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An outgoing
Traveler left
his Tiffin carrier
at the rest house
corridor;
An incoming
Beggar opened it;
To see the debris of
two dead
white doves in it.
*
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
williamsji@yahoo.com
www.williamsji.com
From MICROTHEMES, a collection of short poems, written by WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
Obadiah Grey Nov 2012
Lapsang Souchong
two sugars n me,
are owft on a charabang
jaunt to the sea,
with pickled egg Mary-
her three pekinese,
who are hairy quite scary
n chopped owft at the knees,
we are bringing darjeeling
and Oolong along
to twiddle their tootsies
and fire up their ****.
Ashmita May 2013
The last few passengers hopped on catching their breaths with a huff and a puff and taking the remaining seats where they could, while handling their bags in one hand and their mufflers and hats with the other. It was just an ordinary day for them. A day when work and reaching their office on time was the only thing they could think about. A day when half their time on the launch was spent worrying if the Tiffin box packed so lovingly by their wives toppled over to create a mess. A day when they couldn't stop and stare. A day when materialism came before appreciating nature’s beauty.
Kolkata woke up one fine chilly morning to a sky set ablaze. There was always something about Kolkata and its lights that intrigued me. The perfection with which every corner was lit just as much as it should be, the hidden eye candy which could only be seen if you look into your soul to appreciate. Worshipers from all over flocked to the ghats to offer their prayers. And with the mindless honking of the city behind them and the open river in front, they dipped themselves in continuously to be forgiven of their sins. As they lifted their folded hands above their heads to pray and dipped themselves, they made the water all around them make huge ripples which were lost in the vastness of the mighty river. And with that, they were forgiven of their wrong doings, or at least that’s what they believed.
The engines roared to life as one of the crew, miserably opened the ropes and threw them on board after ringing a bell. I stood in one corner of the launch eyeing Kolkata, taking every bit of it in - its morning awakening, its old red bricked buildings, or at least the ones which still stood straight, its ghats green with moss and over crowded with devotees, its icy cold winter morning, and the current of the river beneath the launch floor. Kolkata had woken up to one of the coldest days in recent history. 9 degrees and the wind was up. On the Ganga it felt as if I had come away to some faraway land, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, to find peace.  Silence surrounded me and the only sound faintly audible was the low whistle of the breeze brushing past my cheeks kissing them which felt like tiny needles poking me all at once.
The water looked like liquid glass, floating away to infinity and beyond, as far as my eyes took my vision. As the launch turned to face its destination the Howrah Bridge came into view. Standing tall with its two gigantic pillars the sun peeped from between the cables to shine on the water creating a river of gold while the sun’s reflection seemed a ball of fire just within our reach.  The bridge cast huge shadows causing a sudden darkness to arise in the water which otherwise seemed ablaze.  

Across the river the world waiting for me felt distant. Was civilization actually that beautiful? Or did nature just wrap its covers around to hide the flaws of mankind, his ruthlessness, his ignorance towards other beings and its lack of humanity? The dashes of green popped out of the corners of towering buildings, as sun cast its golden rays on them creating shadows on the opposite side.
The small boats sailed on as the launch took me from bank to bank. The rowers sat at the back on the edge with their rows half immersed in the water. And as the currents made them flow by, the ripples came and hit our launch and travelled back into the vastness and disappeared. They sailed through the disturbed water, and its shadows sailed alongside. The rivers serenity was contrasted with the blobs of **** floating by, entangled with driftwood and mixed with shiny cloths, probably the leftovers of the previous durga puja celebrations.
The sky was a game of colors by now. The sun, still a ball of fire, was slowly creeping upwards, the light grey clouds just behind it shot rays of gold down through the gaps they found on the world below, the sky otherwise was a play of grey, blue, red and orange set in order from the ground upwards without a definite point of distinction. A group of three birds, crows most probably, flew overhead enjoying the sun’s late arrival to the cold morning.
My hands reached for the railing. I gripped the rods tightly looking for security. I looked around me to spot the different lives sailing with me. Some on their phones, some sat with their eyes glued to the cold blank floor, as if they didn’t deserve to be uplifted by nature’s display of her beauty, some staring down at their watches to scrutinize each second to realize how late there were while others stood with a blank expression staring out onto the river, probably going over what they did wrong, playing the images on repeat, making themselves miserable. Me? I stood leaning on the railing looking out also. But I wasn’t in my misery. My misery was behind me. I looked forward to life. And for now I looked forward to my destination. And amongst the crowd I was alone. This was my moment and mine alone. No one could have robbed me of this moment, and no one can make me forget.  
The river gave me peace of mind. Its tranquility and its continuity made an energy of constancy flow within me. A belief that this too shall pass, that every moment shall pass. Never ending was its path. A path which life had chosen. Who are we to disrupt it? Who are we to stop? Life flowed on. And times were not always smooth sailing. There will be waves rocking you, making you lose your balance, there will be rocks at the bottom, sometimes holding you together while other times damaging your base. With time and distance the river will get polluted, but it all depends on what you want to show and what you choose to see. It will be used, to its maximum capacity, with only a handful of souls to stop and think about it and do something about it to the best of their abilities. Things varying in all sizes will cross it, sail by without paying any heed to the water beneath it making them sail smoothly, never appreciating it, and soon it becomes a part of them which they pay no attention to it. It will always be there though. Its existence will always prevail over it being ignored. And when you stop to think, it’ll be there pushing you along the way, to your destination, where you will have to say goodbye to the picture perfect moments, the soul touching feelings and the voice within you which screams in its silence to set yourself free.
A prose once in a while is acceptable i guess. Comments? :)
Olivia Kent May 2016
Will you marry me said he.
From a muddy spot on bended knees.
Sported a smile upon his face.
Wide as the crescent moon.
His was offer was good as solid gold.
But she said no.
He left her cold.
So very sorry to see him cry.
Had a heart you see.

