With this serving, I am 20 tales shy of a century! Very many thanks to everybody who has spared their time to read my tales and give feedback. This is getting a little cliched, perhaps. But I cannot skip the thank you note! I would love to try and attempt tales on suggestions from readers, friends and family. After you are done reading this post, I’d be happy to get suggestions/ topics/ words for me to attempt more tales. Do drop a note if you have the time 🙂 Thanks in advance!
Everybody wished for the same thing
‘May you be blesed with little Krishna’
After hours of blinding pain and labour
God finally listened to me-
I was blesed with the most precious daughter.
He loved his boss’ home
It was a cozy little brick house
Something he had always wanted
When he saw the little wooden swing
Out in the garden, his heart fluttered
As the hostess came to greet him
A long lost conversation echoed
In his confused muddled head-
“We’ll have a little brick house
With a wooden swing in the garden”
At the age of forty six
Your little hands led me to the temple
Down by the riverbed
Years after you’ve moved away
I still sit by the temple pillar
I can hear you in the ring of the bell
And sense you in the soft white sands.
She loved to go fishing with dad
He always hauled a big catch
She’d slip behind him sneakily
And drop the slippery fish back in the water
A few feet away her mom stood smiling
She had taught her daughter well.
|Save a life|
Cardigans, winter coats and sweaters
Every brand label hung on hangers
But it was the moth-eaten, hand woven
Musty old green quilt that kept him warm
His mother gifted it to him
On his sixth birthday.
Among the jewelry and clothes
The many paintings and vases
She found an unaddressed envolope
Four line suddenly outweighed
All other presents put together
The anonymous writer perfectly knew
What she’d want for her birthday!
|The anonymous writer|
She traveled far and wide
Met many friends and family
Her gaze seemed empty, though
And her ssmile distant and lost
But when she put pen to paper
The life in her flowed out
Beautifully into little words.
She’d been told a lie all the time
‘You’re plain’, they told her for years
She knew she was rare-
Mysterious, mythical and magical
When the artist surprised her
With a unicorn tattoo on her ankle.
I winced in pain and agony
But I didn’t cry out loud
I guess I’d have to bleed red
For those armed men to care
Or perhaps they won’t even then.
She dusted their home
Changed their sheets
Washed their toilets
Earned ten rupees
Her wage left by the door
Gandhi sighed when she held
The tattered note in her blistered hands.