal on an open
communal hearth
beneath a natural lantern
of Indian stars
for 20 rupees a day, roughly
half a buck
I have seen men and women tie
rags to cushion their heads
towing heavy mortar
for new construction
yet there is always a
brotherly smile gleaming
and sisterly hands eager to share
what meager provisions earned
these are no feeble folk
no fashion slaves or mere mortals
melodious bhajans mingle with
the sweat from their brows
and mantras, leelas of God
echo through the
Taj Mahal temples of their hearts
I raise my bhakti glass to the
backbone of India
Her kundalini rising
innocent, humble
village peasantry
true priests
gopikas and gopalas
who actually live
the Vedic life
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
The hot boiled rice
With brown gram curry
The nutty smell of sesame
Oil shrills in hurry
Deployed on a thrice
larger rounder plate
For a boy's belly deplete.
"Can't eat this much rice!"
He shouts with a surprise.
“You can do my son sure.",
Her firm voice enssures
The boys look measures.
"The remainder you keep aside"
Her remand saves his pride.
A monthly forty rupees
Should not be pretty reason
For a lodger's liberty to please
Among two of her teen sons
Than a welling spring of kindness
A heart huge in roundness
Larger than a stainless steel plate
With a profuse heap of hot rice
The smooth boiled brown pies
Oiled with fragrance fleet.
For how he fully did feat it?
How she purely predict it?
The stomach of a young one could hold
The heap of love on a stainless steel mold.
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 9:43 AM UTC
I was drunk,
Lying on the Delhi Street,conked,
I was thrown out of a bar nearby,
I can't remember why?
I woke with a start,
I found myself in a cart,
Pulled by a shabbily dressed man
With a tattered turban,
And a ragged **** cloth round his waist.
Was he here to collect waste?
Not to ask I thought best.
I threatened him to stop,
Or I would call the cop.
Immediately he put the cart down,
He thought I was gone!
We had a long talk,
His sorry tale made me baulk,
Made me sober.
He was a corpse collector,
With a six year old daughter.
For a few miserly rupees,
He collected corpses,
From the alleys and streets,
And performed their last rites.
The corpses were mostly of those who died of cold,
Their stories untold.
The man had no home,
Come rain,cold or storm,
They lived under an old building's dome.
The little girl with him tagged along,
Looked at life as a song,
Never a complaint,
The little grubby saint.
On cold frosty days,
To stay warm,the only way,
The corpses became the child's blanket,
She cuddled amongst them as if in a basket.
Tears welled up in my eyes,
This was reality, not lies,
The strings of my heart broke,
From a lifetime of dreams I woke,
I have to turn the hands of the clock,
The Almighty had cleared my vision,
I was sent here for a reason.
I made up my mind,
Gambling and drinking I left behind.
I adopted the pair,
On the same street,I opened a Shelter,
For the needy and underprevileged,
And a Home for the aged.
In life I found my mettle
With wife and children I am settled.
I also work with other NGO's
For the betterment of people's lives.
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 3:46 AM UTC
They promised to level you up
After a six month grind.
Took a ball point pen
kept your eyes on the macguffin.
but there's still rats in the basement
never made enough Rupees
To trade in this wooden sword
no matter how many teeth
or claws you trade in
You're still stuck behind a register
or mopping up XP from the local wildlife's viscera
During your daily quest
turning in the farmers daughter
you noticed a woman promptly positioned in your way.
Some bandits killed her father
and she just stuck around
Until you hit the local tavern
and drank too much whiskey
you ran off to fetch her some pearls
then while digging for CLAMS
You met a pirate man
Who asked you to steal back his map.
while you were finding his buried treasure
you happened to find a letter that
forced you into a coffee shop
and here you sit.
always fell for the macguffin
Now you caught the most obvious one.
Always running around, trading pelts for clues
But they just kept you busy so you never traveled out of town.
if you ever headed out
You'd be slaying more than dragons
there's more than princesses to set free
out here in the big world.
your next quest is self actualization
go Sattle up on that griffin.
and head to the farthest town.
You don't know how to make the gold right now
but if you stay here.
how are you gonna find out?
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 1:03 AM UTC
The passing feet
That stops before him
He greets.
*Come sir stand here in peace
Get them shining at five rupees
Five minutes’ please
For just five rupees
Then, sir, go on your way
Have a nice day.*
While they stand
Deftly moves his hand
Dabbing white cream
On pairs of five rupee dream
An intent drive
Rusted leather must come alive.
Then he let go free
Grabs the five rupee
Gets back his eyes on the street
He needs many more feet to greet.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 6:26 AM UTC
Says the owner of the roadside eatery
For each day of work you’ll be paid fifty
But more could be your take home keep
If you serve them well earn their tips.
Your polite bow a courteous smile
Showing you care all the while
Helping them to feel quite at home
Could get your pocket extra income.
Treat them well if you treat them must
Wear a face that breeds their trust
Will do you good if you are sweet
Help them pick the best to eat.
Fifty rupees will be your day’s salary
But dimes in dozens would pour freely
When you don’t just serve them food and water
But present yourself as a caring waiter.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
Are you?