She was too old to start anew.
A madam.
A madman.
Tiffin for two.
And now she bows.
After scuffling away.
(c)LIVVI
Kuzhur Wilson Mar 2014
When we
Are alone,
Me and Ammini
Make another
World to play in.
Like the ever vacant
Sand houses
Some adults build
With their kids
On the beach.

Then,
I will get angry
Even if the gentlest
Of breezes
Passes that way.
She will turn livid
Even if a *****
Passes that way.

If
Single
Single
Memories
Or sighs
Or their scars
Appear on the face
She will
Wipe them off
With
Kisses.

After playing
For long,
We will fight.

Ammini  will holler
Louder than
The way she laughed.
I will keep mum
Louder than her.

I will
Lay her down
Holding her close
To my *****
That will beat
Ammineee, Ammineeee.

As she pretends
To sleep,
I will shoo her off
Go away pussiiii!
As if the masculine
Of pussee is pussoo
She will shoo me off
Go away pussoo!

I will retort
Go away Poochamma!
Ammini will retort
Go away Pochamba!
Go away Kochambi!
Go away Kochambra!
Go away Pochambra!
Go away Sochambra!

Go away
Sorambi!
Go away
Soramba!
Go away
Soorambi!
Go away
Kooramba!
Go away
Koorambi!
Go away

……

At a loss
For words
She will
Change the tune.
Goaway
Slate!

Goaway
Bag!
Goaway
Tree!
Goaway
Pencil!
Goaw­ay
Pen!
Goaway,
Ant
Goaway
Mosquito!
Goaway
Matchbox!
Goaway
Stra­w!
Goaway
Book!
Goaway
Cot!
Goaway
Chair!
Goaway
Window!
Goaway
D­oor!
Goaway
Mobile!
Goaway
Button!
Goaway
Computer!
Goaway
Trouse­rs!
Goaway
Shirt!
Goaway
Sky!
Goaway
Puppy!
Goaway
Star!
Goaway
W­ell!
Goaway
Girl!
Goaway
Boy!
Goaway
Calendar!
Goaway
Fan!
Goazwa­y
Doll!
Goaway
Broom!
Goaway
Tiffin box!
Goaway
Poetry!
Goaway
Annakutty!
Goaway
Appakutta!
Goaway
Am­mikkalli!
Goaway
Appakkalla!

About to lose,
I will show the
Trump card.

Go away
Agnus Anna!

Her face will change.
Hesitantly,
She will say

Go away
Kuzhur Wilson!

Then
An
Intolerable
Silence
Will
Spread
There.

When Ammini
Turns back
To
Kochu TV,
I will
Enter
The bathroom
Shut
The door
And
Puff on
A cigarette.

Then
Another
Kind of
Game
That
Makes
Life
Intolerable
To live
Will
Pool
Around me
There.


