Until death comes, all is life.
a plea for bowlers
Cricket never will be fair
Till bowlers get their rightful share
For toiling in the mid-day sun.
What should be done?
It's simple ——
Make those wickets broader, taller!
That should make it much more fun
For the poor perspiring bowler.
P.S. And in the interests of the game
The size of the bat remains the same.
butterfly time
April showers
Bring swarms of butterflies
Streaming across the valley
Seeking sweet nectar.
Yellow, gold, and burning bright,
Red and blue and banded white.
To my eyes they bring delight!
Theirs a long and arduous flight,
Here today and off tomorrow,
Floating on, bright butterflies,
To distant bowers.
For Nature does things in good order:
And birds and butterflies recognize
No man-made border.
dandelion
I think it's an insult
To Nature's generosity
That many call this cheerful flower
A 'common weed'.
How dare they so degrade
A flower divinely made!
Sublimely does it bloom and seed
In sunshine or in shade,
Thriving in wind and rain,
On stony soil
On walls or steps
On strips of waste;
Tough and resilient,
Giving delight
When other flowers are out of sight.
And when its puff-ball comes to fruit
You make a wish and blow it clean away:
'Please make my wish come true,' you say.
And if you're kind and pure of heart,
Who knows? This magic flower might just respond
And help you on your way.
Good dandelion,
Be mine today.
the last flower
If, in this dying world,
Only one flower could be left,
Which one would you choose?
The rose, or some sweet violet,
Or would you prefer the fragrant
Mignonette?
Of flowers not yet extinct,
You might just settle for the Indian Pink.
But my first choice, I like to think,
Is the red geranium
Standing on my desk all year,
Far, like a scarlet chanticleer,
It stands up tall
And makes a statement loud and clear.
to the indian foresters
You are the quiet men who do not boast
Although you've done much more than most
To make this land a sea of green
From here to far Cape Comorin.
Without your help to Nature's thrust,
This land would be a bowl of dust.
A land without its forest wealth
Must suffer a decline in health,
For herbs and plants all need green cover
Before they help the sick recover.
And we need trees to hold together
Beasts, and birds of every feather,
And leaves to help the air smell sweet;
All this and more is no mean feat.
Dear foresters, you have not sought for fame or
favour,
Yours has been a love of labour.
Our thanks! Instead of desert sand
You've given us this green and growing land.
_____________
(Composed and read to a gathering of young forest officers at the Forest Research Institute, on April 10, 2004)
night thoughts
This mountain is my mother,
My father is the sea,
This river is the fountain
Of all that life may be...
Swift river from the mountain,
Deep river to the sea,
Take all my words and leave them
Where the west wind sets them free.
So, piper on the lonely hill,
Play no sad songs for me;
The day has gone, sweet night comes on,
Its darkness helps me see.
in this workaday world
It's a busy world, I know,
And we must hurry here and there
And not ask who or why or where,
For fear our credits fall too low.
But here upon this hilly crest
There's some respite; and when
The fretting day is done,
Beneath the cherry tree there's rest.
love's sad song
There's a sweet little girl lives down the lane,
And she's so pretty and I'm so plain,
She's clever and smart and all things good,
And I'm the bad boy of the neighbourhood.
But I'd be her best friend forever and a day
If only she'd smile and look my way.
we are the babus
Soak the rich and harry the poor,
That's our motto and our law;
We are the rulers of this land,
We are the babus, a merry band,
Under the table, or through the back door,
We'll empty your pockets and ask for more!
We are the babus, this is our law—
Soak the rich and harry the poor!
this land is mine
This land is mine
Although I do not own it,
This land is mine
Because I grew upon it.
This dust, this grass,
This tender leaf
And weathered bark
All in my heart are finely blended
Until my time on earth is ended.
phantom lover
Night unto night
When the world's asleep,
You come to me,
Our tryst to keep.
Held captive, in thrall,
As the stars look down,
Body and soul
From night unto dawn.
Silent you come
And softly you go,
Ours is a love
That none must know.
wild is tbe wind
Wild is the wind tonight,
Deep is the thunder,
Lightning across the sky
Splits it asunder.
Witches will ride tonight,
Ranging the sky,
Wizards will cast their spells—
Great men will die.
Who'll be my guide tonight,
Starless the sky;
Who'll brave the demons
Now riding so high.
I'll take the road alone,
I'll reach my goal;
Witches and wizards
Must yield to man's soul.
slum children at play
Imps of mischief,
Barefoot in the dust,
Grinning, mocking, even as
They beg you for a crust.
No angels these,
Just hungry eyes
And eager hands
To help you sympathise...
They don't want love,
They don't seek pity,
They know there's nothing
In this heartless city
But a kindred need
In those who strive
For power and pelf
Though only just alive!
They know your guilt,
They'll take your money,
And if you give too much
They'll find you funny.
Because that's what you are—
You're just a joke—
Your life is soft
And theirs all grime and smoke.
And yet they shout and sing
And do not thank yo
ur giving,
You'll fuss and fret through life
While they do all the living.
________________
(Delhi, May 1, 2004)
do you believe in ghosts?
'Do you believe in ghosts?'
Asked the passenger
On platform number three.
'I'm a rational man,' said I,
'I believe in what I can see—
Your hands, your feet, your beard!'
'Then look again,' said he,
And promptly disappeared!
we must love someone
We must love someone
If we are to justify
Our presence on this earth.
We must keep loving all our days,
Someone, anyone, anywhere
For even the sarus crane
Will grieve over its lost companion,
And the seal its mate.
Somewhere in life
There must be someone
To take your hand
And share the torrid day.
