An ode to our Mothers

Circumstances have never been meaner,

And souls would never have been this cleaner,

If it weren’t for the everyday catastrophes,

Against which mankind is bleeding daily merely with pocketful of hopes.

Timelines shout, “No dignity in death”,

“A hospital bed costlier than lifetime’s cumulative wealth”,

“An oxygen cylinder procured in stealth”;

As we endlessly lose lives gasping for breath.

Dejectedly, let’s take a moment,

Not to question our politicians’ intelligence quotient;

But to soak ourselves in the miseries,

Of children who’ll now never be able to cede,

Their mothers a cosy retreat,

In lieu of her lifelong yearnings, in brutal cold and taxing heat,

With not a single day qualifying as “cheat”.

And of kids who’re now left to fend for themselves on the streets,

With their mothers succumbing to this COVID beast.

Mothers, who were yet to confide in their adolescent daughters fully,

And mothers, who with swollen feet and bloated bellies,

Died despairingly, short of experiencing the journey truly.

Mothers, who were also professionals at the brink of getting retired,

Mothers, who were yet to see their children dressed up in her gifted attires.

Mothers, whose infants are still on breastfeed,

Mother; an epitome of unconditional love and saga of selfless deeds.

This mother’s day, I dedicate this ode,

To all the mothers who’ve passed on to the heavenly abodes.

“When you know your child will never feel whole instead a broken piece,

How will you ever be able to rest in peace?”

I KNOW

I know.
That blood red lipstick you wear is less out of fashion trends and more because it dresses the scars, wounds and bruises from previous night’s violence.

I know.
That oversized T-shirt is only partly a part of donning a cool personality and majorly to blanket the belly fat, the love handles and saggy breasts.

I know.
That silence in a room brimming with loud mouthed debates and discussions, is only scarcely a matter of not having enough knowledge to speak up. Mostly, it’s an armour to save you from potential mockery and judgements that would strain you.

I know.

That job you’re slogging in, is only a transient thing in your head. Ephemeral are your dreams and visions and passions, pleading you to take a chance.

I know.
You’re bludgeoning to travel to the edge of the world and stay home a little longer in exactly the same space-time labyrinth.

I know.
It’s never easy but they say it’s worth the ordeal.

I know.
Because, you and I are the same.

LOVE THAT REFUSES TO GO

You’re a glass of water
Which is too full
To be carried along carelessly
And I’m a free flowing breeze
Too fickle
To ever be that mindful.

You’re a deep sea diver
Who races against whales
And I’m the one with the gorgeous skin
Too afraid of the tan.

You fly a Boeing 787
At full throttle
And I double check my seat belt
At 50kilometres an hour!

So;
We need to spill some water
And wear a little sunblock
And maybe, just walk?

IDEAS

I pitter, I patter, and click a clack,
About Gandhi and his ideas that worked without a whack.
But I’ve installed an army and a nuclear button,
With a few easy deaths over chicken and mutton.

Now this is not to refurbish savagery in my blood,
‘Cause a fellow in me stands as calm as seas under shrieky thuds.
He’s an overfilled soul and a hungry gut,
Away from his home, in an island stuck.

An island, which is his loyal platoon,
Sometimes engendered with baits that swoon:
Men over women and men over other men,
Since fellow beings are more dangerous than a lion’s den.

But he has not grown on Kindle fables,
And knows of clouds bereft of WiFi cables,
Under which he builds a castle of dreams that never fade,
Since what is life, if not ideas that weed out the good old stereotypical spades.

So he builds out a task force,
And doesn’t let a voice go hoarse,

That condemns religions under the broad daylight,
For victimising creativity by infringement of rights.

That task force are words on paper,
Terrified of intolerance and creativity’s current stature,
Not in just muddy houses and movie halls,
But in shut minds and open tabs of people all!

ONE MORE TIME

​One more time,

I want to hear grandma’s tales which took me to paradise but this time, I won’t return.

One more time, 

I want to run at a pace which was never the fastest but this time, I still won’t stop.

One more time,

I want to wear those shorts that exposed my saggy thighs but this time I won’t feel ashamed.

One more time, 

I want to ask that doubt which made me look foolish but this time I won’t care.

One more time,

I want to be asked what makes me happy and this time, I won’t try to fit in!!!

TINCTURE OF SIGH

​Once for the guy who slapped her ass,

Twice for the one who had a personality crass,

She sought placidity on beds with switched off lights.

Until she met the one who gave her soul the delight.

And that guy on a dusky night,

With a glass of wine and a tinge of sigh,

Watched her ruin her mascara as she cried and cried,

Tears of joy, and tears of agony,

Those of fear, laughter and misery…

Trailed from her eyes to his blotched heart,

And eventually she learnt that, being naked, is an exotic art.

LIKE A GIRL

There’s a little girl in my heart,
Who’s soft and pink and afraid.
Afraid, for if she comes out,
She won’t be able to live.

They say, “you’re such a boy”
Without analysing how inevitable it is for victory.

For you see, I won’t be able to listen to guys’ conversations “like a girl”,
Lest, I’ll be offended.
I can’t run and throw on the field “like a girl”,
Lest I’ll be mocked at.
I can’t not study and shop “like a girl”,
Lest, I’ll be tagged unambitious.

Part of growing up as a “girl”,
Was to realize that you ought to be “like a guy” in this society to be successful;
Because guys can un-listen patriarchy,
Girls, Ah! They’re too delicate to “misbehave”
-D. Sharma

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Quite unconventionally, we don’t talk much often,
Nevertheless, there’s no part of my soul that you haven’t yet softened.
I could’ve called you yesterday even at midnight,
But stranding in the traffic of your phone didn’t please me in the foresight.
Because I wish that you read this whenever you’re free,
And not revert to me haphazardly as a busy bee.

Today, as the candles impale your pastry,
I so hope that it lights up our bond while serving as an upholstery.
I’ve walked countless lanes with you making merry,
And jumped thousand a puddles when the road ahead seemed dreary.
And this isn’t a thank you note for all such moments,
But an alarm for you to brace me up even further when destiny offers me with circumstances to lament.

As you blow the candles off today, don’t thaw me like the frozen wax,
Instead, pile me up with your love and care such that it chips in whenever the inadequacies need to be whacked.

An obedient daughter and a prodigious student,
A benevolent friend with a mind extremely prudent,
You’ve given your all to the people around,
But today, I pray that karma returns you the favor that’s befitting and sound.
And, trust me, when the day comes that you do yourself proud,
I’ll cheer the loudest from the crowd.

Till then, dance it out sometimes and seldom, celebrate life your way,
As I join the league wishing you a “Happy Birthday”!

THE PARADIGM

While her tongue ran naked in the news show as she debated,

“How in order to defer rape, it’s necessary for all men to be castrated”,

She forgot her virgin male friend who always escorted her home,

Just to ensure that filthier men around her don’t roam.

She led her way to thinking,

that “men are good for nothing”.

Poor lass! Couldn’t summon the old cute boy down the street,

during the trek, when she fell helplessly, who soothed  her glitched feet.

“Women shouldn’t be dependent on men”, she protested rightly,

when she heard of housewives marred by men maliciously.

But oblivious to all the guys she rested upon,

be it her father, brother or lover… long gone!

Conclusively, I’ll be saying this with a sigh,

for some, even feminism comes with a tag of “if convenient” with a self-standard not too high.

As feminazis fail to realize that “interdependence” is the crux of all human civilization,

they hypocritically continue to oppose all men irrespective of their caste, creed or nation.

-D. Sharma

 

 

 

SHEEN OF TEEN

Thirteen, when after years of ‘uncool’ hard work she began emerging as a nerdy fuck,

Fourteen; she laid hands in every sphere to become the all-rounder… Of course! Was just trying her luck.

Fifteen; she made Taylor Swift’s lunacy her life and swore words in delight.

Sixteen; outside academics she found her passion,

Seventeen, when failure in its pursuit got her in depression.

Eighteen, when still she thought her every gloomy over thought,

Nineteen; and finally for her dreams she got up and fought.

Twenty, when to victory, she got close,

Twenty one, when into the future, time froze.
-D. Sharma