**Translation : Ra Sha
“Wilson speaks the language of the Christ contemplating life in the dark cavern in the twilight zone between crucifixion and resurrection. At the door, stand guard numerous women, goats, dogs, birds and reptiles speaking agitatedly in a vernacular tongue. All objects, living and non living, fall within his jurisdiction. Over everything falls a great sheet of sadness like a gloomy rain. “

Ra Sha
We're antique and aware of it,
old fashioned and they stare a bit, but that's a part of the charm, a penny farthing to ride on with gaiters to tie on, keeping the spats nice and clean.

Home for some tiffin and the lady's been shopping down at Macy's for doilies, thank god it wasn't Tiffanys for diamonds, the wireless set goes off and the gramophone's switched on, a 78 Bakelite revolves in the room where the mood's right for romance.

We dance modernistic, the Cha cha's futuristic, they'll never do better than this
then we kiss and say goodnight, in separate beds we sleep so tight and a strip of carpet between them, keeping things nice and clean, men,
you know what I mean.
narsim Jun 2015
Paper ***** flew around the classroom

masquerading  as a cricket ball

Hit as hard but managing to hardly go anywhere

The chaos in the class would soon end,

as the diminutive figure will walk in, book in one hand

Prying eyes trying to catch the laggards

shuffling back to their seat and

pretend to be very obedient and behaved lot.

The pinch, the hit on the arm with ruler, or the words

will bring about absolute silence,

masking the transient pain and shame,

that will soon followed by snickering comments and giggles

from those who escaped this time by their agility or luck.



The pencil boxes will soon start to play multiple roles,

like the actors in a play on a tight budget,

Transporting bits of papers with probable clues to the

questions put forth, the wrong answer to which,

could lead to repercussions of varying degree..

Like standing outside like a flagpole,

but failing to act as a deterrent to us incorrigible lot.



Lunch time will be  like an oasis in the day of claustrophobic pedantry  

where the darwinian principles will be set to test,

hands drawn towards the most delicious tiffin boxes,

the rightful owner of which will be lucky to even find a morsel

But however mundane and monochromatic sometimes those time may be

Looking back its was all worth it

when we could pick after 3 decades later where we all left off

and engage in hours of debating, leg-pulling, sarcasm, enlightenment

not withstanding the boundaries of time, space and temperament.
At the tiffin break they surrounded him all wanted to have a look
He held it tight in the dim class light in his hand the hidden book
The boy was proud for the gathered crowd each wanted to win his trust
Went on to plead made frantic bid reading the book was a must.

With no option he started auction the boy saw in the deal a chance
For the mystery book seemed worth more than a mere cursory glance
I stole a look at the tempting book leapt my heart of a curious child
On the cover glowed bright in dripping blood the title ‘Mysteries of the Wild’.

In childish imbalance I lost all sense was gripped with one mad desire
Come what may at whatever cost from the boy the book I must hire
The boy having got a whiff of my plan and gauged the urge on my face
Said ‘ten full rupees is what you must part I would settle for nothing less’.

Ten full rupees was real big money no way could be arranged by a child
Knowing it was absurd still I pondered at stake was ‘Mysteries of the Wild’
That day I ran home with just one thought haunting the mind of a child
Ten full rupees is no big deal for an access to the mysteries of the wild.

On that evening of ceaseless haunting I gave all my lessons a miss
For there was with me a note of ten rupee given by dad as school fees
It needed a tough will to strike devil’s deal put the money to misuse
But possessed as I was to know the mystery I needed no reason’s excuse.

Next day in the class without a fuss I paid him the sum of school fees,
‘Give me the book as you promised for I’ve brought your ten rupees’.
‘I’m so sorry’ said the cunning lad ‘the book is taken by someone,
so stand by for the time be in the queue like the other boys in the run’.

Hell on me broke loose tightened the noose I could hardly stand on my feet
Heard my dad shout when the truth was found out the result couldn’t be sweet
The thrashings I got scolding and what not the bitter memories of a child
Sank all passions drowned the obsession to unravel the ‘Mysteries of the Wild’.

Years rolling by buried the child’s sigh lay hidden in the lost mind’s nook
The momentary thrill that remained unfulfilled forgotten was that prized book
Then one afternoon as I was passing by an almost antique bookstore
It peeped through a timeworn glass that book of mystery from the yore.