Without the touch of love
There is no life, and we must fade away.
the pool
Where has it gone,
the pool on the hill?
The pool of our youth,
when Time stood still,
Where we romped in its shallows
and wrestled on sand,
Closer than brothers, a colourful band.
Gone is the pool, now filled in with rocks,
Having made way for the builders' blocks.
But sometimes, at dawn,
you will hear us still,
And that's why they call this
the Haunted Hill.
don't go to war, my son
Blood drying in the fierce sun
Vultures feasting on the dead
Mangled limbs and severed heads
Battles lost or battles won
Must end in madness when they're done.
Don't go to war, my son.
love is a law
Who shall set a law to lovers?
Love is a law unto itself
Love gained is often lost
And love that's lost is found again
It's love that makes the world go round
Love that keeps us closely bound
Take this power to love away
We would be just beasts of prey
If Love should lose its hold on us
Discord would rule the Universe.
a little night music
Open the window
Let in the Night
All that is lovely
Comes at this hour
Moonlight and moonbeam
And fragrance of flower
Blossoming Champa
And Queen of the Night—
And sometimes a field mouse
Drops in for a bite.
High in the tree-tops
An owl strikes a note
And the frogs in their pond
Sing out as they float
Along on their lily-pads...
The Brain-fever bird
Is calling on high
'Brain fever, brain fever!'
Its monotonous cry.
The Nightjar plays trombone
The crickets join in
An out-of-tune orchestra
Making a din!
I lie awake listening
To the wild duck in flight
As they fly to the north
For their annual respite;
And a star in the heavens
Sweeps past as it falls,
A leopard's out hunting—
The swamp deer calls.
A breeze has spring up,
It hums in the trees
The window is rattling
And I must cease
From my Nocturne
And shut out the Night.
Goodnight, birds
Goodnight, frogs
Goodnight, stars
Goodnight sweet Night.
dare to dream
Build castles in the air
But first, give them foundations.
Hold fast to all your dreams,
Make perfect your creations.
All glory comes to those who dare.
Failed works are sad lame things.
Act impeccably, sing
Your own song, but do not take
Another's song from her or him;
Look for your art within,
You'll find your own true gift,
For you are special too.
And if you try, you'll find
There's nothing you can't do.
the demon driver
At driving a car I've never been good—
I batter the bumper and damage the hood—
'Get off the road!' the traffic cops shout,
'You're supposed to go round that roundabout!'
'I thought it was quicker to drive straight through.'
'Give us your license — it's time to renew.'
To a Babu who looked on this windfall with glee.
'No problem,' he said, 'Your license now pukka,
You may drive all the way from here to Kolkata.'
So away I drove, at a feverish pitch,
Advancing someway down an unseen ditch.
Once back on the highway, I soon joined the fray
Of hundreds of drivers who wouldn't give way:
I skimmed past a truck and revolved round a van
(Good drivers can do anything that they can)
Then offered a lift to a man with a load—
'Just a little way down to the end of this road,'
As I pressed on the pedal, the car gave a shudder:
He'd got in at one door, got out at the other.
'God help you!' he said, as he hurried away,
'I'll come for a drive another fine day!'
I came to that roundabout, round it I sped
Eager to get to my dinner and bed.
Round it I went, and round it once more
'Get off the road!' That cop was a bore.
I swung to the left and went clean through a wall,
My neighbour stood there — he looked menacing,
tall—
'This will cost you three thousand,' he quietly said,
'And send me your cheque before you're in bed!'
Alas! my new car was sent for repair,
But my friends gathered round and said, never despair!
'We are all going to help you to make a fresh start.'
And next day they gave me a nice bullock-cart.
summer fruit
Summer is here, and mangoes too
And fruit of every taste and hue;
And given a choice of juice or berry,
I'll settle for the humble cherry.
I know your favourite on this planet
Is the red and rosy pomegranate;
But that's a winter fruit, my child,
So wait until the weather's mild.
But if you like a simple khana,
There's nothing like a good banana.
No? Something more exotic?
Maybe some lichis in your pockets.
Or would you like a large tarbuj—
Its sweeter than a good kharbuj—
Tarbuj, kharbuja — oh, what's the difference?
Tell me, children, and your preference
the message of the flowers
Apple Blossom
It's Spring, and apple blossom time Stands for temptation, Give in to it!
Bluebells
Stand for constancy and calm.
For troubled souls they act as balm Ring out the old, ring in the new!
Carnation
Ah, a woman's love comes with this
flower.
Cherish the moment!
Crysanthemum
W
hen red, it's love.
When white, it's youth.
When bronze, it has the ring of truth.
Cornflower
How delicate you are!
Daisy
The power of innocence.
Daffodils
You purify the air.
You're' chivalry, gratitude and care.
Eglantine
Sweet brier-rose, the flower of poets.
Keats called you rain-scented,
dew-sweet.
Forget-me-not
Your name says it all.
And I'll remember to remember.
Geranium
Especially the scarlet kind,
They say scarlet is a sign of folly.
In that case, you're my folly.
Honeysuckle
Who can resist your sweet fragrance?
I want to be near you.
Ivy
You are friendship, fellowship and
fidelity
You stand for permanence.
Jasmine
Flower of perfection,
You stand high in my affection.
Lemon Blossom
What made me think of you today?
You stir up memories of love and play.
Magnolia
Champa, Queen of the garden
You bring good fortune.
Nasturtium
How can I forget you, humble friend?
You gladden my heart to winter's end.
Oleander
Red or white
You're the poet's delight.
Poppy
You're my scarlet lady—
Extravagant, effervescent, evanescent!