[nukkad] My poems-Rajababu

["rajababu" <>]

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  The moving finger writhes and, having writhed, moves on.
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SOMEONE'S GOING

The 6.16 CST reaches the platform,
A man hurriedly jumps out and runs,
Few invectives are hurled at him,
Unmindful, he hurries, his darting eyes
Searching for a suitcase and two women.

An outbound passenger train saunters in,
Drops of fear laden sweat break out, pouring from his face,
He wipes these angst ridden rivulets,
And squints to read the name: Panchvati.
Relieved, he resumes his search,
His wife spots him, she is happy,
They acknowledge each other with newly-married looks.

He hurriedly buys two Bisleri bottles,
Shoving it away into their bag,

Meanwhile, the Punjab Mail rushes in,
A frantic rush for the door,
Whispered goodbyes in the aisle,

The TC grins to himself, " Someone's going"

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ALL ALONE

The morning coffee you used to bring,
The alarm that you caused to ring,
The breakfast I used to get,
All these remind me of you.

The bath towel you used to arrange,
My clothese you used to manage,
The shoes at the doorstep,
All these remind me of you.

The morning kisses I used to get,
The nocturnal complaints over which I used to fret,
Those patient hours of passion and love,
All these remind me of you.

The night I now have to pass alone,
Those eternal moments of pain, now foregone,
These endless, listless days of mne,
All these remind me of you.

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MOTHER INDIA

The PM from the ramparts,
The audience, handpicked VIP's,
Bored, they shoo away the middle class flies,

Can't blame them, they've heard it all before,
References to a Foreign hand, poverty alleviation,
Careful not to refer to our neighbours by name.

A lethargic, well-written paragraph on the Kargil Martyrs,
Twenty two schemes for rural upliftment,
Three for the socially backward.

The PM's guard stands, like a monolith,
Both of them are trapped in a huge glass cage,

Swarms of Indian and foreign reporters, careful to detect,
The unsaid meaning of spoken and unspoken words,
And geriatric pauses of speech.

Most people watch the live telecast for half an hour,
The Society's celebrations on the terrace are avoided,

The only significant guests out there are the kids,
They love it, they get ot hog
Lots of Wafers and sweet, tasty Frooty.
Atleast, they look forward to 15th August.



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