I felt an inexplicable yearning to own for once that book
To retrieve from its breast my childhood dream it took
‘What price’ I asked the man ‘I want to have it please’
‘Never mind it’s unsold long not worth ten rupees’.

I got the book with a heavy heart came sat in a corner of the park
Caressed soft held its bound cover that at last got my finger mark
In that twilight hour under evening star I wept like an inconsolable child
Knowing no more I had need of it I would never open the ‘Mysteries of the wild’.
Riya jain Sep 2018
baat wo jaani pehchaani thi,
school ki wo kahani thi.
subah uthke wo school ko jaana,
waha jate hi teacher ki daant khaana.
class mein chhup ke tiffin khaana,
or har galti par naya bahana.
class mein roz halla karana,
or galti khud ki pe dost ko fasana.
fir chup2 ke dost ko hasana,
usse kehna zara chehra toh dikhana.
pal haseen ye kahin gum se gaye,
ab hum sab alag hogye.
class wo humari ek kamra ban gyi,
or baatein humari yaadein ban gyi.
firse doston ka mela hum lagaynge,
par wo school ke din waaps na aynge.

Riya
I don't think I want to know no more
I've had enough of knowing stuff that filled my brain with grains of this and strands of that,stats and rats that chew the fur on ***** cats and bats no *****,Niagara falls and if it does why did it fell?,Tenses, tense that make me sick,Michael Miles and 'take your pick'
I can,not tin but aloo mini im or if you're Yankee alloo minum,oh what fun.I'm going round the twist,just spiraling not really ****** and reading down the list I see,
Her Majesty is having tea or as we say,a spot of tiffin,jolly good and splendid,spiffing,what a beezer that geezer is,Philip I mean and not the Queen,she's a lass I think and don't want to think no more.
Pragya GAur Jul 2017
A home away from home,
Is how I merily define a school.
Running in silent corridors,
Not wanting to go in morning assemblies,
Finishing lunch while teacher's teaching,
Passing chits when they caught us gossiping.
Our tiffin boxes were empty before recess,
Fun was snatching other's lunch then.
Years later don't know will these be remembered or not,
But those 'samosas of canteen' will really be missed a lot.
When teachers said " go out if you don't want to study"
We looked at each other to ask if they are ready.
We will really miss kabaddi and volley ball matches,
Between seniors and juniors.
Those lovely days of early ages,
And the open books with curly pages.
I will really miss each and every class,
Whether nursery or twelfth.
We will really miss,
The boring exercise of Saturdays,
And the 'Arora patties' on roadways.
We were sent to gain knowledge,
But we had all sorts of fun and games.
To teachers sending us out of class was a punishment,
But for us it was full source of entertainment.
Those lazy mornings and the lame reasons for not going to school,
Those fading school uniforms and opened shoe laces,
Those half opened eyes and closing school gates.
Few months later all won't be there.
Just a cherished memory,
Is going to become.
Few months later it's an end of my school life....so I decided to write one describing my glorious 12 years there
Salmabanu Hatim Jul 2018
We broke up,
Time elapsed,
I came to your home,
To give you a surprise,
I had the spare key.
I saw the wedding photo of you and your wife,
A shock,
You didn't waste time.
Then I saw the hot *** tiffin on
the table,
Of piping hot rice,curry and chapati,
I ate it all,
It was delicious.
She had written a note,
She was tired of your ego and haughtiness,
She was going to her mother for some days,
She had left you the food,
I would not have done so.
She seems nice,
Come down from your pedestal
and make your marriage work,
I still love you but, I want to see you happy.
Hold on to your marriage.
ANUSHKA PANDEY Apr 2020
Empty, light and dull,
My school bag rests on one of the walls,
Once full with books notebooks and pens,
Now bear and deserted it looks small.

Yesterday, while clearing my shelf,
My class VIII classwork notebook popped up,
Those were also the days,
When our copies were neatly covered up.

These days I sleep late at night
because Now there is no waking up early rule,
These days I wake up at nine,
As now I am not running late for school.

My wardrobe is full of colourful shirts
But wearing the white one daily I miss,
No sport shoe can ever match
Wearing white PT shoes bliss.

While searching for a bowl I found my Tiffin,
But there was no lunch in it
Also there aren’t those people around,
Who jumped attacked and finished it within a minute.

I still hear the interval bell,
In front of my TV when I sit,
I still hear those gossips and laughs,
While finishing my meal, those several hands I miss.

I was bored of studying the subject,
But I had no water bottle to fill,
And no school corridors to take a round,
I realised it wasnt the fifth lesson in school,
So I quietly turned back to my musics sound.

Every time I doodle
I remember bulletin board
I remember my house duties
Every time my nail grows

It’s raining and snowing these days
But nothing is as fresh as sitting next to the window in the class
Blankets in Quilt dont allow us to get out of our beds,
But nothing is as cosy asSitting on the seat at the last.

Donning my new dress, I was getting my picture clicked,
But it wasn’t as special as our last seat selfie,
CCD’s coffee was also not able to,
Match the taste of a canteen’s tea.

I go out of my home several times,
But never does it match the bunking thrill,
I take various Scooty rides,
But never am I able to showcase my reach school within five minutes skill.

Every time I get a call from my classmate,
Our whispers I miss,
Every second every hour every day
For those days to return I wish

At 2:00 in the noon
I go to bed for my nap
I miss returning Home from school
I wish those days could be swapped..

Sometimes we don’t realise
How the smallest things have a large part to play
And as the days passed, and time flies by,
It’s only memories that we are left with to say.

Every single thing at home
Reminds me of school life
I want to relive those golden days
Just one more time.

A couple of months from now
We will officially be ex schoolites
Teachers scoldings punishments and failures
After that For every single moment we will strive.
A heartfelt from a 12thie
Michael John Feb 2020
a)

i


they nigh on carted me away
in some distant palmed bay
cashew fenny* and too much beauty..

(you know the way..)
it would have been a short fray
they left no exit free..

i was zonked and skinny
they were three
and tidy..

i eyed the nurse wearily
exotic the flora and tree
the birds- free..!

the people so politely
inclined
sands so dazzling
..

b)


so,i said
must be off
late for tiffin..

which
was
funny..

anyway she
laughed
and i made

like a blade
of grass-
blowing

on spring days
past the guys
and did not glance back..

ii

they had me cornered
i thought well,now,
i´m ******..!

i was naked
lsd..?!
lol..

but we british
we have a saying
never darkest then

before the dawn
and we introduced
tiffin..

how did we rule this
world
the biggest empire

this world ever
knew..
quick thinking


..

c)


in india this woman
this woman lay naked
awaiting my passage..

i near on tripped over
her brown skin one time
she was so pretty..


d)

i was twenty


e)

fenny is like poteen
or raki..i liked it
made from either coconuts
or nuts..a memory of my youth
..
I never saw the woman who talked the hind legs off a donkey
but I've met a chatterbox or two who lived in Crewe,
not in a box.

Nor have I heard a banshee howl
a tiger growl
but once I saw a matron scowl
before they did away with matrons.

Open to suggestions
and you thought my mind
was closed,
well
it's closed from one 'til three
for a spot of tiffin and some tea.

Life's all about the japery
the capers and the
shapes I see,
colours too.
Sahil Sharma Nov 2018
You all will agree that school life was best
Sharing same bench was undoubted blest

Heaven was there for these nestlings in nest
No idea of big world, everyday was fest

Different skins, uniform quashed that contest
Shoes were polished and badges on chest

One disliked his tiffin but others could digest
Football was punctured, but no fall in zest

Compass used to spin, divider stayed in rest
From pet animals to nomenclature of each pest

Notorious as school bus, nostalgic as class test
The story of nails marks, that fight, that jest

We thought it as home, but everyone was guest
Ready for their flight, tickling at the crest

Now few have jobs while others are in quest
One flock in the east, another flock in the west
Khushi tiwari Sep 2020
Life too a sharp turn
Causing our jungle of dreams to burn
We made so many plans
To witness, in our class,  live Clash of clans
Zoomed in on gossips and zoomed out for a tour of building we have been seeing for last 14 years
Soon the time will come to bid adieu with eyes full of tears
One hundredth piece of chocolate gave us unworldly pleasures
Oh-those-sweet reminisce are etched in our hearts as priceless treasures
Gobbling a pav bhaji filled tiffin with one fourth of each one's share is now a distant memory
Pulling out all stops to get one pattis and samosa was our definition of bravery
Aamchaska and chatarmatar had power to drive out our blues
Trend of lollipops became a strict no-no on the list of don'ts and do's
Bhelpuri, ice cream,  chanajor garam or chuski
All the uncles had different fan base
Our sweet request for extra chutney or cola ice stick
How they fulfilled them all always left us amazed
Morning gossip monger
Isn't a reality any longer
Decorating the black board with fresh pieces of chalks
That mirth was,  Jesus knows what
Fighting over duster with other classes
This year we missed out on all those chances
We made noise,  were shut by teachers
What's app group chats are silent, all thanks to some invisible creatures
" Learn rules like a pro, break them like an artist "
Our 'action plan' was more of a drawing made by caricaturist
Morning assemblies were a snoozefest
Afternoon next-day holiday announcements filled us with new zest
Board decorations or teacher's day preparation
Everyone's train ran on different tracks never arrived at single station
Christmas celebrations or children's day fetes
We oozed oomph in our new dresses
Out of nowhere,  we could see our dreams of living last year of school waver
Every night we sleep with what-the-hell-is-this-wetness tear
Never expected that Guy upstairs to be a scrooge
He snatched our happiness making us his offset stooge
"No still lakes but life demands waterfalls "
Our school journey is a perfect example of it
It is hear , mercurial highs and abysmal lows, did we hit
Myriad of emotions gushing through while I write
It's a miracle how black boards made our lives bright
This school was like our nest
Where little babies were nurtured with the best
Soon we will fly out like free birds up in the sky
No farewells for us please,  we will never say our school a goodbye 😘
Philipp K J Jun 2019
Call it a day come back to me
Fierce the storm frolic in freak
Stress on and shake guy lines on quay
Fear grips the heart the mast looks weak
Tides roll out high like snakes with wings
I tie my raft on near by fence
Come back to me the voice still rings
Strong soft sound sacred soothing sense
Gentle arms wave warm welcome call
"Set and rest in your father's hall."
                        
                  **

Th­e smoke, clock stroke the call for socks
The books iron box and school van's horn
Scaring the walls Tiffin box falls
Piecemeal songs from mobile ring tone
Smile waves bye-bye mopping up curls
Turning to rest from morning fret
A voice intrude bringing unrest.
"A very happy Women's day!"
                
                
**

That sound is high that startling cry
The turbulence did hardly subside
An ambulance flies howling by
A creak a crash, a rush beside
I C U through sealed chamber hole
And stand out all the overnight haul
As bills pile up and **** the soul
Encounter loans who bothers at all!
They start to wish a happy day
A fathers day or someones day!
      
                
            
***


Is my day as God wanted it
Every day be a peaceful day
Every day be the Father's day
Every day holy Mother's day
Every day  be a saint soul's day
Every day be every ones day
Every day be god given day!

Can you see the creator god
Can you listen  to voice of god
Can you feel the presence of god
Or touch and taste the peace of god

And sing the hymn of praise to Him
To burn the flame of light of Him
To live in bliss and peace with Him


              *****

Poor man's faith lost in lord's precept
Swept away by evil concept
Lost in building all wanton lust
Bear burden of unending list
To fulfill in this brief visit

God's call back is loud and clear
I created all for you dear
Just come back and see for yourself
Environment's around your self
Father Son and Holy spirit
Men and women do well merit
So call it a day and come back and see
Come back and come back to me!
So call it a day and come back to me
Come back and come back to me.
Ashish Aug 2018
The first day of school
In those alien looking environment
And terrifying classroom and teachers
Friends were the ones who made me comfortable

In between those four walls called "classroom"
Along with my friends, I found paradise
May it be Playing hide & seek or eating tiffin together
I found a family like feeling in those 6 words called "FRIEND"
Friend is not just a word, it is an emotion.
Sahil Sharma Aug 2018
So much brave n herculean was to bunk the class..
Tonigt remembering those days with wine in glass..

We all started the journey of pen n paper on the same date..
Trust was so rigid, we were like brothers not just classmate..

Other's tiffin was more fascinating than the own one..
Finishing that before the recess ring, during early sun..

Snatching the snacks more than an octopus..
School bus turned into a poetry hub for us..

In school,Parents-teacher meet was like our red letter day..
Our complaints would be highlighted and we feared it as slay..

Staying ready at the door steps in just a single phone call..
Someone getting the bat and others collecting money for ball..

Watching dusshera or flying kites in hot weather..
Like carpels of an orange, we used to stay together..

Time was accelerating,teenage became prism..
Splitting us all,carrier at stake triggered activism..

In every high and low of life, only our dear friends came..
Like birds,now stay on different trees, but still the sky is same..
Cynical- Dec 2017
The sea below
thee,
Turtles askew vibrant
waves,
With fish
underneath -

A spark of
colors,
To imbibe upon the
sea,
Birds of age,
above,

Soaring the sky,
high,
To evoke nature's
tiffin,
In morning's blue
sky.
written in regard to the natures affiliation with the ecosystem of sea near a beach in 5 7 5 syllables .. I hope
Miraj Jan 2019
Remember when paper planes
glided through the air?
swirling and twirling away
in the autumn breeze.
countless pages of notebook neatly torn
and carefully given shape.
No avionics, no engines
just carefree flight of its own accord.
Oh the joy it was when they were
airborne, in classrooms, corridors,
and playgrounds. The battle for aerial
supremacy ensued as the tiffin bell rang.
The southern winds played with our
prized possessions and lifted them to glory.
diverse designs in all shapes and size adorned
the school atmosphere. Crafted by skilled hands
these beauties tumbled down to the earth
when the crimson Sun sank in the horizon and as
living memories framed in the portrait of time
and come next day, when thousand others
become airborne again under the smiling sun to
greet the wind, another day of adventure and fun
permanently added in our dream-books to offer us
a small token of freedom from our troubled lives.
Bohemian May 2019
When I was born
It is said that have jingled the most in father's lap in nights, swaddled
Only my mother could feed me the cerelac or else I'd spit
Then I was one ,two and three consecutively
At four,I remember my stubbornness for mother's cooked dishes to be as my tiffin
And scolding elders for not picking me up from school such that I had to return by the school bus
At five,I remember complaining for having being paid less attention to and  everything pivotal to my new born brother
At six,I remember feeling old and yet surging and crying to get back early to home from the school
At seven,I remember getting my brother's shoe laces tied by my class teacher's son on the parent's teacher meeting day
At eight,I remember my mother working hard to get me 97 straight A's
At nine,I remember being averted by the admired people and wondering if I could make through
At ten,I remember loving maths and my class teacher a casual lymph
At eleven,things were turned upside down I had to restart
At twelve,by the end of the territory I had already made the way from aversion to appreciation
At thirteen,I found my leader and my stories found a narrator in me ,I was applauded by the crowd for the first time
At fourteen, my distinction was appraised and embraced
That had my mother's pride inflate
At fifteen, I was embellished on the crowns and my lady rediscovered me
Amid it had happened a trauma that I had,initially, considered with hurray
At sixteen,things begin to slip but my faithful guardian held my back every now and then,my mother
At seventeen,she was behind me through thick and thins
At eighteen,she pulled me from shore to pinnacles ,from hither to thither and shown me a world to belong
At nineteen,here I am my mother's braced armor,a scabbard that she's prepared,alongside the several stories of my ultra smart brother who has taught me honesty at the bays.
khwampa Oct 2020
Bloodstains
on copper sheets
Sewed with blue
bandaged thread
Toned down with milk
Ninety-nine percent
of the world is empty
by the occurrence of it

Twenty-five people
are suffering and
the pendulum still smiles

The teacher knows
what makes its young men angry
He is afraid of the checklist

There is a high opening
in the suddenness of it all
It creeps from my sunrise window
And smells like fish and lily

Sometimes
the features of the beggar
make me doubt the evening sun

Sometimes
I think if everything
would be fine without water

And sometimes
if water would be fine
without everything

These men,
these men demand their rights
Shouting,
wanting to land
on the rings of Saturn

Light,
cosmos,
me, and water
are lighter than the
thinnest sheets of condoms
thrown from balconies of ravaged cities

We are doomed
to become the thief of the present
We are friends
of the tiffin boxes packed for tomorrow
We are neat

Nonexistent
Tanishka Jun 2021
The chirping of birds and chattering of the crowd
All now gone, nothing left but a black cloud
Oh there used to be a time when we all were partying and laughing
Now there’s a fear in everyone’s heart when they hear a coughing
All locked up in our houses being bored and longing to be together
There’s nothing to do but look up in the sky and admire the weather
Once a time we all were free
Going on shopping sprees and playing without the referee
But now we get an online degree and meet in groups of three
One day we will again get our liberation
We will all defeat Covid and again built our foundation
Dancing in the auditorium and roaming freely in the corridor
Eating from friend’s tiffin and making deals with the monitor
One day it will all come back
And we will again go to the canteen to eat our favourite snack

— The End —