Propounding Pounds
Dealing in Dollars
Eulogizing Euros
Dwelling in Dinars
Rolling in Rupees
Enlisting Yens
Whose exchange value is nil
In honey combed heaven
Or horrendous hell
What so ever, whom so ever
Be it an empowered emperor
Or any contemptuous contemporary
Only valid currency in heaven
Is pure Conduct and Character
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 9:07 AM UTC
I met a boy
in tattered clothes
holding a baby
in his skinny arms
I gave him a
hundred rupee note
Five minutes later
he came running
to me clutching a
packet of milk
"Thank you didi"
he smiled through
broken teeth and
handed me a sum of
ninety rupees.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 11:19 AM UTC
Are you?
Propounding Pounds
Dealing in Dollars
Eulogizing Euros
Dwelling in Dinars
Rolling in Rupees
Enlisting Yens
Whose exchange value is nil
In honey combed heaven
Or horrendous hell
What so ever, whom so ever
Be it an empowered emperor
Or any contemptuous contemporary
Only valid currency in heaven
Is pure Conduct and Character
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 9:53 AM UTC
Good ten minutes to four
I reached the temple door.
Take your offer for the God
the flower seller was eager
no haste, he smiled
his time for a rest
will soon be over.
I wondered
why I'm never contented
with what God has to offer
and as a rule
my bag of grievances is ever full.
In the faint light
I held his idol in my sight
listening in the quietude
to the temple pigeons.
With great peace
I bought two lotus at fifteen rupees
from the flower seller
dividing our happiness
into equal share.
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 11:44 AM UTC
Each goods is hundred rupees
Screams the mobile street vendor
Doing perfect justice to his sale
Each item weighed in the same scale!
*It doesn’t matter if it’s plastic or steel
A *** of water or a kitchen utensil
No gloom of loss or elation in gain
Each hundred rupees and no bargain!
There’s no item without a use
For each one is an excuse
Would not rust with time nor would stale
Made in strong mould weighed in same scale!*
The mobile street vendor goes door to door
For hundred rupees one couldn’t have it more
The wisest man with his wares of justice
Brings to all hearts good bargain’s peace!
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC
133 billion pounds in America
4.2 million Tonnes in UK
50 million kilograms in Australia
230 million Tonnes in Africa
1.3 billion Tonnes in Switzerland
222 million Tonnes in Malaysia
580 billion Rupees(Indian currency) in India
33.79 million Tonnes in Saudi Arabia
What are these numbers?
Amount of food we are wasting per
Year
In Tonnes, Kilograms, pounds
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
This comedy thing plays out clearly
In the down of your throat, the way
You walk and talk in fits in yourself
Flies abuzz, your red scarf waving.
This morning we walked briskly
Explaining these things to ourselves
Our hands quickly went up in the air
Our throats cleared in anticipation
Nothing came save a guttural sound.
Since nobody laughed at our joke-
A two rupees joke on the cell- phone-
We sat deeply on the foundation,
As our legs dangled in empty space
Through the waving grass of the breeze
Showing bits of sunrise behind the hill.
Jan 24, 2010
Jan 24, 2010 at 6:53 PM UTC
Are you?
Propounding Pounds
Dealing in Dollars
Eulogizing Euros
Dwelling in Dinars
Rolling in Rupees
Enlisting Yens
Whose exchange value is nil
In honey combed heaven
Or horrendous hell
What so ever, whom so ever
Be it an empowered emperor
Or any contemptuous contemporary
Only valid currency in heaven
Is pure Conduct and Character
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
Night after night she prowls along
Along the midnights streets
Her mayhem mind torturing her
Crouched along the highway
The lady awaits her fate
The crumpled rupees in her hand,
She stood up and ruffled her black dress
And got in to the darkness.
The meeting was done in seconds
Then the door was shut at her
It's positive they said
***** of mind and innocence lost!
"I have aids" she exclaimed,
And suddenly the world seemed to look down on her.
"It was a mistake " she screamed,
But it was too late, it can't be cured.
Painful memories clouded her mind
They called her bad
They called her mad
The truth haunted her destiny
As her body grew weak day by day
Her dignity was mocked toyed at,
It was abused, compromised, lowered and bad mouthed.
The she thought," i have the power today to reset my boundaries, restore my image, start fresh and rebuild what had happened to me"
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 3:25 AM UTC
Find a plastic love somewhere in the Savannah
Dont find a metal love,
those rust
I'm moving countries if I ever go anywhere with what I'm doing
Maybe go from hotel to hotel, city to city when I'm in my prime of years
Dollars to Euro
Euros to Rupees
Rupees to Pesos
Inhale the air of every continent
My mom told me I'm the brightest out of my brother and sister
I laughed in disbelief
Girl to girl isn't so much fun, I learned
I love new faces, I just don't like getting used to seeing them
I love yours
Permanent hickeys on your pale skin would be scary, your chest would be covered in them by now
I'll answer truthfully to anything now, used to lie a lot
I got over it
Water is water, but people drink Fiji like if it made life a lot better
Sometimes when I'm at home and have nowhere to go I look at my friends snapchat stories, I write about what kind of vibe the place has
A few sentences doesn't make it justice
Nothing really gives any justice, I dont know if its supposed to be that way or maybe I don't know the right words to describe it
One day I'll meet Schoolboy Q and we'll cruise to his old stuff, atleast they'll be old then
Then again music never gets old
"The Purge" always gets me in the mood to do something illegal, I don't really do anything about it
The mood is cool though
I feel so Friday after a long week of school
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC